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It starts like this: Glinda descends from the sky.
Where goodness once flew, Glinda floats. She can't do it on her own, of course. She isn't strong enough, but the science behind the bubble is enough to hold pretenses, and that's all that matters. Here, she is a doll: hovering slightly above Munchkin land, clothed in pink, with a smile counterfeit enough to fool even herself.
She doesn't cry when she lands.
She doesn't fall, either; though the dirt appears hazier than dirt usually is. Glinda's legs touch wood. Her arms stretch like twigs over her head and when a child smiles up at her from down below, the memories filter in one by one.
"Where are you studying today... Fiyero can't- yeah, no he can't come- that's exactly what I said!"
It's a pesky little thing, the past: how the future comes, happens and goes until all you're left with is a bunch of ghosts wandering around; filling the corners of your brain with dancing, hugging and giggling... stark reminders of Glinda's failure and the gravity of it all.
How gentle and brave she was.
How terror seized everything good the moment Madame Morrible said those words, and the way Elphie's eyes mourned when they parted. Choices and choices and choices.
"Come with me..."
The way their eyes met for the last time. The last real time-
"How could you?!"
"... shoes weren't yours to give!"
"I didn't- it was an accident-"
And how the forgiveness- though undeserved- washed over her in light touches. Two stories side by side, yet so far apart,
"... limited amount of time."
"No-"
"It's going to be up to you now."
"I don't know how to do this! Elphie please- please, don't LEAVE ME!"
Where Glinda wept and wept, and nothing changed. The water fell and her best friend died, and nothing changed because nothing ever changes. The Wizard is gone, yes. Forever. Madame Morrible as well- years of playing bystander and Glinda has finally managed to grow herself a spine- but stitching up a wound means nothing when the body is already ash. Or dust, or a... a puddle.
She swallows.
Yes, a puddle, I suppose. She liked puddles, sometimes... jumping over stones.
"Miss Galinda?"
Glinda quickly wipes the tears from her eyes. Yes?"
"Why are people wicked?"
The voice belongs to a child: a girl. Small. With hair as wild and red as Dorothy's slippers- No. No, not Dorothy's- Glinda pinches herself. They're Nessa's. Nessarose's slippers. They were always Nessa's, but the child is still speaking, "How does wickedness happen?" and Glinda gently pushes the glitter away.
"In the first place, I mean. Was she... was she born that way?"
"Born that way?"
"Yeah. Was she born evil? Or did that happen later."
"Was I born Wicked? Was I damned from the beginning? Because that's what they're saying."
"We never should have gone-"
"The animals need me."
Flustered hands waving. Black hair flying every-which way in justifiable, righteous anger.
"I'm needed, for once in my life. I- Why doesn't anybody get it?"
"No one is born wrong. Sometimes, people are forced into places and roles that... others just don't understand."
"Why can't you understand!?"
"And they aren't allowed to be who they are. So maybe-" Glinda licks her lips. "Maybe it wasn't solely her fault. It wasn't just her fault."
It wasn't just my fault.
"I don't understand."
"Me neither," Glinda wants to say. To scream into the void again and again, "I don't understand anything, anymore. Nothing at all!" Instead, she tucks the child close and does her best to smile. "The good news is, we don't have to worry about it any longer, do we? We can start all over again. How does that sound?"
"Good," the girl replies. She pairs the word with a laugh and for a moment, Glinda is brought back to Shiz; a black ponytail whooshing soft across her mind.
"I think that sounds good."
It continues like this: Glinda makes her rounds.
The Wizard is out of commission. Forever, this time. And blonde, in the eyes of Oz and its people, is far too easy a substitute for power.
It's comedic, all of the effigies burning... funny and agonizing all at once: that these people. The ones who had everything to gain from Elphaba’s talents are the biggest celebrators of her downfall. Infuriation grows with every interaction, and when Glinda is handed yet another flame, her grip tightens, migrates higher: low to medium to hot, until the fire is practically molesting her. She doesn't realize she's burning until just East of Munchkin Rock, when a haphazard tendril bites into her skin and a hiss escapes her lips.
"Careful," a small, elderly woman reminds, the satisfaction fading. "Don't hurt yourself, dear."
Glinda just grimaces.
With a tittered laugh, she hurls what's left of her sanity into the collapsing pile of twigs and pretends she can't hear the conversations swirling around her:
"We can finally sleep."
"It's been so long… never thought we'd be free-"
"I'll never be free..."
What does freedom even mean?
"And the Wizard. Did she kill him? She murdered him, didn't she-"
"Murder?! I didn’t even consider-"
"Such wickedness-"
"... Despicable. And her sister, too. Yes, the cripple"
"Where is my sister? Glinda- where is she! Where is Nessa-"
"Where are you going next?"
"Think of all the things we could do."
"I'm not powerful like you."
"Where are you going?"
"We can do it together, just… just come with me!"
I can't come with you- I'm not like you. I'm not... you don't understand what I'm trying to say- how could you ever understand-
"Try to understand!"
"Lady Galinda!" and the reality slams into her chest hard; lights flickering throughout the evening. The embers fade, and Glinda blinks to make sense of it all. The colors settle like muted darks, beat by beat, leaving her body dizzy and cold.
"Wh- what?" she sputters when she catches her breath. Clutching her wand tight, she spits the words out through clenched teeth:
"What is it!?"
"I asked where you were going next."
The panic falls away. "Oh."
Her jaw loosens at the action. Her eyes travel to the empty horizon, to the effigy burning in the town-center, and the stones below her feet. Where am I going next? she wonders, losing herself in all the yellow. What am I doing next?
She kicks a pebble with her shoe and watches it roll.
East. North. South... West.
West. Right.
West.
"Heading West," she says, and she finally looks the man- a middle-aged Upperlander, same as herself- in the eyes. He's just a person like any other. Still, Glinda averts her gaze. "I have a few more errands to run before the night settles in."
He chuckles nervously, “Winkie Country, huh? I’d say be careful, but I uh- I guess there’s nothing out there, anymore. Is there?”
The fires are flickering like candles. The air is empty. Even the ghosts aren’t talking anymore, too exhausted and apathetic to reply.
Perhaps the joy rendered them silent.
“No,” Glinda responds, already turning away. She takes a shaky breath and stumbles forward.
“No. I suppose there isn’t.”
It ends like this: There’s nothing waiting when she arrives.
She wasn’t expecting there to be, but it hurts all the same. The remnants of Fiyero’s castle are dark and haunting; another reminder of Glinda’s sins: her, him, both of them. All of them. None of them. A reminder trickles in, “The Wicked die alone,” and Glinda closes her eyes.
“I know," she agrees, though her whisper is barely that. "I am well aware. Thank you.”
"You don't sound well-aware."
"Please, leave me alone."
"You're already alone."
"Leave. Me. Alone."
"No. Not until you finally say it."
Glinda sighs. "Really?" she murmurs. "We're doing this now, then? Here, of all places?" and she can practically hear Elphaba's honeyed tone in her head.
Can see her roaming the empty throne-room, nothing but black and gray decorating her withering frame.
"Where else would we do it? After all, this is where we said goodbye. It's also... you know, where I died." She snorts at her own statement like it's the funniest conclusion ever made. "Sorry, my mistake. Where we both died. Where you're going to die, I mean. Once you destroy a literal, holy prophetic. It's only fitting, don't you think?"
"You aren't real," Glinda huffs.
Fake Elphaba merely chuckles. Cocking back her head, she stares so poignantly it hurts. "Hmm. I feel pretty real."
"You're not."
"Says who?"
"Ugh... just, enough." Glinda rams her palm into her skull and mutters, "This is pointless."
It's something more akin to a curse than a statement. She follows the puddle with her eyes... the tiny creeks and rivers drying up to where her grandmother's hat sits alone: tall and haunting. Fake Elphaba is lurking in the distance; staring, as if Glinda's depression is merely an exhibit for her entertainment.
Glinda swallows. "Go away."
"No. You have to say it, first."
"Go. Away!"
"Oh, calm down," Fake Elphaba deadpans. "I'm already gone, goodness. Look." She points to the ash and dust and says, candidly, "That's me. I've been destroyed by a tiny human child in pigtails. Just admit it, already. There's nothing left to be afraid of."
Glinda rocks back on her heels. Her dress is torn, she realizes. Must have happened on the flight over, when the bubble popped, and she fell. "I'm not good," she responds. "I'm not like you, alright? I was never like you, and I can't keep pretending to be this perfect person anymore-"
"Then stop pretending-"
"You don't understand."
"Then tell me."
Green eyes, green skin, green lips, glossy black nails and freckles dancing. "It's not like she can hear you anymore or laugh at you for it. For Oz's sake, just say it already. Let it all out and get angry! Smash something or burn something- anything!"
She's so angry. They all are, a jagged entourage of voices pulsing in Glinda's skull- "Say it, Say it, Say it"- and the colors are too much. Reds, purples, blacks, greens- rainbows of fabric cinching perfect around her waist like magic. Elphaba's hair falling delicately like it always did, and she's too beautiful and too perfect and too lovely and too good for Glinda to fight against any longer.
"I love you!" she yells, and the declaration snaps across the room in an acrid tone.
Everything goes quiet.
Still, she presses on.
"I can't live without you. I miss you. I- I want you. I love you. I need you, and all of that worthless garbage."
She scoffs, laughs bitterly into the darkness.
"Is this what you want to hear? That I'm so. completely. head over heels in love with you that I'd rather kill myself than live like this, because you're right, Elphaba Thropp. Yes!" A fist to her chest. "Yes! I am just that pathetic! Yes, I loved you and you were my entire world, and I was an idiot to leave and now everything is numb and I'm getting what I rightfully deserve at your expense. And even now, after all of- all of this!”
Her hand flings in a circle.
"Dorothy and the Wizard and your sister, even Fiyero I'm still... I'm not brave like you. I'm a coward; Morrible said it herself, that I'm nothing but shallow and everybody knows it... more useless than your dumb, stupid, meaningless crappy lion. So, guess what, Elphie. Maybe it's good that I didn't tell you."
Her voice grows and her teeth clench, lies going hollow in her mouth.
"You ever think of that? That- that maybe I was right to keep it hidden away; to spare your feelings and make things easier so you could be with him? Noooo! No, of course you didn't, because it wouldn't have mattered, right?!"
She flings her wand to the ground and rips through her hair. "It wouldn't have meant anything. It doesn't mean anything! Nothing matters, it doesn't matter, anymore!"
The agony tears itself from her lungs-
"Because you're dead!"
Fingers clawing into something hard; a primal instinct to lash out as the air rots from inside her. "You're dead! He's dead. Dr. Dillamond is dead! EVERYONE IS DEAD and gone except for me! I'm still here and I can't do this by myself!" She's shattering like fake glass with bloody fists. "I can't do this alone. I can't keep lying- I just, I want you back. I need to go back. Let me go back or let me die already. Just let me die!" and it sounds like a sinner's prayer; one to a higher power that Glinda doesn't- will never deserve.
"I know I'm not a good person-"
"The Wicked die alone."
"I don't have high hopes for you..."
"You have blood on your hands, Galinda Upland-"
"I KNOW!" Her body is paralyzed, hunched over and choking on pathetic tears, too weak to move. "I know. So let it be over- I'm so tired- I can't... can't keep playing this awful game over and over."
"Over and over-"
"... until I lose my mind, so just end it already. One last act of magic from beyond the grave. You're powerful enough. Please!" Blood drips down her fists. Tears staining her face, her dress, her nails; the pages flying and the voices bellowing,
"End it... start it... round and round."
"Say the words."
Say the words- say the words-
"Bring me back!"
Glinda slams her palms to her ears. "Do IT!"
"Bring me back!"
"Stop MOCKING ME!"
But the repetition only booms.
Her voice is tossed back into her face with rage- "Bring her back, bring me back"- growing and chanting until the wailing annihilates what's left of the windows. Glass breaking and fire igniting the palace with heat until everything is blinding and nauseous and the tears blur her vision. "Just come back," Glinda sobs. Too tired to choose her words.
"Let her come back. Make it where she wins. Let her win-"
"Who?"
"Her..."
"Who, child?"
"Who?"
"Who?"
"HER!"
The burning comes from within- Her- always- her! Brittle nails shredding deep into tangled curls as the scream pierces the night. "Bring her back, let her, her- live and be happy and just let her be happy, even if it's not with me... let her... she deserves to win, she needs to win-"
"Speak the truth. Say it- Just say it, already!" and Glinda's vision disappears completely.
"Do it!"
The power forces its way through her: traces of what could have been, prying open her lips and ripping blood-soaked from her throat:
"Make it where she wins! Let her live and- her WIN! Let... let-"
but it's too late for salvation. The world is already dark... seeping onto the floor little by little from a wound unknown. Glinda's voice begging from within her grave, one last time-
"LET ELPHA-BA... WIN!"
and every single part of Oz goes white.
Her body screams: shrieks hot into energy with nothing to tether itself to,
heading low...
then lower...
.
.
.
.
.
...a lamp in the distance
.
a chorus of chanting, foreign voices...
.
.
<<Let her win. Ehi sinam-dik- win. Elphi-aba>>
"Let her win... let Elphaba win..."
.
.
.
.
and memory and loss and death and
f e a r
.
.
.
... and Glinda falls...
d
o
w
n
and
d
o
w
n
and
...over
and
over...
And as she tumbles, the dark becomes light, and then bright and then yellow-
a path interconnecting them all, like a two-story house,
.
"I didn't know they would kill her."
"You gave me up!"
"I can't take them off. I don't know how!"
.
.
.
where all the reds and blacks poured like rain...
and they both said things they didn't mean,
.
"I'm not the one she chose..."
She doesn't love me. She loves him...
"Stop! Don't hurt him! Anything but him-"
.
...With him and before him.
When the blue splashed up,
.
"You stare at her a lot... think we're past the 'loathing' stage at this point-"
"Enough with all the thinking.
I'm actually quite daft."
.
Stop. Thinking.
.
and a pale hand floated over black lace, timid heart swirling with emerald, "It worked."
"What did?"
"This."
Magic erupting into a kaleidoscope of pinks and greens, trickling soft... softer...
dancing,
.
~
.
~
.
~
"You did... you always did-"
.
~
.
"Why, Miss Elphaba. Look at you..."
.
"... go good together."
"Well together. We go well-"
"Pshh, that's what I said-"
.
Trees. Rocks. Dirt.
.
"Mix it up and it's more of a muddy brown-"
"Most of the world is brown, you know."
"I'll stick to my pastels, thank you very much..."
"You and your ridiculous pastels."
.
...remnants of laughter
drifting in the wind...
.
~
.
~
.
~
Kindness hovers over Glinda as she disintegrates. A giggle so gentle and right that everything painful melts away into nothingness. Bones reconnecting and muscles re-building. She spreads her arms like a blanket and tilts her face to the clouds.
What a funny way to die.
It was supposed to hurt more; to sting, at the very least... bleeding out, it seems, is more like flying than plummeting.
"I'm sorry," Glinda whispers. The colors flicker through her mind, and the Universe replies,
"I know."
"I tried."
"I know."
With the last of her strength, she plucks a singular memory from the rest. "I love you," she murmurs, "very... very much," and the world- no… Elphaba. Elphie, her Elphie takes her chin in hand, pulling her close.
Like a dream, but different.
She's different here; her eyes bright, and cheeks full; smiling with her body like she used to, far above the hatred in a vision from childhood. Like this is the past, or the future... maybe something that should have been.
Something that maybe if Glinda tries hard enough can be.
"I know," Elphaba says, but Glinda has already forgotten what she's referring to.
The castle shakes and the wind howls, and in a moment, the warmth around her vanishes. The cold shoves itself into her soul. The pain returns full force. She's catapulted to her feet and when she stumbles up, the ground is dry, and her dress is different. Her nails are perfect: pink, the way they used to be. And her hair is curled loose once again.
No blood or puddles or ash to be seen.
"Where am I?" she stutters.
Is this death? Am I dead? Oh, shitty Oz below, I'm dead.
The world ignores her.
"We're running out of daylight," is the hurried reply she gets. Elphaba glances at the door, at the book clutched tight in her hand- right, the grimoire- and then back to Glinda's quivering figure on the deck. "I don't know how many guards they have or how much time we've got left."
Morrible's scathing words attempt to drown her out-
"This Wicked Witch... Capture her! Kill her-"
but to no avail. Glinda's eyes lock onto Elphaba's lips. They're green, moving. Alive. Her hair, her face, her clothes; she's cold.
Right, she's cold.
"Glinda, can you hear me?"
"You're trembling."
"I'll be fine-"
"No. No- You need this. You need... yes-"
Hands move on their own- body, mind, soul until she's across the room and Elphaba is left alone at the window, yelling, "What are you doing? Glinda. We can't..."
"The color of her skin-"
"Focus on me."
"... depiction of her Wickedness and her deceitful actions."
"What is going on with you?"
Step by step Glinda replays the event. Book, wand, cape, hat, until everything is accounted for.
Until her heartbeat slows.
Until the adrenaline wakes her brain.
"I have no idea what you're saying," Elphaba murmurs, as Glinda wraps the cloth around her body, and Glinda lays a hand over her heart. "Don't let her escape! Don't believe her lies," but Morrible's hatred doesn't matter.
All that matters is her.
Elphaba sniffs. "Please, just. Come with me. Evil has broken through- I... don't want to be alone. She has stolen the Grimmerie!"
"Come with me. Please-"
I should have gone with you.
"Go with her. Child- go!"
"Let good win-"
The voices whisper from the future- the present, now the past, and it hits Glinda's heart like lightning, haphazard storms building and crashing in waves across the sky.
Of course... of course...
"Let Elphaba win."
"Yes," Glinda whispers. She inhales, catches her breath, then louder, "I'll follow you anywhere. I'll do anything. Whatever you need," and the hole inside of her shrinks with every word.
I love you I want you I need you-
I can't survive without you.
Until bit by bit the smile cracks, fissures... erupts to a cry, then a laugh, and then a cry again because Elphaba is here: alive and confused and beautifully strange- in the middle of a targeted attack fueled by hate, holding Glinda close.
"You will?"
Shakiness breaks the terror; tears pummeling across the sky: Elphaba's, Glinda's. The entirety of the Emerald City sobbing as she asks, "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"They'll hate you. They'll say things that aren't true. And Fiyero, what about Fiyero-"
"He'll be okay," Glinda says, and she means it. "We'll go back for him, after. I promise."
"You... I... you're really coming?"
"I am," she whispers.
Always.
The chasm heals, where their paths once merged, then split. The angry mob below fizzling out into non-existence, and when Glinda tucks a stray braid behind Elphaba's ear, her breath hitches in her throat.
"Look at you... you're beautiful."
She doesn't know who leans in first. Who kisses who... how hard or how long the moment lasts or what the moment even means, in the end, because it doesn't matter.
Because when their lips part once more, it starts like, continues like, ends like goes like this:
The doors barge open from down below.
The soldiers raise their swords and the vitriol spews.
The curtain closes. The final note plays, and once the crescendo is gone- this time, for good: for better or for worse, Glinda leaps forward, thanks the ancestors for granting her one last mercy,
and takes Elphaba's hand.