Oz: Ballad Of The Fallen Czar(Vol. 1)

2. 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕴𝖓𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖗𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝕯𝖔𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖞

Every day, Dorothy Gale would find herself in her room, fluttering her eyes open before sunrise. Sometimes, she would be sitting by the window and looking out to the world, witnessing a brand-new day, hoping that it would be different when she knew perfectly well that nothing in the vast gray prairie would change. Though this does not affect her, negatively ---nor, positively, in a way---, for she was grateful by the days that passed. The prairie never changed. The land she loved. Change, Dorothy had learned, is tedious, at the very least, destructive. No one could surely know how good or bad change could impact them. Present, for her, is enough. No worries about the future, no guilt of the past. Living, admiring the present.

The joy could be seen, in the way, her eyes would follow the morning dews that fell from the trees like trickling rain. A moment of serenity and peace as she watched the mist that layered above the earth gradually evaporated.

The cloud would march like a fleet of soldiers. Along with the cold, refreshing breeze that would send chills down her spine. She would look up to the sky, and watch as they float. Admiring the breeze that stroked the soft clouds, creating pieces of art. Comprehension, she found, relies on the minds of those who studied them, with flourishing imaginations.

But one day, that was not the case. Unusual. A change. Different. Dorothy did not find herself in her cream-colored room, on her single, thin mattress supported by a metal frame. She did not find herself sitting by the window.

Her eyes landed on a girl she assumed to be thirteen or fourteen, silently sitting on the sofa with her legs crossed. Her bright blue eyes focused on the leather-bound book she held. The luscious mane of blonde hair complimented her young, fair feature. She was adorned in a pale, purple frock with a white pinafore.

Dazed, Dorothy got up and looked around the room. Pushing off the rich velvet comforter from her body. Realizing that she was dressed in undergarments, she flung the sheets back.

"Where am I?"

Their eyes met for a split second before the book dropped from her hand as she scrambled towards the door, leaving her alone. Ever so subtle, Dorothy could feel the gentle rocking. Wherever she was, they were moving

Her moment of concentration, trying to answer all the questions of her perplexed mind was cut momentarily short, as a stranger entered the small, yet elegant quarter.

Standing by the door was a man, tall and slender, but muscular. Clothed in a low-cut billowy shirt, which proudly displayed his detailed collarbone.

Dorothy was about to question him, to receive all the answers to her inquiries, yet her voice stopped before even reaching her parched throat; The man's stern gaze was so strong and so powerful, it made her stiff, much to her dismay.

For once, Dorothy could admit, she had met the most beautiful man she had ever laid her eyes on. His face looked to be in his early twenties, yet his soulful eyes seemed to contradict her hypothesis.

"Who are you?"

The moment she spoke, the man seemed to flinch, as if waking from a trance. In his hand was a glass of water as he strode toward the confused girl. "Have a drink, you must be thirsty."

"Why... thank you, Mr..." The man was so close now that her heart skipped a beat. His face was truly a beauty one should treasure, crafted by the gods ever so meticulously. A gentle scent of sandalwood and vanilla surrounded her, and she took that moment to learn and register his aromatic fragrance. "Pardon me, Mr. But I haven't caught your name."

He was different from all the other boys or men Dorothy had met as he had a handsome look uncommon to most people. Lacquered and enameled by the sun, he radiated energy and vivacity. His mountain peak cheekbones appeared chiseled into shape by a master craftsman. They were of such sharp contours, that it looked as if they were sculpted and pared to perfection. With eyes as bright and spellbinding as lode stars, they bewitched all those who fell under his steady gaze. They were a sparkle with mirth and shone, a perfect concoction between chocolate and caramel.

The man placed his hat on the end table beside the chair that he sat upon, his gaze ever so gently, grew soft, softer than cotton. Seemingly saying that there is nothing to be afraid of, Dorothy was welcomed. The girl could not ignore his revealed hair, so bleached by the rays that it had drained its color from brown to fine silver and blonde. Messy, yet at the same time, perfectly coiffed.

"You may call me Edward," he lent out a hand, which she graciously accepted, feeling his incredibly gentle, firm touch. "Though my full name is Edward Blackwood." His husky voice was as sweet as honey. "You, young lady, must be Dorothy Gale"

Dorothy halted as he perfectly uttered her name. Did he guess, or did he learn? If so, from who did he learn her name? The girl was shocked by his idleness as she was sure they had never met each other before. Certainly, she would recognize a man as irresistible and as bewitching as him. "How do you know?"

"How could one not?" He returned with a calm glint in his gaze. "The ebony brown hair, as smooth and as lively as the breeze. Those chestnut eyes are unmissably filled with constant wanderlust. A feature, not particularly beautiful, but held a certain lovely allure that could trap a man in a charming trance. Not much about your face had changed since your last visit" His words were uttered with utmost honesty and confidence as the man certainly believed in all the words he had spoken. "One must be a fool to not recognize you, Your Highness."

Dorothy forced herself to look away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze. Wishing the sprawled heat that crept up her cheek would wash away. "I am fluttered, Mr. Blackwood... But please, I can't help but ask; where am I?" The girl paused hesitantly as she tried to remember his exact words in her mind. "And I'm certainly not someone who deserves a title."

"But don't you deserve a title?" The man asked, crossing his arms across his broad, hard chest. "Certainly, a princess deserves to be addressed with much respect?"

"I can assure you, I am not a princess," she said with a nod and a frown that only expressed perplexity.

"Aren't you the Royal Highness, Princess Dorothy Gale of Oz,"

Her face dropped with much horror, registering the name she had blocked out years ago.