Azkedillia

The Sorceress stood over the open grave and glared into the coffin filled only with silk pillows and stale air. Her entire empire was built on this? How could that be possible? How could she have missed something so basic?

More to the point, what else could she have missed over the years? She examined the faces of those around her, but none of them saw the significance of the empty casket. They were much too busy trying to anticipate what she would ask of them next or who she would take her clear anger out of.

Her mother would have answers. The Queen would tell her what she wanted to know and she would do it before her darling baby sister could take any more action against her. Too many annuals had gone by, too many steps taken toward the success of her plan, for one annoying little girl to spoil it all now.

155

She moved back into the room she had as a child. Not as big as the Queen's chambers, but an odd comfort. The colors are all different, the furniture had to be changed because she grew to her full height, and most of her childhood toys have long since been discarded. Still, it was her room.

In the evenings, when she'd had enough of people she couldn't truly speak to, she retired to that room and wandered it. Her fingertips brushed over the spaces where the toys had once been. She could almost feel them and that moment when she realized she could not was the closest she came to tears.

Alone in the big bed, without even the mobats to keep her company in her dreams, she slept restlessly. She wanted simple things, but they would not come. Everything was complex and frightening, full of traps she couldn't begin to understand anymore.

She woke with a start one morning, certain something was wrong. Something had changed. Rolling slowly onto her back, hoping that whatever was there might think she was still sleeping, she reached out to find the knife she kept under her pillow.

Rather than the cold steel, she found fabric. Not the silk of her pillow, this was rougher and worn. She opened her eyes slowly. Under her fingers was a stuffed doll. As the sleep cleared from her eyes, she realized she knew the faded fabric and loose buttons. The doll had been hers. Many more annuals ago than she could easily remember, that doll had sat on her pillow every night.

She sat up, clutching the doll to her chest and looked around wildly. DG stood in the door to her room, watching her with a curious smile. She cocked her head and shrugged at Azkedillia's unspoken question. "Mother found it in her room, behind a bit of furniture. Thought you might like it."

Nodding, Azkedillia rocked the doll and put a hand out to her little sister. Together they curled back under the covers. After a long while, Azkedillia started speaking. "I was given it just before you were born. To have something of my own." She smiled gently. "I loved it very much, but around the time you started to crawl, I decided you were better."

383

There are certain assumptions made about what happened to Azkedillia while the witch possessed her and about who she is now. Even within her family and their closest circle guesses are made at how she survived. Only DG, who saw her that way for such a short time, comes close to getting it right, but even she has more compassion than knowledge.

It's not their fault. Who wants to talk about such things, particularly when every word is a reminder of a crime perpetrated? She thinks sometimes that Cain understands that the fears and voices in her head won't ever go away, but asking him means hearing him tell of the cries that echoed in the tin suit.

Once she was all powerful, strong and certain. Her body controlled monsters and could cause death with a deep breath. Soldiers and scientists, courtiers and coal miners all cowered before her. She was a god. Now that was all gone and sometimes she missed it.

There was no one who could understand that.



171

( Let me be more clear; if you behave in a manner pleasing to most, then you are probably doing something wrong. )


192

Azkedillia sat at the conference table with her parents, her sister, and their closest advisors. Some were DG's companions during her return to the OZ. Others were people who had survived the witch's reign. No one looked at her as if she didn't belong. Many of them asked her opinion. Some of them even did so about things beyond the lingering influence of the witch's touch.

Through all the questions and discussions there was one clear assumption. Azkedillia was not heir to the throne. It remained to see if DG would be. She was still settling in and finding her feet. Her choice of consort would make a difference. After everything that had happened, nothing could be counted on. There were people who thought DG might leave, might go back to the Outer Realm.

Azkedillia listened to the latest round of tributes being offered from around the OZ and sighed softly. None of it was for her and it never would be. She caught DG's questioning expression and smiled. She didn't want a bit of it. Not one tiny bit.

180

Set during the mini-series when Az was still possessed, poor dear.


Her guards waited outside her chambers until the conversation appeared over. Whatever cues they used to determine its completion, they were wrong. It never ended. From the day her sister left her alone in the, the voice of the witch rarely stopped. Azkedillia's every action and emotion received comment. In the beginning the witch's words were designed to seduce and reassure, but when the Queen was overthrown, the voice changed.

The first night they could wander their castle and feel completely assured that no one would touch them, that they were truly in power, the witch laughed. She'd laughed before, but this was a different sound. Of every sound she'd made, this one chilled what was left of Azkedillia the most. And what was left hid further inside.

Just before receiving word that someone was coming through the storm, the witch's voice changed. There was a touch of anger to it, which wasn't new. Underneath that was something else, something Azkedillia couldn't recognize. All she knew was it irritated her, like a mosquito buzzing in her ear.

When they realized who the girl was, Azkedillia finally figured out what the growing sound was. It was panic.


Azkedillia, Sorceress of Tin Man,196

I have looked into the future. It takes more than a looking glass, no matter how it is shaped, but it can be done. It takes the life's energy of a being who does not always want to see. I found my darling sister that way. The viewer could tell me she still lived, something I had no idea of. To say it was a shock would severely understate matters.

The future always is. No matter how you look into that glass, it never turns out the way you expect. Mother says if it did, there would be no point in doing anything, but I believe I'd like the certainty of it.

If I could look into a glass again, just for myself, I would know if there is a way to feel truly whole again. I might see if my family will welcome me with more than words. Perhaps I would know if my name will be remembered for more than the near destruction of our world.


Azkedillia, Sorceress of Tin Man, 168 words

No one knows me. Mother thinks she does because she kept looking for me under my skin. Father and DG don't pretend. All of my men and those who followed me when I was not myself....well, that says it all, doesn't it?

I could bear all that if only I knew for myself. I don't.

They keep looking to me for answers about what happened. I don't have them. I would give anything to present them with a simple solution to the ills the witch caused in my name. I don't have it.

Time will tell if the OZ can heal. I have doubts about myself.