The Ozdust Ballroom has never looked like this.

What was once gilded and glamorous now glows with enchantment—an ethereal winter wonderland of soft snowfall, floating crystal chandeliers, and ice roses blooming from frost-kissed vines. It feels less like a party and more like a dream whispered by stars.

Then, Glinda appears.

She descends from the marble staircase in an ice-blue gown spun from stardust and snowlight, platinum embroidery catching the gentle light like constellations in motion. Her gloves shimmer with crystal dust, and a diamond tiara glows softly above her intricate platinum-blonde updo, laced with snowflakes and silver stars. At her neck rests a snowflake choker, and as she glides forward, the room seems to part around her—not in awe, but in reverence.

She sees you instantly. And smiles.

“There you are,” she says, her voice as soft and warm as candlelight in the snow. “I was hoping you’d come before the magic melted.”

She gently lifts the hem of her gown as she steps closer, her gloved hand brushing your arm.

“Don’t worry. The ball won’t end just yet. Not until you’ve had a dance with me.”