The wicked path: the chronicles of a witch

Chapter 1: The Green Flame

When I was young, Oz was a land of color, far more vibrant than the gray world I would come to know. I didn't understand what I was, or why I was different. The other children whispered behind my back, their voices carrying the same cruel edge as their laughter. They called me "Demi," though it was a name spoken with equal parts fear and disdain.

It wasn't just my skin, though that was the first thing they noticed—the deep green hue that set me apart, marking me as something other than human. It was the way I could make things happen. When I cried, the skies wept with me, and when I was angry, the winds howled with a fury that matched my own.

My mother, Meliora, was the only one who ever truly looked at me, not through me. She would cradle me in her arms, her voice a soft murmur of lullabies in a language older than Oz itself. She told me stories of my father, a being of immense power, who had left before I was born.

"You're special, my Demi-Athara," she would say, brushing a strand of black hair behind my ear. "You have a gift—a power that can change the world."

But in our small village, that power made me a pariah. The villagers were simple folk, their lives rooted in the mundane. They saw my abilities as a curse, and as I grew, so did their fear.

The day everything changed started like any other. I was thirteen, chasing the sunlight through the woods, pretending I was a bird, free and unbound by the weight of expectations. The leaves rustled, and the air smelled of earth and life. I found solace in the forest, away from the stares and whispers, where I could forget that I was different.

I didn't see the boys until it was too late. Three of them, older and bigger, cornered me near the creek. Their leader, a burly boy named Rodric, sneered as he stepped forward, blocking my escape.

"Look at the little monster," he taunted, his voice dripping with contempt. "Think you're better than us with your magic tricks?"

My heart raced as I backed away, stumbling over roots and rocks. I had never wanted to hurt anyone, but the fear in their eyes made my pulse quicken with something darker. It was a feeling I didn't yet understand, a surge of energy that bubbled up inside me.

"I'm not—" I started, but my voice trembled, betraying my fear.

"You're not normal, that's what you're not," Rodric spat, shoving me hard. I fell to the ground, and they laughed, the sound echoing in my ears like a cruel melody.

Something snapped inside me then, a flame igniting in the pit of my stomach. My hands clenched into fists, and the world around me seemed to blur. I felt the power surge through my veins, and before I knew what was happening, a green flame erupted from my palms, roaring to life.

The boys screamed as the fire licked at their feet, retreating in terror. I stood there, stunned by what I had done, the flames dancing at my fingertips like they had a life of their own. It wasn't until the fire began to spread that I realized the true extent of my power.

I ran, my heart pounding in my chest, leaving the flames behind me. The forest I had loved so much was now an inferno, and I knew, deep down, that I could never go back. Not to the village, not to my mother, not to the life I had known.

I was a danger to them all—a green flame that could destroy everything in its path.

And so, Demi-Athara, the girl with the green skin and the untamed power, began her journey down the path that would one day lead to her becoming the Wicked Witch of the West.