A Single Red Rose, by isla rose, R
--- --- ---
It is dangerous for her, but Elphaba must visit his grave. There are things she needs to say, and perhaps, when she sees his name carved into bright white marble, she will be able to believe it. Her informant, her own sister, spat the news from her mouth with no trace of the affection that had once simmered - only simmered - between them. Nessarose was not prepared to comfort nor support her sister through her grieving, having been blaming her for so many things for so much time.
Elphaba could not muster the strength to return her little sister’s hatred. If she was not already damaged, maybe the black look in the younger woman’s eyes would’ve broken Elphaba. It hurt to see that loathing, but it could never be reciprocated. She was still her little Nessa, and although Elphaba couldn’t be there hiding in her shadow, ready to strike at the first sign of trouble, she would continue to watch over her. Somehow, Elphaba had convinced herself that little Nessa would be ok without her.
The green witch does not wear her hat and cloak - items which have become trademark for her - but a simple black coat with the hood pulled as far over her eyes as it will go. She runs the stem of a single rose, its petals screeching crimson, between gloved fingers as she stands before his grave. His name is there, the dates of his birth and death, and a short, sweet message Nessa must’ve chosen. It’s all there, clear. Elphaba is appalled, for she feels nothing.
No anguish or grief.
No love and no anger.
Not even any pity.
And then she is comforted with the absence of guilt. Nessa blamed her, but for once, Elphaba didn’t adhere to this belief. She had not killed her father.
The words ring through her mind, so pure and obvious that she looks around, half-expecting to see her standing there. “That may be your secret, Elphaba, but that doesn’t make it true.”
A slow, sad smile spreads across her face. She feels foolish for thinking she was there, even if it were only for a second. However, the pain that takes the place of the shame is something she’s suppressed for too long already… But still, she cannot cry. She wants to, perhaps even needs to, but she cannot.
She places the rose before her father’s grave.
She glances across to the place where her sister lays, a crypt she will never visit.
And then, having said none of the things she came here to say, she walks away.
Even though Death is following her, waiting for its chance to strike and seize her forever, a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. She is still folded into herself as she walks, but she seems lighter now.
But still broken.
--- --- ---
Emerald hands run over one another as she chants, her voice quiet and desperate, though she isn’t sure what for. It might be to free an Animal and give him the strength, the courage, he needs to talk again. It might be a prayer for her sister. It might be a spell to summon her. Elphaba doesn’t know. And the numbness which is beginning to embrace her (an effect of dying, she supposes) means that she doesn’t much care, either.
Somehow, she just wants her back.
It shattered her at the time, and there are still shards of glass in her heart, but she is glad that her girl opted out. Glinda had viewed the situation with a calm clarity which a part of Elphaba envied. Glinda had been the wise one, who had foreseen the ramifications of going along with Elphaba. Glinda does not have to live in secrecy, and Glinda does not have to die alone.
Her chanting ceases suddenly, and Elphaba strokes her upper arms with opposite hands, eyes lowered. The tiny blonde has been invading her thoughts since they last parted, but the green witch has been too busy to linger on the presence. Now, she stops and battles with her mind. Why does it torment her so?
And what is she doing anyway? Chanting and pacing without a purpose, waiting for something - anything - to happen.
She stands in the same spot, unmoving, and tells herself that she’s being ridiculous. You chose this, Elphaba. You knew what would happen.
She half-wishes she’d never gone to Shiz. Then she would be safe. Lonely as she’d always been, feared for her strange complexion, but blissfully… not hunted. And her heart wouldn’t bleed for her; that pretty, popular little blonde who had become the only friend Elphaba would know. The only true love she’d ever experience…
And of course, she could have her faith in the wizard back, the one thing she had clung to as if it were her anchor to survival.
Elphaba felt spiteful for taking this away from the Ozians. She knew, perhaps better than anyone, what it felt like to have that belief ripped from you. Even with your body numb and your head aching, you would be certain your heart was breaking.
How could he do that to us? To me? Elphaba finds herself stopping for the first time to address how badly the Wizard had hurt her with his perjury. He’d been her only hope… Instinctual reactions had managed to keep her from feeling this emotion, but in this lonely chamber, there it is. Echoing off the damp and crumbling walls is her pain, and she doesn’t want to deal with it.
Loss.
Her mother. Dr. Dillamond. Fiyero. Her father. Nessa. Galinda.
The wizard.
Glinda.
It dawned on her suddenly that this was her great loss. Not any of her family members, not even the wizard, but Glinda. Her Glinda. “I hope you’re happy.”
If she is not, none of this would be worth it.
Elphaba is dead, even though she is still here. Even when Fiyero was still with her, she was dead. Sometimes, if she closes her eyes tightly enough, she can almost feel Glinda beside her. And when she opens them, she is once again dead…
She lowers herself to the ground, crossing her shaking legs. And still, she cannot cry. Perhaps a more sensible part of her knows that it is fruitless. Instead, an overpowering sense of guilt blankets her: she shouldn’t be doing this to the people of Oz. Not only would she shatter them like she’d been shattered, but they would forever think her wicked for exposing their Great Wizard.
“Well, I'll say this, she doesn't give a twig about what anyone else thinks.”
“Of course does. She just pretends not to...”
She does not want to be hated - in fact, it has always been her dream to become the opposite, though she knows it is not possible now - she just wants to be honest. The Ozians don’t deserve to be hurt, but they are owed the truth. Maybe then they’ll begin to think for themselves…
It seems more likely that they’d unite in their blind hatred for the Wicked Witch of the West.
But as long as Glinda knows.
As long as Glinda knows that her Elphie is not the witch they profess her to be.
--- --- ---
“Elphaba.”
The sound is a whisper of an echo, a trick of the wind. But she whips around, and this time, her shoulders do not sag, her eyes are not bruised with predestined disappointment. She is rigid and hopeful - truly hopeful - for the first time in far too long.
And then she remembers why, and feels foolish for allowing herself to be deceived. The faint smell of decaying flowers and sweet perfume is a taunt, not a reality.
“Elphie…”
The green witch closes her eyes and bows her head, ebony hair falling about her face so that she does not see someone step through the shadowed doorway. It’s the creak of a floorboard which makes Elphaba look up, and then there’s a choked sob. Neither is sure who produced it.
“Glinda?” She asks with a hitched breath, not yet able to trust her own senses.
The small blonde nods slowly, a crooked smile capturing her face, all precise and perfect, just how Elphaba remembers. Glinda Upland looks tired, she notes, and a solitary hair has dared cling to a bead of sweat on her brow. But she’s still very much her Glinda. Very much perfect.
Her eyes travel to the blackened rose, held limply between two of Glinda’s fingers. Elphaba reciprocates the smile, almost guiltily.
--- --- ---
She doesn’t know why, but today, she has chosen to visit the grave of Nessarose Thropp. Silently, Glinda the Good blames herself for the untimely death of she who would come to be known as ‘The Wicked Witch of the East’, and she hopes visiting the place where she lies may help ease the guilt.
It doesn’t, not really.
She speaks to the headstone, but finds the speech rallying back to one simple, common denominator. Elphaba. After a while of awkward silence between the blonde and the macabre tomb, she gives up. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and stands to leave.
Red catches her eyes, stark in the grey graveyard. She moves towards the source robotically, eyes saucer-wide and low. It is a single red rose. Glinda picks it up carefully. A few petals float away from the flower. ‘Fucked up funeral confetti,’ she thinks uncharacteristically.
Shaking, she walks away.
--- --- ---
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you,” Elphaba admits, but Glinda shakes her head and swats the air with her hand. They both know it wasn’t ‘nothing’, like this motion suggests, but Elphaba appreciates the gesture.
Glinda’s hands are cupping Elphaba’s emerald face and coaxing her body into relaxation. She silently asks for eye contact, and Elphaba’s eyes dart about for a short while before she grants her blonde friend’s request.
It is a strange thing, for a dying person to smile so honestly, contentedly. But she does, and Glinda thinks it’s beautiful, even as the tears finally - finally - fall from Elphaba’s dark eyes. Behind the watery veil, there is clarity, relief and heartbreak. Over and over again.
“And none of it seems to matter anymore.”
The two women stay like that for a few moments, exploring each other’s faces, studying every new line and every old one that they’d nearly forgotten about.
“Fiyero?” Glinda questions, and Elphaba hears her hesitance. The green woman smiles awkwardly, shrugs one shoulder and shakes her head. In that, she communicated to the other woman the whole story. How Fiyero had returned to her at Kiamo Ko, where they continued to reside in secrecy and out of love. How Elphaba had told him to leave her and try to salvage whatever was left of his life, and how they’d agreed that she should be the one to remain at the castle. “Oh, Elphie…”
The note of sympathy rouses a soft laugh and a gentle cluck of the tongue from Elphaba. “Don’t, Glinda. It was never right.” In her mind, she adds ‘do not pity me’ on to the end of the sentence. She thinks ‘I love you’, though a simple and more complicated “I didn’t love him,” comes out.
The taller witch sucks in a breath, preparing herself for what Glinda has to throw at her. She deserves it; she fell in love with Glinda, then told herself she loved Fiyero out of sheer fear… for, completely out of her league though Fiyero was, Glinda was further away. She was completely unobtainable. And so, she’d stolen her best friend’s fiancé, and for what?
What Elphaba doesn’t expect is a pair of dry and hot lips against her own.
Instinctively, a hand falls to Glinda’s waist, which she uses to steady herself. Glinda strokes Elphaba’s soft, green cheek, brushing away her tears. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, my sweet.”
“Yes, but I thought you were dead.”
Elphaba chuckles. She is surprised at how easy this is. “You win.” As ever. She smiles, watching victorious delight wash over Glinda’s dainty features. Then, as they stare at one another, smiles begin to slip.
Soft lips are parted by a gentle tongue, which strolls into battle with the other woman’s. Glinda drops the rose, and as it falls between them to the cold ground, a few more petals drift away. Taking Glinda’s hand in her own, Elphaba glances down at the flower, hating it for everything it represents and adoring it for leading her Glinda home.
--- --- ---
The halls of Kiamo Ko cheer as their mistress walks through them for the first time in months. Elphaba has been living in the tower, reading and writing and waiting, and now, she finally leaves. Chistery had returned to her just hours after she’d been ‘melted’, and had become her only companion after Fiyero had left. As they make their way down the corridors, the taller witch tells Glinda all about how the winged monkey can very nearly hold a conversation now, and Glinda smiles and nods and laughs, genuinely thrilled. She has missed Elphie’s passion.
Creaking open the doors along the corridor is an exercise Elphaba engages in as much for herself as for Glinda. She peers in each room for a moment, as though she has forgotten what is hidden behind the doors. It also means she doesn’t have to look at Glinda for too long just yet.
The pair reach their destination after what must, surely, have been an age. One of awkward - yet, somehow, pleasant - silence and unspoken questions, of forgotten dreams that were destined to fail... Elphaba experiences them only in her nightmares now.
“I don’t know whether you… This is…- ” The green woman stumbles over her words, her cheekbones darkening to her verdant equivalent of a blush.
“He never brought me ho-… here.” Glinda, as always, smiles good-naturedly. She has wandered into the room and started to examine it with wonder.
“Bedroom,” Elphaba finishes quickly, shifting from foot to foot in the doorway. Glinda, perfect Glinda, doesn’t hear her for quiet pleasure. Elphaba isn’t aware she’s smiling. More so, Elphaba is not aware that her thoughts are pouring out of her mouth. “Glinda, listen, I don’t think we should talk about Fiyero anymore. I mean, he’s gone, and we haven’t seen one another for years and I don’t want to spend the little time you’re to be here talking about him. It’s just-”
A pair of soft, cherry lips quieten her. “You brought him up, Elphie.” It is a gentle reminder, but something in Glinda’s eyes makes Elphaba feel immediately guilty and begin to apologise. Glinda waves an arm, places one hand in front of her flushed face and pulls it away slowly, as though sucking all embarrassment and awkwardness from her. Then, she discards it with a flick of her hand.
“You never change,” Elphaba snorts, affectionate.
Glinda merely laughs.
--- --- ---
Silence had been adorning the room for several minutes, though it was not of the awkward sort. No, this silence was one of acceptance, the prologue to a new conversation.
“Are you happy?” Glinda looks across to Elphaba slowly, confused but smiling.
“Well, I couldn’t be happier,” the blonde laughs sardonically. “And you, Elphie?”
Their eyes meet, and Elphaba’s lips upturn into a smile to match her blonde companion’s. She has hoped - prayed to a god she never had faith in - every day since the day she began to die, for Glinda. She wishes Glinda’s answer were true, but at the same time, a part of her feels - what is that, pride? - at Glinda’s inability to forget her.
Elphaba doesn’t need to give an answer. They both know she has only been truly happy once, and that had been for the briefest of times. Glinda being here, now, rouses the memory of how that feels within Elphaba.
They move towards one another cautiously.
Fingers interlace first. They are sat together.
Knees turn inwards. Eye contact again.
“Unadultered loathing.” They both think it in that moment and smirk.
They’ve grown up so much since then.
A green hand on a pale thigh.
A pale hand on a green cheek.
A kiss, longer this time.
“Glinda-” Elphaba catches Glinda’s hand as it begins to stroke her thigh and drift inwards. She shakes her head apologetically.
“It’s ok, Elphie,” Glinda says, though Elphaba can tell that, though it is ‘ok’, it is also scary for her. She doesn’t understand.
“It’s not you, my sweet.” That silence descends once more. “Glinda, look at me. It’s me.”
“It’s not her… she has nothing to do with it. I’m the one you want. It’s me.”
Elphaba shivers, dropping Glinda’s hand and moving away from her quickly. The same day she’d screamed those words, she’d told the little blonde that she wasn’t afraid. She had lied. As she looked down at Oz’s guards and a crying, proud Glinda, she’d felt more terrified than she’d ever thought possible. In this moment, she remembers that fear and scolds herself for letting it affect her after all this time. It must be the death talking.
Glinda stands and moves to the door. The panic is evident immediately on Elphaba’s face, who whips around quickly, hands bunching in her cloak. “I’m just going to find us something to drink…”
--- --- ---
Glinda took her time, making Elphaba wonder whether she had misjudged the look in her eyes, the one which suggested that she’d come back.
And then Glinda returns to the room, a chalice in each hand. She smiles gently as Elphaba breathes an obvious sigh of relief. The time alone has given Elphaba chance to think, rationalise herself, and her renewed confidence is evident as she moves towards Glinda. She takes the glasses from her and sets them down on a dust-coated table. Then, she takes Glinda’s face between her hands and kisses her, breaks away, and nods.
They tumble over to the bed in a whirlwind of limbs, a green and cream blur.
Suddenly, they feel like teenagers again, and laugh. Elphaba remembers exactly how it felt, her first time with Glinda. Neither of them had been expecting it, though it was as if it’d happened many times before. An emerald hand had ghosted over the flat plane that was Glinda’s stomach and wide eyes had met as it drifted lower. The blonde had swallowed slowly and nodded when Elphaba raised her eyebrow.
This time, there are no raised eyebrows, but there is still hesitance and fear and excitement. Elphaba removes Glinda’s shawl gently, lowering her lips to an exposed shoulder as she does so. A single finger follows the path of the dress’s zip as she undoes it, making Glinda shiver, before the plain white number is pulled over her head.
Elphaba sighs and smiles, eyes low and alight as she admires Glinda’s still-perfect form. A quaint blush creeps onto the blonde witch’s cheeks, like had always happened when Elphaba surveyed her in that perfectly admiring way.
“It was never right because of you, Glinda,” Elphaba mumbles into Glinda’s neck, reluctant to bring Fiyero up again but desperate for her friend to understand. “I told him to leave because I love you.”
“I know,” Glinda smiles, but she is also telling Elphaba to shut the hell up about Fiyero. “I love you too, Miss Elphaba.”
Elphaba’s hand drops to Glinda’s centre, and in response, she pushes her hips forward. Elphaba peels away Glinda’s dainty undergarment and traces her with two shaking, spindly fingers. They move closer together, and Glinda instigates a kiss.
Green-tinged lips break away from cherry ones and fall to Glinda’s bare chest, where she scatters soft, wet kisses, before taking a peaked nipple into her mouth. She savours the shiver and the moan.
“Elphie…” Her back arches, hands tangling in the other woman’s raven tresses. She bites back a scream when Elphaba pushes two lean fingers inside of her. Her thumb strokes her sensitivity, and Glinda begins to breathe shallowly, clinging to the taller woman like her life depends on it.
It doesn’t take her long. Elphaba pumps into her, adding a third digit at a time Glinda cannot pinpoint in her addled mind. She moans and curls her fingers in Elphaba’s hair, pulling her closer. The sight is something quite wondrous, Elphaba notes, realising how much she has truly missed Glinda in the very moment that her body begins to shake.
Elphaba isn’t sure whether she actually whispers the words ‘come for me’ or whether she just thinks them. She snakes her free hand around Glinda’s back and splays it, forcing their torsos flush together. Elphaba’s hold is solid and soft, and Glinda feels safe - flawlessly safe - for the first time since she and her best friend parted. Incoherence tumbles from Elphaba’s lips as Glinda comes, whispering Elphaba’s name raggedly. Porcelain skin is traced with an ardent tongue, which leaves shining silver in its path.
--- --- ---
The two women stay together, the only movement being Elphaba’s fingers pulling out of Glinda and moving to her mouth. Once, this had been routine for them, and every time, Glinda’s eyes had darkened as she watched her lover taste her, tongue flicking out to meet her glistening fingers. Elphaba is thrilled when the blonde’s reaction is the same as it always had been. She presses a kiss to her forehead, then to her slightly-parted mouth.
“You left it for me, didn’t you?” It is Glinda, her voice husky, who breaks the silence. Elphaba loosens her grip on Glinda, one hand caressing her pink cheek, the other drawing smooth circles on her hip.
“I knew you’d know. I knew you’d find me if you wanted to.”
“But why did you wait so long, Elphie?” Elphaba flinches at the hurt ringing through in Glinda’s voice. She bridles and blushes.
She does not have an answer, so mutters a quiet, “I’m sorry.”
“I thought it’d get easier, but it didn’t,” her voice is cracked, and Elphaba’s heart melts. “I thought I’d start to miss you less, but I wouldn’t.” She looks Elphaba directly in the eye, “I thought I’d start to love you less, but I couldn’t.” Silence and a single tear. “Six and a half years, Elphaba.” More tears. Emerald fingers stroke flaxen curls out of a reddening face.
“I’m so sorry, my sweet.”
Glinda continued, acknowledging the apology only with a single shrug, “But you came back to me, and that’s all that matters.” She cries quietly for a few moments, Elphaba pulling her close and stroking her hair affectionately, tears stinging her own eyes. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“And I, you.” Elphaba had been weak in leaving the rose as a cryptic message, because Glinda was safer without knowing she was alive. The Wizard may have been gone, but Oz still hated her. It was better for everyone if she just hung around, floating like an insignificant speck, and waited for Death to claim her. She’d stopped running some time ago.
Glinda’s hands unravel from Elphaba’s dark hair and begin to travel her harsh curves. She notes that her Elphie has gotten very thin, too thin, and she frowns. Still, she continues to adore the green body with dainty hands, wondering whether this might’ve contributed to Elphaba’s earlier reluctance. But still, she is beautiful. Glinda tells her this, and Elphaba looks away, smiling. “You are.”
“Ok.”
“May I?”
“Ok.”
--- --- ---
“What happens now?”
The question lingers for longer than it ought to, much longer than is comfortable. Glinda’s head is rested on Elphaba’s chest, one hand lying still against her stomach, the other twirling a long lock of black hair. Elphaba strokes Glinda’s hair slowly, chewing her bottom lip as she considers her reply.
“I... You-” She stops, sighing, “You have to go.”
Glinda stiffens and sits up. “Excuse me?”
Elphaba holds Glinda’s watery stare for a moment. Then, she shakes her head and takes both of Glinda’s hands. “Please, listen to me…”
“No, Elphie. Because you’re just going to tell me to ‘go and make good’, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“Then why? Why are you telling me to? Why can’t I stay here, with you?”
Elphaba hesitates, drawing the dark sheets around the both of them and tracing circles against the back of Glinda’s trembling hands. “You deserve-”
“Better? What about you, Elphie? Don’t you deserve some happiness for once?”
A tiny voice, one that doesn’t belong to the green witch, speaks next. “No.” It’s a poignant gunshot to signal the end of… something.
Glinda shakes her head. “No?”
“No.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I don’t. I can’t.”
“Why?!”
“Because I’m dying!” Elphaba seizes the blonde, pulling her close and burying her nose in her hair. “Glinda, I was a hunted woman. I’m dead. You’re Glinda The Good. I’m not willing to let you throw that away.”
“Say I want to?”
“I’d rather send you away and give you life and you hate me, than let you stay and drag you down with me. This is it for me, Glinda. I have nothing to offer you. Please, please don’t sign your life away.”
Glinda tells her best friend, her lover, of her unhappiness, of how Elphaba will be signing her life away by turning her away, of how she’d rather go down with her than fly. They argue for what must be like hours.
It ends with quaking bodies, Glinda’s tear-stained face between green hands once more, and a slight, reluctant nod.
--- --- ---
The nights are as dark as ever, and for reasons she can’t quite comprehend, this shocks her. Perhaps she’d been expecting some drastic change, but there came none. There was no dim light, flicked on to represent how she could finally start to move on, having received closure.
She sits before the window, her face rested in one hand, an enchanted red rose in the other. “It’s a metaphor,” Elphaba had smiled, pushing the flower into Glinda’s hands. The goodbye was the longest of Glinda’s life, and she’d clung to a green hand and kissed a sad, dark mouth and begged for a change of heart.
There came none.
Elphaba had prised her hands away gently, tears stinging her deep eyes, her jaw set to help stop them from falling. A tiny sliver of green and black was all Glinda could see of Elphaba as she walked backwards, crying, from Kiamo Ko castle.
She had stopped when Elphaba and the doorway in which she stood started to merge and blur, and she brought the charmed rose to her lips. She closed her eyes, stroked the stem of the flower, and then she was alone. Kiamo Ko became still and lifeless once more.
Ever since that night, the night that came too soon, the night that forced Elphaba and Glinda out of bed and apart forever, it has become routine for Glinda to sit in a chair at her window. By day, she is Glinda the Good, and she stands before Oz and she inspires and she is everything they want her to be.
But every night, when she is alone and she is simply Glinda, she sets down with the flower in her hands. For exactly an hour, she stays, and she watches and she waits.
And every night, Glinda is convinced she sees - just for a second - a slither of emerald crossing the silver moon.
It is dangerous for her, but Elphaba must visit his grave. There are things she needs to say, and perhaps, when she sees his name carved into bright white marble, she will be able to believe it. Her informant, her own sister, spat the news from her mouth with no trace of the affection that had once simmered - only simmered - between them. Nessarose was not prepared to comfort nor support her sister through her grieving, having been blaming her for so many things for so much time.
Elphaba could not muster the strength to return her little sister’s hatred. If she was not already damaged, maybe the black look in the younger woman’s eyes would’ve broken Elphaba. It hurt to see that loathing, but it could never be reciprocated. She was still her little Nessa, and although Elphaba couldn’t be there hiding in her shadow, ready to strike at the first sign of trouble, she would continue to watch over her. Somehow, Elphaba had convinced herself that little Nessa would be ok without her.
The green witch does not wear her hat and cloak - items which have become trademark for her - but a simple black coat with the hood pulled as far over her eyes as it will go. She runs the stem of a single rose, its petals screeching crimson, between gloved fingers as she stands before his grave. His name is there, the dates of his birth and death, and a short, sweet message Nessa must’ve chosen. It’s all there, clear. Elphaba is appalled, for she feels nothing.
No anguish or grief.
No love and no anger.
Not even any pity.
And then she is comforted with the absence of guilt. Nessa blamed her, but for once, Elphaba didn’t adhere to this belief. She had not killed her father.
The words ring through her mind, so pure and obvious that she looks around, half-expecting to see her standing there. “That may be your secret, Elphaba, but that doesn’t make it true.”
A slow, sad smile spreads across her face. She feels foolish for thinking she was there, even if it were only for a second. However, the pain that takes the place of the shame is something she’s suppressed for too long already… But still, she cannot cry. She wants to, perhaps even needs to, but she cannot.
She places the rose before her father’s grave.
She glances across to the place where her sister lays, a crypt she will never visit.
And then, having said none of the things she came here to say, she walks away.
Even though Death is following her, waiting for its chance to strike and seize her forever, a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. She is still folded into herself as she walks, but she seems lighter now.
But still broken.
--- --- ---
Emerald hands run over one another as she chants, her voice quiet and desperate, though she isn’t sure what for. It might be to free an Animal and give him the strength, the courage, he needs to talk again. It might be a prayer for her sister. It might be a spell to summon her. Elphaba doesn’t know. And the numbness which is beginning to embrace her (an effect of dying, she supposes) means that she doesn’t much care, either.
Somehow, she just wants her back.
It shattered her at the time, and there are still shards of glass in her heart, but she is glad that her girl opted out. Glinda had viewed the situation with a calm clarity which a part of Elphaba envied. Glinda had been the wise one, who had foreseen the ramifications of going along with Elphaba. Glinda does not have to live in secrecy, and Glinda does not have to die alone.
Her chanting ceases suddenly, and Elphaba strokes her upper arms with opposite hands, eyes lowered. The tiny blonde has been invading her thoughts since they last parted, but the green witch has been too busy to linger on the presence. Now, she stops and battles with her mind. Why does it torment her so?
And what is she doing anyway? Chanting and pacing without a purpose, waiting for something - anything - to happen.
She stands in the same spot, unmoving, and tells herself that she’s being ridiculous. You chose this, Elphaba. You knew what would happen.
She half-wishes she’d never gone to Shiz. Then she would be safe. Lonely as she’d always been, feared for her strange complexion, but blissfully… not hunted. And her heart wouldn’t bleed for her; that pretty, popular little blonde who had become the only friend Elphaba would know. The only true love she’d ever experience…
And of course, she could have her faith in the wizard back, the one thing she had clung to as if it were her anchor to survival.
Elphaba felt spiteful for taking this away from the Ozians. She knew, perhaps better than anyone, what it felt like to have that belief ripped from you. Even with your body numb and your head aching, you would be certain your heart was breaking.
How could he do that to us? To me? Elphaba finds herself stopping for the first time to address how badly the Wizard had hurt her with his perjury. He’d been her only hope… Instinctual reactions had managed to keep her from feeling this emotion, but in this lonely chamber, there it is. Echoing off the damp and crumbling walls is her pain, and she doesn’t want to deal with it.
Loss.
Her mother. Dr. Dillamond. Fiyero. Her father. Nessa. Galinda.
The wizard.
Glinda.
It dawned on her suddenly that this was her great loss. Not any of her family members, not even the wizard, but Glinda. Her Glinda. “I hope you’re happy.”
If she is not, none of this would be worth it.
Elphaba is dead, even though she is still here. Even when Fiyero was still with her, she was dead. Sometimes, if she closes her eyes tightly enough, she can almost feel Glinda beside her. And when she opens them, she is once again dead…
She lowers herself to the ground, crossing her shaking legs. And still, she cannot cry. Perhaps a more sensible part of her knows that it is fruitless. Instead, an overpowering sense of guilt blankets her: she shouldn’t be doing this to the people of Oz. Not only would she shatter them like she’d been shattered, but they would forever think her wicked for exposing their Great Wizard.
“Well, I'll say this, she doesn't give a twig about what anyone else thinks.”
“Of course does. She just pretends not to...”
She does not want to be hated - in fact, it has always been her dream to become the opposite, though she knows it is not possible now - she just wants to be honest. The Ozians don’t deserve to be hurt, but they are owed the truth. Maybe then they’ll begin to think for themselves…
It seems more likely that they’d unite in their blind hatred for the Wicked Witch of the West.
But as long as Glinda knows.
As long as Glinda knows that her Elphie is not the witch they profess her to be.
--- --- ---
“Elphaba.”
The sound is a whisper of an echo, a trick of the wind. But she whips around, and this time, her shoulders do not sag, her eyes are not bruised with predestined disappointment. She is rigid and hopeful - truly hopeful - for the first time in far too long.
And then she remembers why, and feels foolish for allowing herself to be deceived. The faint smell of decaying flowers and sweet perfume is a taunt, not a reality.
“Elphie…”
The green witch closes her eyes and bows her head, ebony hair falling about her face so that she does not see someone step through the shadowed doorway. It’s the creak of a floorboard which makes Elphaba look up, and then there’s a choked sob. Neither is sure who produced it.
“Glinda?” She asks with a hitched breath, not yet able to trust her own senses.
The small blonde nods slowly, a crooked smile capturing her face, all precise and perfect, just how Elphaba remembers. Glinda Upland looks tired, she notes, and a solitary hair has dared cling to a bead of sweat on her brow. But she’s still very much her Glinda. Very much perfect.
Her eyes travel to the blackened rose, held limply between two of Glinda’s fingers. Elphaba reciprocates the smile, almost guiltily.
--- --- ---
She doesn’t know why, but today, she has chosen to visit the grave of Nessarose Thropp. Silently, Glinda the Good blames herself for the untimely death of she who would come to be known as ‘The Wicked Witch of the East’, and she hopes visiting the place where she lies may help ease the guilt.
It doesn’t, not really.
She speaks to the headstone, but finds the speech rallying back to one simple, common denominator. Elphaba. After a while of awkward silence between the blonde and the macabre tomb, she gives up. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and stands to leave.
Red catches her eyes, stark in the grey graveyard. She moves towards the source robotically, eyes saucer-wide and low. It is a single red rose. Glinda picks it up carefully. A few petals float away from the flower. ‘Fucked up funeral confetti,’ she thinks uncharacteristically.
Shaking, she walks away.
--- --- ---
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you,” Elphaba admits, but Glinda shakes her head and swats the air with her hand. They both know it wasn’t ‘nothing’, like this motion suggests, but Elphaba appreciates the gesture.
Glinda’s hands are cupping Elphaba’s emerald face and coaxing her body into relaxation. She silently asks for eye contact, and Elphaba’s eyes dart about for a short while before she grants her blonde friend’s request.
It is a strange thing, for a dying person to smile so honestly, contentedly. But she does, and Glinda thinks it’s beautiful, even as the tears finally - finally - fall from Elphaba’s dark eyes. Behind the watery veil, there is clarity, relief and heartbreak. Over and over again.
“And none of it seems to matter anymore.”
The two women stay like that for a few moments, exploring each other’s faces, studying every new line and every old one that they’d nearly forgotten about.
“Fiyero?” Glinda questions, and Elphaba hears her hesitance. The green woman smiles awkwardly, shrugs one shoulder and shakes her head. In that, she communicated to the other woman the whole story. How Fiyero had returned to her at Kiamo Ko, where they continued to reside in secrecy and out of love. How Elphaba had told him to leave her and try to salvage whatever was left of his life, and how they’d agreed that she should be the one to remain at the castle. “Oh, Elphie…”
The note of sympathy rouses a soft laugh and a gentle cluck of the tongue from Elphaba. “Don’t, Glinda. It was never right.” In her mind, she adds ‘do not pity me’ on to the end of the sentence. She thinks ‘I love you’, though a simple and more complicated “I didn’t love him,” comes out.
The taller witch sucks in a breath, preparing herself for what Glinda has to throw at her. She deserves it; she fell in love with Glinda, then told herself she loved Fiyero out of sheer fear… for, completely out of her league though Fiyero was, Glinda was further away. She was completely unobtainable. And so, she’d stolen her best friend’s fiancé, and for what?
What Elphaba doesn’t expect is a pair of dry and hot lips against her own.
Instinctively, a hand falls to Glinda’s waist, which she uses to steady herself. Glinda strokes Elphaba’s soft, green cheek, brushing away her tears. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, my sweet.”
“Yes, but I thought you were dead.”
Elphaba chuckles. She is surprised at how easy this is. “You win.” As ever. She smiles, watching victorious delight wash over Glinda’s dainty features. Then, as they stare at one another, smiles begin to slip.
Soft lips are parted by a gentle tongue, which strolls into battle with the other woman’s. Glinda drops the rose, and as it falls between them to the cold ground, a few more petals drift away. Taking Glinda’s hand in her own, Elphaba glances down at the flower, hating it for everything it represents and adoring it for leading her Glinda home.
--- --- ---
The halls of Kiamo Ko cheer as their mistress walks through them for the first time in months. Elphaba has been living in the tower, reading and writing and waiting, and now, she finally leaves. Chistery had returned to her just hours after she’d been ‘melted’, and had become her only companion after Fiyero had left. As they make their way down the corridors, the taller witch tells Glinda all about how the winged monkey can very nearly hold a conversation now, and Glinda smiles and nods and laughs, genuinely thrilled. She has missed Elphie’s passion.
Creaking open the doors along the corridor is an exercise Elphaba engages in as much for herself as for Glinda. She peers in each room for a moment, as though she has forgotten what is hidden behind the doors. It also means she doesn’t have to look at Glinda for too long just yet.
The pair reach their destination after what must, surely, have been an age. One of awkward - yet, somehow, pleasant - silence and unspoken questions, of forgotten dreams that were destined to fail... Elphaba experiences them only in her nightmares now.
“I don’t know whether you… This is…- ” The green woman stumbles over her words, her cheekbones darkening to her verdant equivalent of a blush.
“He never brought me ho-… here.” Glinda, as always, smiles good-naturedly. She has wandered into the room and started to examine it with wonder.
“Bedroom,” Elphaba finishes quickly, shifting from foot to foot in the doorway. Glinda, perfect Glinda, doesn’t hear her for quiet pleasure. Elphaba isn’t aware she’s smiling. More so, Elphaba is not aware that her thoughts are pouring out of her mouth. “Glinda, listen, I don’t think we should talk about Fiyero anymore. I mean, he’s gone, and we haven’t seen one another for years and I don’t want to spend the little time you’re to be here talking about him. It’s just-”
A pair of soft, cherry lips quieten her. “You brought him up, Elphie.” It is a gentle reminder, but something in Glinda’s eyes makes Elphaba feel immediately guilty and begin to apologise. Glinda waves an arm, places one hand in front of her flushed face and pulls it away slowly, as though sucking all embarrassment and awkwardness from her. Then, she discards it with a flick of her hand.
“You never change,” Elphaba snorts, affectionate.
Glinda merely laughs.
--- --- ---
Silence had been adorning the room for several minutes, though it was not of the awkward sort. No, this silence was one of acceptance, the prologue to a new conversation.
“Are you happy?” Glinda looks across to Elphaba slowly, confused but smiling.
“Well, I couldn’t be happier,” the blonde laughs sardonically. “And you, Elphie?”
Their eyes meet, and Elphaba’s lips upturn into a smile to match her blonde companion’s. She has hoped - prayed to a god she never had faith in - every day since the day she began to die, for Glinda. She wishes Glinda’s answer were true, but at the same time, a part of her feels - what is that, pride? - at Glinda’s inability to forget her.
Elphaba doesn’t need to give an answer. They both know she has only been truly happy once, and that had been for the briefest of times. Glinda being here, now, rouses the memory of how that feels within Elphaba.
They move towards one another cautiously.
Fingers interlace first. They are sat together.
Knees turn inwards. Eye contact again.
“Unadultered loathing.” They both think it in that moment and smirk.
They’ve grown up so much since then.
A green hand on a pale thigh.
A pale hand on a green cheek.
A kiss, longer this time.
“Glinda-” Elphaba catches Glinda’s hand as it begins to stroke her thigh and drift inwards. She shakes her head apologetically.
“It’s ok, Elphie,” Glinda says, though Elphaba can tell that, though it is ‘ok’, it is also scary for her. She doesn’t understand.
“It’s not you, my sweet.” That silence descends once more. “Glinda, look at me. It’s me.”
“It’s not her… she has nothing to do with it. I’m the one you want. It’s me.”
Elphaba shivers, dropping Glinda’s hand and moving away from her quickly. The same day she’d screamed those words, she’d told the little blonde that she wasn’t afraid. She had lied. As she looked down at Oz’s guards and a crying, proud Glinda, she’d felt more terrified than she’d ever thought possible. In this moment, she remembers that fear and scolds herself for letting it affect her after all this time. It must be the death talking.
Glinda stands and moves to the door. The panic is evident immediately on Elphaba’s face, who whips around quickly, hands bunching in her cloak. “I’m just going to find us something to drink…”
--- --- ---
Glinda took her time, making Elphaba wonder whether she had misjudged the look in her eyes, the one which suggested that she’d come back.
And then Glinda returns to the room, a chalice in each hand. She smiles gently as Elphaba breathes an obvious sigh of relief. The time alone has given Elphaba chance to think, rationalise herself, and her renewed confidence is evident as she moves towards Glinda. She takes the glasses from her and sets them down on a dust-coated table. Then, she takes Glinda’s face between her hands and kisses her, breaks away, and nods.
They tumble over to the bed in a whirlwind of limbs, a green and cream blur.
Suddenly, they feel like teenagers again, and laugh. Elphaba remembers exactly how it felt, her first time with Glinda. Neither of them had been expecting it, though it was as if it’d happened many times before. An emerald hand had ghosted over the flat plane that was Glinda’s stomach and wide eyes had met as it drifted lower. The blonde had swallowed slowly and nodded when Elphaba raised her eyebrow.
This time, there are no raised eyebrows, but there is still hesitance and fear and excitement. Elphaba removes Glinda’s shawl gently, lowering her lips to an exposed shoulder as she does so. A single finger follows the path of the dress’s zip as she undoes it, making Glinda shiver, before the plain white number is pulled over her head.
Elphaba sighs and smiles, eyes low and alight as she admires Glinda’s still-perfect form. A quaint blush creeps onto the blonde witch’s cheeks, like had always happened when Elphaba surveyed her in that perfectly admiring way.
“It was never right because of you, Glinda,” Elphaba mumbles into Glinda’s neck, reluctant to bring Fiyero up again but desperate for her friend to understand. “I told him to leave because I love you.”
“I know,” Glinda smiles, but she is also telling Elphaba to shut the hell up about Fiyero. “I love you too, Miss Elphaba.”
Elphaba’s hand drops to Glinda’s centre, and in response, she pushes her hips forward. Elphaba peels away Glinda’s dainty undergarment and traces her with two shaking, spindly fingers. They move closer together, and Glinda instigates a kiss.
Green-tinged lips break away from cherry ones and fall to Glinda’s bare chest, where she scatters soft, wet kisses, before taking a peaked nipple into her mouth. She savours the shiver and the moan.
“Elphie…” Her back arches, hands tangling in the other woman’s raven tresses. She bites back a scream when Elphaba pushes two lean fingers inside of her. Her thumb strokes her sensitivity, and Glinda begins to breathe shallowly, clinging to the taller woman like her life depends on it.
It doesn’t take her long. Elphaba pumps into her, adding a third digit at a time Glinda cannot pinpoint in her addled mind. She moans and curls her fingers in Elphaba’s hair, pulling her closer. The sight is something quite wondrous, Elphaba notes, realising how much she has truly missed Glinda in the very moment that her body begins to shake.
Elphaba isn’t sure whether she actually whispers the words ‘come for me’ or whether she just thinks them. She snakes her free hand around Glinda’s back and splays it, forcing their torsos flush together. Elphaba’s hold is solid and soft, and Glinda feels safe - flawlessly safe - for the first time since she and her best friend parted. Incoherence tumbles from Elphaba’s lips as Glinda comes, whispering Elphaba’s name raggedly. Porcelain skin is traced with an ardent tongue, which leaves shining silver in its path.
--- --- ---
The two women stay together, the only movement being Elphaba’s fingers pulling out of Glinda and moving to her mouth. Once, this had been routine for them, and every time, Glinda’s eyes had darkened as she watched her lover taste her, tongue flicking out to meet her glistening fingers. Elphaba is thrilled when the blonde’s reaction is the same as it always had been. She presses a kiss to her forehead, then to her slightly-parted mouth.
“You left it for me, didn’t you?” It is Glinda, her voice husky, who breaks the silence. Elphaba loosens her grip on Glinda, one hand caressing her pink cheek, the other drawing smooth circles on her hip.
“I knew you’d know. I knew you’d find me if you wanted to.”
“But why did you wait so long, Elphie?” Elphaba flinches at the hurt ringing through in Glinda’s voice. She bridles and blushes.
She does not have an answer, so mutters a quiet, “I’m sorry.”
“I thought it’d get easier, but it didn’t,” her voice is cracked, and Elphaba’s heart melts. “I thought I’d start to miss you less, but I wouldn’t.” She looks Elphaba directly in the eye, “I thought I’d start to love you less, but I couldn’t.” Silence and a single tear. “Six and a half years, Elphaba.” More tears. Emerald fingers stroke flaxen curls out of a reddening face.
“I’m so sorry, my sweet.”
Glinda continued, acknowledging the apology only with a single shrug, “But you came back to me, and that’s all that matters.” She cries quietly for a few moments, Elphaba pulling her close and stroking her hair affectionately, tears stinging her own eyes. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“And I, you.” Elphaba had been weak in leaving the rose as a cryptic message, because Glinda was safer without knowing she was alive. The Wizard may have been gone, but Oz still hated her. It was better for everyone if she just hung around, floating like an insignificant speck, and waited for Death to claim her. She’d stopped running some time ago.
Glinda’s hands unravel from Elphaba’s dark hair and begin to travel her harsh curves. She notes that her Elphie has gotten very thin, too thin, and she frowns. Still, she continues to adore the green body with dainty hands, wondering whether this might’ve contributed to Elphaba’s earlier reluctance. But still, she is beautiful. Glinda tells her this, and Elphaba looks away, smiling. “You are.”
“Ok.”
“May I?”
“Ok.”
--- --- ---
“What happens now?”
The question lingers for longer than it ought to, much longer than is comfortable. Glinda’s head is rested on Elphaba’s chest, one hand lying still against her stomach, the other twirling a long lock of black hair. Elphaba strokes Glinda’s hair slowly, chewing her bottom lip as she considers her reply.
“I... You-” She stops, sighing, “You have to go.”
Glinda stiffens and sits up. “Excuse me?”
Elphaba holds Glinda’s watery stare for a moment. Then, she shakes her head and takes both of Glinda’s hands. “Please, listen to me…”
“No, Elphie. Because you’re just going to tell me to ‘go and make good’, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“Then why? Why are you telling me to? Why can’t I stay here, with you?”
Elphaba hesitates, drawing the dark sheets around the both of them and tracing circles against the back of Glinda’s trembling hands. “You deserve-”
“Better? What about you, Elphie? Don’t you deserve some happiness for once?”
A tiny voice, one that doesn’t belong to the green witch, speaks next. “No.” It’s a poignant gunshot to signal the end of… something.
Glinda shakes her head. “No?”
“No.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I don’t. I can’t.”
“Why?!”
“Because I’m dying!” Elphaba seizes the blonde, pulling her close and burying her nose in her hair. “Glinda, I was a hunted woman. I’m dead. You’re Glinda The Good. I’m not willing to let you throw that away.”
“Say I want to?”
“I’d rather send you away and give you life and you hate me, than let you stay and drag you down with me. This is it for me, Glinda. I have nothing to offer you. Please, please don’t sign your life away.”
Glinda tells her best friend, her lover, of her unhappiness, of how Elphaba will be signing her life away by turning her away, of how she’d rather go down with her than fly. They argue for what must be like hours.
It ends with quaking bodies, Glinda’s tear-stained face between green hands once more, and a slight, reluctant nod.
--- --- ---
The nights are as dark as ever, and for reasons she can’t quite comprehend, this shocks her. Perhaps she’d been expecting some drastic change, but there came none. There was no dim light, flicked on to represent how she could finally start to move on, having received closure.
She sits before the window, her face rested in one hand, an enchanted red rose in the other. “It’s a metaphor,” Elphaba had smiled, pushing the flower into Glinda’s hands. The goodbye was the longest of Glinda’s life, and she’d clung to a green hand and kissed a sad, dark mouth and begged for a change of heart.
There came none.
Elphaba had prised her hands away gently, tears stinging her deep eyes, her jaw set to help stop them from falling. A tiny sliver of green and black was all Glinda could see of Elphaba as she walked backwards, crying, from Kiamo Ko castle.
She had stopped when Elphaba and the doorway in which she stood started to merge and blur, and she brought the charmed rose to her lips. She closed her eyes, stroked the stem of the flower, and then she was alone. Kiamo Ko became still and lifeless once more.
Ever since that night, the night that came too soon, the night that forced Elphaba and Glinda out of bed and apart forever, it has become routine for Glinda to sit in a chair at her window. By day, she is Glinda the Good, and she stands before Oz and she inspires and she is everything they want her to be.
But every night, when she is alone and she is simply Glinda, she sets down with the flower in her hands. For exactly an hour, she stays, and she watches and she waits.
And every night, Glinda is convinced she sees - just for a second - a slither of emerald crossing the silver moon.