There was the yellow brick road, and the red one, a green one, and a purple one, and it was somewhere not quite Oz where they intersected. There, at the meeting place came four Dorothies, who had each seen different things. They traded stories and adventures, of what had been and what was to come: who had lived and who had died and who had fled at the first sign of trouble.
The Dorothy of the yellow brick road had the most fulfilling story, she found herself and her strength and resolve and would return home after the brief respite she found in that place with the other Dorothies. The others were not so lucky. Of the purple brick road, that Dorothy never woke in the poppy field and slumbered there still except to dream herself to the intersection. The green one had become a resident of the Emerald City and had taken tutelage under the Wizard, and would one day become the Sorceress of the Emerald City and would never return home to Kansas and would die never knowing what became of her aunt and uncle and all the hands on the farm – she would be very lonely at the end of her days. And the Dorothy of the red brick road had it worst of all, her life as sanguine as the road she traversed: the Scarecrow had been set aflame and never extinguished, the Tin Man dismantled and cast in a lake, and the Cowardly Lion was eviscerated by the Flying Monkeys as he cowered in fear, his entrails presented to the Wicked Witch, who used the magic of the stuff to enslave Dorothy and keep her locked until the end of her days.
When all the tales were told, condolences and congratulations exchanged, the Dorothies parted ways and returned to where they came. Some, with the fierce desire to change their lot thought of killing yellow brick Dorothy and take her place, but found they could not step off their individual roads. Instead, they exchanged pleasantries and went back they way they came, each one alone except for their Totos, and each to their own path.