Dorothy debe morir

-¡Mátala!-chilló Dorothy., tan fuerte que pensé que me reventaría los tímpanos-. ¡Mata a esa zorra!
-No te has enterado-dije, mientras me lanzaba hacia ella, bajando el hombro-. Tú eres la zorra. ¡Yo soy una bruja!

-Dime solo una cosa-le pregunté tras darme la vuelta. Ella se encogió de hombros, sin comprometerse a nada. No se había movido del punto en que la había dejado-. En el lugar de donde vengo hablan de Oz. He oído hablar de él toda mi vida. Pero esto está hecho un asco. ¿Qué ha pasado aquí?
El rostro impasible de Índigo se transformó en una mueca socarrona.
-Lo que pasó fue Dorothy.

No matter how tough you think you are, there are certain things that just get to you, and they're usually little things. The ones you don't expect.

I couldn't figure him out. Was he using me or did he actually care about me? Hell, I couldn't even figure myself out. Did I want to kiss him or punch him in the face?

With all the magic in Oz, with all the magic the witches had taught me, there was one trick I still hadn't mastered: how to make people stay.

[...] he was still standing within kissing distance.
- "That will never happen again", he began.
My stomach dropped. (Was it that awful?) I wondered.
- "But it would be too bad if it didn't happen once", he finished.

Power and magic flowed between us like when he'd first showed me what magic was. But it wasn't magic at all this time. It was something completely human. Things we couldn't or wouldn't say with millions of words were all there, all at once. Everything we shared and everything we were was contained in this single perfect moment.

He smiled a smile that looked like a secret.

I leaned back in my seat, knowing that with witches, it only tangled things up when you asked too many questions. It was easier to just wait for them to explain themselves.

He stared at me for what felt like the longest time. But he didn't say anything else.