🖋 The Thorned Quill

From the Ink & Thorn Studio somewhere in Grimmveil

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz - Retelling

↪ A Grimmveil Fairytale

Written by L. Frank Baum and first published in 1900, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz is one of the earliest American fantasy novels and is firmly in the public domain. Long before technicolor dreams and singing scarecrows, this story was about displacement, survival, cleverness, and a girl who refused to stay lost.

This is not a dream. This is not a metaphor-heavy fever vision. In the original telling, Oz is real, dangerous, absurd, and oddly logical. Dorothy does not float through it. She survives it.

Now let’s begin properly.

Dorothy lived on a Kansas prairie so flat and colorless it felt scraped raw by the wind. She lived with her Aunt Em and Uncle Henry in a small wooden house that creaked under the weight of loneliness and dust. Her only joy was her little dog, Toto, who barked back at the emptiness like he could scare it off.

One day, the sky turned wrong.

The wind howled. The house trembled. A cyclone came roaring across the land, ripping Dorothy and Toto away before she could run to safety. The house lifted. The world spun. And then everything went still.

When Dorothy opened the door, Kansas was gone.

She had landed in a land bright as stained glass. The grass shimmered green. The air hummed. And beneath her house lay the very dead Wicked Witch of the East, crushed by accident rather than heroics. That part matters. Dorothy did not choose violence. It followed her anyway.

The Munchkins appeared, small and cautious, along with the Good Witch of the North. They thanked Dorothy for freeing them from tyranny. Dorothy, understandably, was confused and deeply homesick.

The dead witch’s silver shoes were placed on Dorothy’s feet. Not as a gift. As protection.

And yes, they were silver. Ruby came much later.

Dorothy asked only one thing. How do I get home?

The answer was simple and not comforting.

“You must go to the Emerald City,” the Good Witch said, “and ask the Wizard of Oz to help you.”

So Dorothy set out on the Yellow Brick Road, Toto trotting beside her, because she had no other choice.

Along the road she met a Scarecrow, stuck on a pole and convinced he had no brains. Dorothy freed him. He walked with her.

Then came a Tin Woodman, rusted solid in the forest, frozen mid-swing. Dorothy oiled him back to life. He believed he had no heart. He joined them.

Then a Cowardly Lion leapt onto the road, roaring loudly and trembling immediately afterward. He believed he had no courage. He came too.

Notice something. Dorothy never recruits them. She helps. They follow.

Together, they faced deadly poppy fields that induced enchanted sleep, savage Kalidahs, and a forest that tried very hard to kill them. Dorothy was not protected by plot armor. She was protected by thinking quickly and caring deeply.

At last, they reached the Emerald City, where everything glittered green because everyone wore green-tinted glasses. Illusion first. Always.

The Wizard agreed to help them only if they killed the Wicked Witch of the West.

This is where things get messy.

The Witch captured Dorothy. She tormented her. She stole one of the silver shoes. And in a moment of desperation, Dorothy threw a bucket of water at her.

The Witch melted.

Not intentionally. Not heroically. Accidentally. Again.

Power in Oz often ends because it cannot survive something simple.

Dorothy returned to the Wizard, victorious but exhausted. The Wizard then revealed the truth.

He was not a wizard at all.

Just a man from Omaha who arrived by balloon and never learned how to leave.

Still, he helped as best he could. The Scarecrow received a diploma and discovered he was brilliant. The Tin Woodman received a silk heart and proved he was compassionate. The Lion received a medal and became brave the moment he believed it.

Then the balloon left without Dorothy.

Yes. He forgot her.

Eventually, the Good Witch of the South revealed the truth. The silver shoes had always held the power to take Dorothy home. She only needed to know how to use them.

Dorothy clicked her heels three times and wished.

Oz faded.

Kansas returned.

And Dorothy woke in her own bed, surrounded by worried faces and a dog who never left her side.

She did not say Oz was a dream.

She said she was home.

Side Notes from the Thorned Quill

• Dorothy is not passive. She is practical.
• The magic shoes are not flashy. They are functional.
• Oz runs on belief, presentation, and confidence more than raw power.
• Every companion already had what they wanted. Oz just forced them to prove it.