As the Emerald City basked in the contentment of newfound courage, heart, and brains, a shadow of longing clung to Dorothy, for whom the lustrous streets and verdant walls could not replace the windswept plains of Kansas. Among her companions, satisfaction had blossomed; the Scarecrow was brimming with profound, albeit solitary, thoughts, the Tin Woodman's metallic chest echoed with the thrum of tender compassion, and the Lion strutted, a creature fearless and formidable. And yet, Dorothy's heart ached with a homesickness that not even the most brilliant emeralds could cure.
Then, as a break in the clouds offers a ray of hope to the weary traveller, Oz himself summoned Dorothy into his grandiose presence, dangling the promise of a return—not with certainty to Kansas—but an escape from the grips of this fairyland. And from within the bustling throne room came a scheme as whimsical as the land itself; they would take to the skies in a contrivance of silk and hot air, crafted by their own hands—a balloon, glowing as green as the city that dreamt it into being.
