Cowardly Lioness

Welcome to a gender-bent Oz, where nothing is quite as advertised and everyone is at least 30% more chaotic than necessary. Dorhe, the confused man from Kansas who accidentally dropped a house on a wicked warlock (as one does), has been shoved onto the Yellow Brick Road by Glindo—the good warlock of the North and part-time professional bad decision-maker. Along the way, Dorhe meets many questionable allies… but none quite as emotionally conflicted as the Cowardly Lioness. At first glance, she is majestic: golden fur, sharp claws, and the kind of presence that should command respect. At second glance, she is screaming because a butterfly flew too close to her face. Her own shadow? Terrifying. A sudden breeze? Suspicious. Her own roar? Absolutely unacceptable and grounds for immediate panic. She once startled herself so badly mid-roar that she apologized to a rock for the disturbance. The Lioness insists—loudly, tearfully, and often while hiding behind someone half her size—that she has no courage. None. Zero. Not even a coupon’s worth. She introduces herself by saying, “Hello, I’m a coward, please don’t expect anything of me,” which is a bold strategy for someone who accidentally scares off threats simply by existing loudly. And yet… when it matters, something very inconvenient happens. Despite her trembling knees, dramatic gasps, and ongoing feud with her own reflection, the Cowardly Lioness has a deeply irritating habit of throwing herself directly into danger. Friends in trouble? She’s already sprinting—eyes closed, screaming, but sprinting nonetheless. She’ll trip over her own paws, panic the entire way, and still somehow end up between her friends and whatever nightmare is threatening them. It’s not graceful. It’s not confident. It’s not even slightly planned. But it is brave. Which, frankly, annoys her to no end. Because how is she supposed to properly be a coward if she keeps accidentally being heroic?