A/N: I know, I have other fics I owe you. I'm sorry. This just needed to happen for now. Quite dark, as in, reminiscent of RoGI dark. Love it or hate it, please leave a review.
Ubiquitous silence. Omnipotent silence. Lurking somewhere in an elusive pocket of existence, tugging intangible strings at the whims of greater powers such as emotion; such as Death. But never for Life; she has heralded herself with clanging screams. Amazing, how the newly born have such foreknowledge to wail for horrors they must see in their distant future, without yet touching them.
But that was life, this is Death; who keeps Silence as his lap-dog, occasionally ordering out on some darkened errand. Dragging simultaneously peace and terror behind him, Silence does the bidding of death across the far reaches of the world. From the caverns of the Glikkun, down the Yellow Brick Road, through the turmoil of Munchkinland, slinking through the terrible filth of the Emerald City and finally casting it's aspersive shadow over the lone castle rising out of the Vinkus.
Death stands in the tower and casts his hand outward, watching his pet spring forth from his fingers. Waiting as Silence returns to him and the world is caught in his net. Finally he vanishes, leaving the world to once again govern itself according to the principles of sound.
Dorothy is the only one brave, or foolish enough, to make a noise. Standing alone in the Witch's tower, hand on her heart, breathing heavily. Inhaling the acrid scent that is left hanging in the air when the flame of someone's life is extinguished' and this flame had burned oh so brightly. She looked around, unsure as to what had actually occurred. One moment there had been terrible noise, the roar of flames and the Witch's terrible cackle. Now silence reigned
The Witch stopped her frantic pacing only to stare at her skirt with wild eyes. Green nostrils flared, releasing a tense hiss of breath. A cackle began to form in the pit of the Witch's stomach; it bubbled and rolled, eventually spilling over and out of her mouth. She threw her head back, causing her raven hair to cast eldritch shadows, fighting and tearing one another apart, on the wall of the aging castle. Her arms dropped to her sides, slightly away from her body, as if waiting for the force of something to hit her. When it did, she rolled her neck until her head was once again straight and she fixed her terrifying gaze on the little girl she could barely see through the haze of flames. The mad Witch was still laughing.
Placing the palm of her hand on her forehead, Dorothy exhales slowly, trying to regain some sense of reality. She is thankful for the draught coming from the window and cooling her flushed skin. With each gust she feels a little more sanity return to her head. Eventually she has the sense to realise there should still be people left in the castle. And yet the stones return no echo and she can hear only her own heart racing beneath a skin that suddenly seemed too frail and thin. On her way over to the door she stumbles over a bucket and sends it clattering into the opposite wall as she just watches on dumbly.
The foolish little girl scrabbled frantically around the room, while the Witch just cackled at her. The flames had set in now; the Witch could feel them tearing away at her emerald skin, blackening it and exposing the vulnerable systems underneath. It was a marvellous sensation, to feel the glory of a final release slowly encroaching upon her while watching the futile and unwanted efforts to save her of the girl. After a moment the feeble little chit seemed to have found what she was looking for. When the Witch realized exactly what that was she laughed even harder, pure glee burning through her body more than the flames. She nearly tapped her foot as she smirked.
Regaining her composure, Dorothy flees from the room, trying to escape the memory of the Witch's expression. With every step down the long, spiral staircase, the little girl tries to erase the image from her mind. She focuses on carefully going down the treacherous staircase and finding Liir and getting out of this wretched, godforsaken castle. But Silence can't resist one more tantalizing tug at the strings of the fragile mind of a traumatized child.
Exhilaration flickered like fire in the eyes of the Witch and the challenge there was unmistakeable. It gave the little girl pause. The Witch craved this, couldn't let the girl retreat in fear, not at this point, not when she was so far gone. So she took a step toward the girl. She watched as the girl lifted the bucket. Smiled as it was propelled forward. Relaxed as she watched the water fly toward her. Opened her mouth to say one last thing as the water drenched her.
Dorothy starts violently as a door splinters and disintegrates elsewhere in the castle. She stumbles forward and flies out the front door. Water rains down behind her eyes, burning them, scarring them. Desperately she tries to make as much noise as possible, trying to reject the silence the Witch had thrown over the tower in her death. Liir catches her and watches the relief flood into Dorothy as he pulls her down to sit on the front step with him. She opens her mouth to say something to him, as he tears drench her shoulder.
Out of the silence, with a voice from beyond the veil. Tinged with flame and washed clean by the hands of Death himself.
A/N: 3am my pretties with over 100 hours without sleep. That is my excuse for whatever the hell you might call the above 900 words.