Prepare to embark on an exhilarating and daring escapade through the mystical realm of Oz, in this thrilling sequel to my previous adaptation of the enchanting book by L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. In Return to the Land of Oz, the fearl...
Dorothy pivoted away from the door, her shoulders slumping as she surveyed her confinement. This space, once possibly a lavish chamber fit for a royal princess, now exuded neglect and abandonment. The musty, stale air wrinkled her nose, a stark contrast to its former grandeur. It seemed as though Jinjur had stripped the room bare, repurposing it as a dusty storage area for discarded items. Memories of the eerie closets and ghastly heads flooded Dorothy's mind as she observed the room's desolate state. Dust lay thick like a shroud over the furniture and rugs, forming miniature dust-kittens perched atop tables and chairs. Cobwebs festooned the corners, veiling the room's once elegant features in decay.
At the room's far end loomed towering French windows swathed in heavy, dust-laden curtains, their former grace now lost to neglect. "What's our next move, Dorothy?" inquired Billina, breaking the silence. "I'm not sure, Billina," Dorothy replied wistfully. "Oh, Billina," she sighed, "if only we could soar away like you..."
"In my younger days, my dear," lamented the plump old hen. Dorothy turned back to their prison, her eyes welling with tears as she surveyed the desolation. Wiping her dusty face, she noticed a colossal painting askew on the wall beside the locked door. "Mom?" a voice unexpectedly echoed through the room, startling Dorothy and Billina. Peering around, they spotted a peculiar figure concealed behind a neglected potted palm, resembling a mishmash of sticks and joints.
The stranger's head, a vibrant orange globe, sported round dark eyes and a grin that defied his awkward appearance. Though unconventional in looks, his jovial smile eased Dorothy's sorrow. As she approached the stranger, she realized he seemed constructed from sticks, his fragile form contorted as if flung against the wall. His mismatched attire—purple trousers with a red stripe, a pink polka-dotted shirt, and other eccentric pieces—added to his peculiar charm. "I'm Dorothy Gale," she introduced herself, taken aback by the notion of being mistaken for a mother.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Dorothy started across the room to the strang-ersside, noticing as she got closer that he seemed to be made out of sticks. His fragile body was in lerible shape—a wreck, in fact—as if he had been thrown against the wall with great force.
His separated joints stuck out at awkward angles from his clothes. Dorothy wondered if it hurt him to be that way, but there was no sign of discomfort on his grinning face. His tangled clothes were bizarre and almost cheerful in their own right-purple uniform trousers with a red stripe running up their legs, a pink shirt with white polka dots, a red vest and an olive green scarf, high-topped shoes.
"Mom?" he asked again.
"I'm Dorothy Gale," Dorothy said. She had never been taken for anyone's mother before.
"Oh." The stranger's expression didn't change, but his voice seemed vaguely disappointed. "For a second there, you looked like my mom."
Billina had moved closer to him along with Dorothy. Still keeping a safe distance, she craned her neck to study him with a beady eye. "What is this... a man or a melon?"
