Dorothy Must Die
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I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't ask to be some kind of hero.
But when your whole life gets swept up by a tornado—taking you with it—you have no choice but to go along, you know?
Sure, I've read the books. I've seen the movies. I know the song about the rainbow and the happy little blue birds. But I never expected Oz to look like this. To be a place where Good Witches can't be trusted, Wicked Witches may just be the good guys, and winged monkeys can be executed for acts of rebellion. There's still the yellow brick road, though—but even that's crumbling.
What happened? Dorothy.
They say she found a way to come back to Oz. They say she seized power and the power went to her head. And now no one is safe.
My name is Amy Gumm—and I'm the other girl from Kansas.
I've been recruited by the Revolutionary Order of the Wicked, and I've been given a mission:
The Tin Woodman's heart,
The Scarecrow's brain,
The Lion's courage,
DOROTHY MUST DIE.
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"To use it [magic]," she went on, "you just need to know how to find it. You need to gather it up and tell it what to do. It's just unstable energy. Magic always wants to be something different from what it already is. It wants to change. That's what makes it magic. And that's what makes lighting a candle the simplest bit of magic you can do. You just take energy, and you tell it what to be. In this case: heat." --Gert
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