It was another perfect day in Oz.
The brilliant golden sun spilled its warmth and light over the rolling emerald hills, illuminating everything it touched and setting the world ablaze with the glory of the new day. All about the world was stirring, the denizens of Oz settling into their morning routines.
In one home, however, its inhabitant had woken well before the sun had coyly peaked over the horizon.
'Oh goodness,' Terry thought to herself. 'It's almost seven! Mr. Wogglebug is coming at twelve, I'll never get this finished in time!'
She cast a critical eye around her living room, trusty toothbrush in hand. Everything had to be just perfect for Mr. Wogglebug's arrival, so she had been cleaning her home in preparation. She had begun with a scrubbing brush, a dust-pan and a broom. Afterthree days and three nights her home was looking clean and orderly, but she had decided it simply wouldn't do. Perhaps it would be satisfactory to the Frogman, but for the brilliant, enigmatic, meticulous H.M. Wogglebug T. E. it needed to be flawless.
With renewed energy, Terry had grabbed her spare toothbrush and set to work scrubbing every square inch of the house until it gleamed and shone like the morning sun itself. Although most of the work had been done she still needed to scrub the inside of the cistern, behind the frames of the many portraits she had collected and proudly displayed on her walls (all, naturally, depicted Mr. Wogglebug) and dust inside the vases.
She quickly checked in on the breakfast muffins slowly rising in the oven. It was her fifth batch that morning, and she was proud to note that her last batch had contained an unprecedented three flawless blueberry muffins for Mr. Wogglebug. She knew they were his favourite and she had
placed each and every blueberry lovingly in artistic and aesthetically-pleasing positions to ensure that he would love them. She was certain that with his brilliant eye for detail he would notice her efforts and be pleased.
Cheerfully humming to herself, Terry headed for the bathroom and began work on the cistern. She had almost finished replacing the water with champagne when there was a knock at the front door. Terry frowned to herself. Who could that be? Hopefully it wasn't that show-off Ozma, or that tarty old hag Dorothy. Her heart skipped a beat. It couldn't be HIM, could it?
She flung her toothbrush aside and ran to the door, peeking through the knot it the wood that served as a peephole. Terry let out a strangled squeak. It was him, after all!
It was an unmitigated disaster! She hadn't finished her cleaning, she only had five perfect muffins, she hadn't showered since she had begun to clean her home and her hair was in a sloppy bun. Quickly, she pulled on the ribbon holding back her dark tresses and let them tumble gloriously to her shoulders. Nervously, Terry began unlocking her door.
"Oh! Mr. Wogglebug! You're early!"
The strange creature's pupils dilated with fear. 'Early', she had said. How had she known he was planning to come to her at all? And he hadn't told a soul when he planned to arrive! How was it that she was expecting him? He thought back to the day he had written in his journal 'Unfortunately, need Terry's help. Fate of the world is in my hands. travel will take approximately six days.
Should arrive at roughly noon'. He had thought it passing strange at the time that he had found his journal lying open after writing in it, when he was certain that he had left it locked in his desk. Perhaps she really WAS paying Frogman...
Mr. Wogglebug was snapped out of the dark gloom of his fearful musings as the door was flung open. Almost immediately, the young woman flung herself at the cockroach creature with a cry of 'Oh, Mr. Wogglebug! Embrace me!'
He could only look around, wide-eyed and trembling as he frantically searched for a way out of the kraken's grasp. He met the gaze of a passing Munchkin, who stared back hopelessly for a moment and then averted his gaze and hurried away.
After what seemed like an eternity the womanchild pulled away, gazing up at him with wide, enchanted eyes as she asked in what she hoped was a seductive purr
"Won't you come in?"
The cockroach man was no stranger to the darker side of life. He had participated in a shady Ozma University scam where he was paid to feed knowledge drugs to athletes in order to give them passing grades. He had gone on what seemed like neverending journeys with the kraken and Frogman, had been haunted by his darkest fears, and he even suffered Terry's affections.
Nothing he had been through before, though, had given him such a sense of hopelessness, doom and misgiving as stepping over the threshold into the domain of the young woman. Would he ever leave? Would he ever feel the warmth of the sun upon his flesh again?
Mr.Wogglebug did not know.
He swallowed hard. 'The fate of Oz lies in your hands,' he reminded himself. 'You must press on.' He followed the creature inside, feeling as if he were being swallowed by the shadows of the hallway. After she had ushered him into the sitting room and presented him with a large plate of bluebery muffins ('I'm allergic to blueberries... is she trying to kill me?' his frantic mind demanded to know). He solomnly opened his briefcase and told her
"You must reach in and pull it out, Terry. I dare not touch it, for in my hands it would wield a power too great and terrible to imagine."
She eagerly reached into the magical abyss of the Wogglebug's breifcase, her fingers encountering something metallic, smooth and cool to the touch. She grasped it in her hammy fist and withdrew her arm.
"What is it?" she breathed, taking in the dainty circular object.
"It is a circlet, but I fear it is no ordinary circlet. You must throw it into the fire for me, Terry."
A look of confusion came over her coarse features, and she protested with a hiss
"But it's sooo pretty! I want to wear it! It's just... precioussss.'
"No!" The Wogglebug snapped. "You must throw it into the fire!" He was distressed. The circlet wielded power over those who would use it for their own purposes. He knew he was too powerful and intelligent to escape its influence, but he had hoped Terry's dull mind would serve as a foil to the circlet. Perhaps he had overestimated her.
Just as he was about to demand she return the circlet to him so he could try giving it to Frogman, she did as he asked and flung it into the very heart of the fireplace. He breathed a sigh of relief and then watched the metal surface eagerly for signs of change.
'I'm bored,' Terry declared after a few moments. She opened her mouth to suggest he come to the bathroom and look at her sparkling cistern when the circlet began to glow, and strange markings began to appear along the band.
'It's some form of English!' Terry gasped, but Mr. Wogglebug shook his head.
"It's not English, it's the language of the Wicked Witches. In the common tongue, it says 'One circlet to control them all, one circlet to find them. One circlet to bring them home and in the darkness bind them.'"
Terry gasped, awestruck as she whispered "Mr. Wogglebug, that sounds so... freaking... cool!'
Angrily, the Wogglebug shouted "Don't be a fool, Terry! This is the One Circlet, the circlet that controls all the other circlets in Oz. If the Wicked Witches get their hands on it they'll take over Oz and cover everything in shadow. We must destroy it, we must cast it into the fires of Mt. Witchdoom! It's the only way!"
Terry regarded him, uncertain.
"Are you sure we can't keep it? It's really pretty."
The Wogglebug's head shook on its stalk-like neck.
"No, Terry. We must destroy it for the good of Ozkind. We cannot travel there my magic, we will have to go by foot. It could take many weeks, even months to reach our destination."
The woman's eyes widened at his statement, and Mr. Wogglebug could see the wheels slowly turning in her mind.
"Weeks, even months... with you?!"
The corners of his mouth twisting downwards in a grimace, the Wogglebug solemnly replied "Unfortunately."
However, Terry was hardly listening. She had jumped to her feet, her face flushed crimson with excitement as sweat beaded upon her brow.
"S'go, S'go!"
