The scene was set. The hairy flying monkeys perched atop the towers of the menacing castle. Unbeknownst to them, their wicked mistress was about to undergo a transformation.

Amid the stone cold chambers, the Wicked Witch of the West stood in her flowing dark dress, a vision of menacing elegance. Her face twisted into a cruel smile.

Dorothy, her heart pounding with fear and curiosity, held the bucket of water. Her blue eyes sparkled with a mix of apprehension and determination.

With a swift movement, Dorothy tossed the water at the witch. The liquid splashed onto the floating creature, making her gasp in surprise.

It began almost instantly. The witch's skin started to shimmer and change, her body quivering as the water made contact. She began to melt.

But instead of screams of fear or pain, the witch's laugh echoed through the chamber. It wasn't dread that filled her voice, but ecstasy.

Dorothy jumped back in shock, her eyes wide. She looked at the melting witch, her mind filled with questions. Was this the witch's enjoyment?

The witch continued to dissolve, her body now just a puddle on the floor. Her voice, now disembodied, echoed, "I'm melting... what a world..."

Her laughter and words echoed in the chamber, and the monkeys stared, silent and still. It was as if time itself had frozen.

With trepidation, Dorothy stepped closer, reaching out hesitantly to touch the puddle that was once the witch. The liquid witch felt oddly warm.

"You... you're enjoying this?" Dorothy asked in disbelief. The liquid witch confirmed it, her voice filled with joy and contentment.

It was something unique to witches, the pleasure of melting. It was a single, blissful moment they could experience only once in their lifetime.

The witch shared that witches wore skirts and dresses not just for style but to avoid sweating. Even a drop of sweat could trigger the melting process.

The monkeys looked on in sorrow. While they didn't understand the witch's pleasure, they would miss their mistress nonetheless.

"Does it..." Dorothy began, then faltered. "Does it hurt?" she finished, looking at the puddle of witch with wide eyes.

The witch's voice, now just a whisper, assured her it did not. The sensation was like a warm caress, soothing and calming.

Dorothy leaned closer, her blue eyes filled with wonder. It was a sight she would never forget - the melting, joyful witch.

The last remnants of the witch dissolved, leaving behind only her clothes. The dark dress laid empty on the floor, the only evidence of her existence.

Dorothy picked up the fabric, studying it. It felt normal, like any other fabric she had touched before.

The chamber was quiet now, except for the occasional whimper from the flying monkeys. They still sat there, looking at the spot their mistress once stood.

Dorothy sighed, her heart filled with a complex mixture of relief, sympathy, and curiosity. She had witnessed the strange, pleasurable melting of a witch.

She left the room, carrying with her the knowledge of the witch's peculiar pleasure. It was a piece of the magical world she was still learning about.

The flying monkeys, left alone in the room, began to stir. They looked at each other, uncertainty in their fuzzy faces.

The castle fell silent, a monument to the witch who had just experienced the strange thrill of her existence - the pleasure of melting.

Whether it was horror or wonder or both, Dorothy couldn't quite decide. But she knew, she had been a part of something truly peculiar.