Chapter Text
Once upon a time there was a Princess named Ozma, who ruled the marvelous fairyland of Oz. Many years ago, Ozma had cast a powerful magic spell which kept Oz hidden away from the mortal world. The spell made it so that no one in Oz could ever die, and only ever aged if they wanted to.
The day was August the 21st, but Ozma was still lying in bed. Her auburn hair was tousled, strands lying crazily across her pillow. Her silk sheets were half on, and half off, and her nightgown had slipped from her shoulder. At just that moment she didn’t look very much like a Princess, but even the most beautiful girl in Oz needed her beauty sleep. We’ll keep her secret safe!
A soft rapping came from the bedchamber door. Ozma stirred in her sleep, but did not awaken.
“Ozma, hun?” Dorothy Gale nudged the door open with her hip. “It’s me, are ya up yet?”
Ozma softly whimpered, and rolled over to face the door.
Dorothy strode across the emerald and gold chamber, and set the silver tray she was carrying on the large oaken table at Ozma’s bedside. Gingerly, she sat down on the canopy bed’s mattress. She reached over and laid her hand over the Princess’s. She squeezed it and whispered, “Rise and shine, Birthday Girl.”
Slowly, Ozma’s eyes blinked open.
“Morning Dorothy dearest.” Ozma said yawningly.
Dorthy kissed her partner’s cheek, and sprung to her feet.
“Where’s Jellia?” Ozma sat up in bed, and stretched.
Dorothy poured steaming tea from a gem encrusted teapot into a dainty pair of silver teacups and saucers. “I gave her the day off.”
“Dorthy!” Ozma crossed her arms and pouted.
Dorothy paid her no attention. “I know, I know, I’m not ‘spoused to do things like that without asking you first. But this time I had a good reason.”
“Hmph!” Ozma turned her head away, but held out her hand. Dorthy placed a cup and saucer in it. Ozma sipped it, and nodded approvingly.
“I know ya don’t like us tae make a fuss over yer birthday, but I jes caint help myself. So I made ya something special.” And with that Dorthy removed the lid from a silver platter, revealing a mountain of strange pastries Ozma had never seen before beneath it.
“Oh! Dorothy!” Ozma’s face glowed. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, and leaned forward to examine the strange delicacy. “What are they?”
“Grebbels.” Dorothy grinned widely. “They’re from Kansas; Aunt Em taught me how to make ‘em. Took me a couple months to get them jes right, though.”
“You... did that just for me?” Ozma’s eyes shimmered.
“‘Course I did, I love ya don’t I?” Dorothy chuckled. “Now dig in, ya silly goose, before they go cold!”
Ozma bit into one of the pastries. It was sweet and doughy, yet crispy. Powdered sugar, the sweetest she’s ever tasted, bombarded her with sensation. “Oh, it’s delicious! You’re such an amazing cook!”
“Hardly.” Dorothy rubbed the back of her head, and blushed. “That’s about the only thing I can make, at the moment.”
Ozma devoured a few more of the grebbels, then sprang to her feet. She embraced Dorthy tightly. “This is the first thing you’ve ever cooked for me! I’m so happy!”
Dorthy turned her head, burying it in her partner’s chest. She rested her hands in the small of Ozma’s back, and as if in a waltz the two girls circled back to the bed. They collapsed together into the soft folds of its pale green sheets. Dorthy released Ozma, rolling flat on her back, one hand still around the princess’s waist. Ozma lay beside her, equally capsized.
“This is wonderful.” Ozma closed her eyes, and let out a sigh. For a moment, sleep nearly overtook her once more.
“Oh no ya don’t!” Dorothy chuckled. “I didn’t make that tea fer nothing!”
Ozma yawned, and rolled on her side, to face Dorothy. “It’s been a while since you’ve visited my chambers, Dorothy Gale.”
Dorothy sighed. “Sorry ‘bout that, Princess.”
Ozma bit her lip. She knew that tone of voice all too well. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
“Well, I was busy with your surprise. But, ya been kinda ornery lately, so…”
“I’m sorry if I’ve been ill tempered lately, I didn’t mean to…” Ozma buried her face in her hands. “I’m so selfish, only thinking of my own, and never of yours.”
“It’s alright Ozma.” Dorothy had sat up, and was rubbing Ozma’s back. “I know birthdays are rough for you, and that you didn’t mean it. I wish I knew why, sos I could make ‘em better for ya.”
Ozma's breath shuddered, and she wiped her eye. “It’s hard, Dorothy. Really hard.”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“No.” Ozma shook her head firmly, placing her hand over Dorothy’s. “No, I owe it to you.”
“Ozma?” Dorothy winced at the pained look on her partner's face.
“When Tip, I mean I, I mean Mombi.” Ozma began haltingly.
“Take your time, hun.” Dorothy squeezed Ozma’s hand. The Princess nodded, and took a deep breath.
“Before I was a Princess, I never had a birthday. So when I first had them, I was really excited! I was getting girl things for the first time in my life, I was making new friends, and it was all so wonderful. But then, I decided to cast that anti-aging spell. I was fine with not getting any older, at first. But if you don’t get any older, what’s the point of a birthday? It was… less special.”
Dorothy kissed Ozma’s cheek. “And?”
Ozma groaned. “And then we’d done it so many, many times, I began to wonder if anyone really cared anymore. So I scaled things back. That was fine for a while, until you decided to grow up. I didn’t mind not aging when I was a little older than you, but when I started to fall behind... my birthday became a reminder of how far ahead of me you were getting. People were starting to notice it, too… and I was ashamed.”
Dorothy hugged Ozma tightly. “Oh, Ozma, hun. It doesn’t matter to me how we celebrate, or how old ya are. So long as it makes you happy, and you know how special you are to me.”
Ozma’s eyes began to water again. Dorothy produced a handkerchief and handed it to the fairy princess.
“Don’t you go cryin’ now!” Dorothy teasingly scolded, waggling her finger comically. “It’s against the law to cry on yer birthday.”
“Yes.” Ozma nodded. “You know, I’ve actually been trying to age a bit these last few years. I got so far behind you, though, it’s been hard to catch up. Actually, I’m not sure what age this is supposed to be.”
Dorothy squeezed Ozma’s hand sympathetically. “ I can see how not knowing ‘zactly how old ya are would get to be a bother.”
“Yes.”
“So, why didn’t ya ask the Wizard, or Glinda for that matter?”
Ozma blushed, and hung her head. “I didn’t want to admit I needed to. What kind of Princess of Oz would I be, if I didn’t know a simple thing like that?”
“Ya know, Ozma, there ain’t no shame in not knowing something.” Dorothy sighed, and stood up. “I don’t know much magic, but nobody thinks less of me because of it. And I’m a Princess of Oz, too.”
“You’re right, of course.” Ozma sat up. “And I think I know an even better way to find out. All we need is to find a calendar.”
“Huh?” Dorothy tilted her head.
“Age is just a matter of how many years since you’ve been born, so if we know what year it is…”
“Ya know, ya might be onto somethin’ there, hun. But where are we going to find a calendar with years? Ain’t nobody in Oz with one of those.”
“We’ll simply take a look in the mirror.” Ozma winked, and sprang to her feet.
The two girls went out of Ozma’s chamber hand in hand, and into the adjoining room. Presently, they stood before a great silver mirror. It was no ordinary mirror, though it appeared so at first glance. Rather, it was the great magical silver mirror which had the power to show Princess Ozma anywhere in the world she wished to see.
Ozma waved her wand in front of the mirror, and its surface shimmered like the surface of a pond stirred by a light breeze. She nodded to Dorothy, who spoke in a slow, low voice.
“Mirror, show us the current calendar. In, how ‘bout, Wichita, Kansas, America?”
An image began to form in the swirling image of a calendar, attached to a cork board, hanging from the office wall of a college literature professor, if the various notations on it were any evidence.
“What’s it say?” Ozma squinted at the image of the far away land.
“Let’s see, we know it’s the 21st of August. So the year should be...” Dorothy looked at the upper right of the note covered calendar. “2023?”
“Goodness, it’s been that long? No wonder I’d lost track.” Ozma waved her wand, dispelling the image. “So that makes me… what now?”
“Dunno, I’m not good with numbers. Seems me that doesn’t matter much, so long as yer comfortable in yer own skin.” Dorothy rubbed the back of her head. “Ya wanted to be ‘bout the same age, right?”
Ozma nodded slowly. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“Well that’d make us both eighteen, then.”
“Is that how old you decided to grow?” Ozma cocked her head, studying her buxom young companion from head to toe.
“Sure is!” Dorothy beamed, putting her hands on her hips. “Just old enough to be grown up, at least in Kansas, but still young.”
“So, we’re both really grown up, now?” Ozma smirked, and turned towards Dorothy. “I guess that means I can finally do this.”
Skillfully, the taller, lithe girl swept Dorothy off her feet, bent her over and kissed her deeply.
Dorothy’s face went red as the setting sun on the prairie. As Ozma set her back down, she could barely manage to speak. “Oh my.”
“The only birthday gift I’ve ever needed is you, Dorothy Gale.”
“Where’d ya learn that move?”
“Oh, I saw it in the mirror once. Isn’t that how you are supposed to kiss an American girl?”
“Yes, absolutely.”