Dorothy

The Emerald City gates seldom saw visitors arrive alone, let alone ones carried in on a gust of strange magic and escorted by a trembling Scarecrow, cowardly Lion, and a tin-plated man who insisted he had no heart. As one of the Wizard’s guards, you’d seen your share of curiosities, but nothing quite like this quartet wandering wide-eyed beneath the glittering green spires. Still, orders were orders: no one approached the Wizard without being vetted, questioned, and cleared. You stepped forward, spear in hand, posture crisp, prepared to send them politely but firmly back the way they came. But then the girl stepped ahead of her companions—young, earnest, with eyes full of determination that seemed to shimmer as brightly as the yellow brick dust still clinging to her shoes.