The Lady in Slumber
Title: The Lady in Slumber
Author: blowers_daughtr
Rating: PG13
Summary: Elphaba, believed to be dead, returns to watch Glinda as she sleeps.
Author's Notes: Very, very dark. Lots of angst. Inspired by "Silent Night" by Lisa Hannigan (Click here to listen, ignore the video). Also inspired by a picture of Kristin Chenoweth (below cut).
Silent night, Broken night,
All is fallen when you take your flight.
I found some hate for you, just for show.
You found some love for me, thinking I’d go.
Words do not do justice when describing the tragic beauty of the Lady in slumber. She does not retreat to her bedchamber to sleep, no; she rests in her parlor, beside the wide, westward-facing window. It is here she spends her days, here she takes her meals, here she holds audience with those who wish she speak with her.
It is from the Lady’s parlor that she serves as the sole ruler of Oz, what with the unexpected death of Nessarose, the unusual murder of the Wicked Witch of the West, and the untimely departure of the Wizard.
The Lady was in her parlor, facing the western sky when the Witch, who was believed to be dead, tore across the darkened blue. The Lady, who was in the midst of undressing, stiffened. Her cry-the lament of a woman in excruciating pain, shrill and almost operatic in timbre-pierced the night’s silence and shattered the night’s calm.
Lack of oxygen to the brain caused the Lady to swoon. As she collapsed, her skull hovered dangerously near the pointed edge of a granite-surfaced coffee table top. But when gravity took its toll on the Lady’s limp form, it was as if she’d been laid to rest as opposed to falling. It was as if she’d been lifted so not to collide with the coffee table, and placed safely amidst the maroon and pink throw pillows of the parlor’s beige upholstered couch.
The Lady has fainted! they cried upon rushing to the parlor. Has she dreamt again that she’s seen the Witch? She must have! Poor, poor thing, tortured by such dreadful nightmares! They pity her because no one in all of Oz abhorred the Witch more than Lady Glinda did. But Glinda’s public display of detestation was nothing more than pretense; the Lady Glinda spoke ill of the Witch because the Witch instructed her to.
‘Why, Elphie?’ Glinda wept as she stood at the platform, ‘Why must I return to Shiz and you not with me? I’ll tell everyone the truth!’
‘Promise me you won’t try to clear my name.’
‘Elphie!’ Tears carved charcoal-colored rivulets down Glinda’s youthful, rosy cheeks.
‘Promise me!’ Elphaba’s voice rose over the roar of the approaching train.
‘Alright.’ Glinda’s voice sounded very small. ‘I promise. But I don’t understand.’
Elphaba held Glinda’s face in the palms of her unsightly green hands, ‘I love you too much. The things they’ll do to you if they discover you wish to vindicate me…Glinda, you mustn’t.’
Plum-colored blisters rose where the wet from Glinda’s eyes touched Elphaba’s hands, but Elphaba paid no mind. With her thumbs she wiped away Glinda’s tears.
‘Don’t cry, my sweet. You know what tears do to me.’
‘You expect me not to cry when you’re asking me to leave without you. How am I to know if you’re safe? How am I not to cry?’
Elphaba gathered Glinda in her arms, and Glinda clung to her.
‘Hold out, if you can. Hold out, my sweet.’
It isn’t proper for one to gawk at a lady in such a condition! cried one of the older servants. The houseboys cleared the room, their faces burning several shades of red having been caught staring at the Lady in her barely-clothed state.
The Lady is alone in her parlor. One might perch upon the windowsill and watch the Lady in her slumber. From such position one might also bewitch the Lady as she falls; one might murmur a slur of incantations meant to protect the Lady’s head from the threatening corner of a granite coffee table. One might gaze upon the Lady as she sleeps. And if the beauty of the Lady in her slumber moves she who watches her, the Witch might step from the shadows through the open parlor window.
Silent night,
Moonlit night,
Nothing’s changed,
Nothing is right.
Elphaba works to memorize every detail of the tragic beauty of the Lady in slumber. A bejeweled scepter lies beside her on the couch, a diamond encrusted tiara sits atop her golden curls, and even in slumber the Lady appears regal. Her celestial blue gown is peeled from her chest like cerulean snake’s skin, shimmering eerily in the light of the moon. A flesh-toned bustier covers Glinda’s stomach and chest, her breasts threatening to spill over the top. Her skin glows milky white in the moonlight, and her lips appear discolored. Elphaba decides it is the moonlight that gives Glinda’s lips a lavender hue.
Oh, what cruel tricks the moonlit night plays on the eye; if she hadn’t known better the Witch might have thought Glinda to be dead, for her cheeks lack their usual rosy tinge. She’s deathly pale, and the only source of color on her face is the dark blue color painted across her eyelids and the thick false eyelashes resting on her cheeks.
The Lady sleeps deeply, the Witch observes. Glinda’s breathing is shallow; the rising and falling of her chest is barely visible. How odd.
This is not the first night the Witch has observed the Lady asleep in her parlor. In the weeks following the Witch’s supposed melting, Elphaba crept to this very window nightly to glimpse, however briefly, the Lady as she slept. As the days wore on the Witch had grown to trust the cover of the shadows. Her visits to Glinda’s parlor window grew longer. Glinda was a fitful sleeper, and often cried as she slept. Elphaba often tried to quiet her, humming spells meant to ease the tension in Glinda’s back and shoulders. It was unclear whether the spells themselves or the melodic rising and falling of Elphaba’s voice soothed Glinda as she slept.
Tonight, however, the Lady does not stir.
The Witch readies her broom for departure before whispering, “Sleep peacefully, my sweet.”
And the Lady does.
So peaceful is her slumber that in the morning, the Lady does not wake.
Sleep in heavenly peace.
(Manipulation by blowers_daughtr)
Author: blowers_daughtr
Rating: PG13
Summary: Elphaba, believed to be dead, returns to watch Glinda as she sleeps.
Author's Notes: Very, very dark. Lots of angst. Inspired by "Silent Night" by Lisa Hannigan (Click here to listen, ignore the video). Also inspired by a picture of Kristin Chenoweth (below cut).
Silent night, Broken night,
All is fallen when you take your flight.
I found some hate for you, just for show.
You found some love for me, thinking I’d go.
Words do not do justice when describing the tragic beauty of the Lady in slumber. She does not retreat to her bedchamber to sleep, no; she rests in her parlor, beside the wide, westward-facing window. It is here she spends her days, here she takes her meals, here she holds audience with those who wish she speak with her.
It is from the Lady’s parlor that she serves as the sole ruler of Oz, what with the unexpected death of Nessarose, the unusual murder of the Wicked Witch of the West, and the untimely departure of the Wizard.
The Lady was in her parlor, facing the western sky when the Witch, who was believed to be dead, tore across the darkened blue. The Lady, who was in the midst of undressing, stiffened. Her cry-the lament of a woman in excruciating pain, shrill and almost operatic in timbre-pierced the night’s silence and shattered the night’s calm.
Lack of oxygen to the brain caused the Lady to swoon. As she collapsed, her skull hovered dangerously near the pointed edge of a granite-surfaced coffee table top. But when gravity took its toll on the Lady’s limp form, it was as if she’d been laid to rest as opposed to falling. It was as if she’d been lifted so not to collide with the coffee table, and placed safely amidst the maroon and pink throw pillows of the parlor’s beige upholstered couch.
The Lady has fainted! they cried upon rushing to the parlor. Has she dreamt again that she’s seen the Witch? She must have! Poor, poor thing, tortured by such dreadful nightmares! They pity her because no one in all of Oz abhorred the Witch more than Lady Glinda did. But Glinda’s public display of detestation was nothing more than pretense; the Lady Glinda spoke ill of the Witch because the Witch instructed her to.
‘Why, Elphie?’ Glinda wept as she stood at the platform, ‘Why must I return to Shiz and you not with me? I’ll tell everyone the truth!’
‘Promise me you won’t try to clear my name.’
‘Elphie!’ Tears carved charcoal-colored rivulets down Glinda’s youthful, rosy cheeks.
‘Promise me!’ Elphaba’s voice rose over the roar of the approaching train.
‘Alright.’ Glinda’s voice sounded very small. ‘I promise. But I don’t understand.’
Elphaba held Glinda’s face in the palms of her unsightly green hands, ‘I love you too much. The things they’ll do to you if they discover you wish to vindicate me…Glinda, you mustn’t.’
Plum-colored blisters rose where the wet from Glinda’s eyes touched Elphaba’s hands, but Elphaba paid no mind. With her thumbs she wiped away Glinda’s tears.
‘Don’t cry, my sweet. You know what tears do to me.’
‘You expect me not to cry when you’re asking me to leave without you. How am I to know if you’re safe? How am I not to cry?’
Elphaba gathered Glinda in her arms, and Glinda clung to her.
‘Hold out, if you can. Hold out, my sweet.’
It isn’t proper for one to gawk at a lady in such a condition! cried one of the older servants. The houseboys cleared the room, their faces burning several shades of red having been caught staring at the Lady in her barely-clothed state.
The Lady is alone in her parlor. One might perch upon the windowsill and watch the Lady in her slumber. From such position one might also bewitch the Lady as she falls; one might murmur a slur of incantations meant to protect the Lady’s head from the threatening corner of a granite coffee table. One might gaze upon the Lady as she sleeps. And if the beauty of the Lady in her slumber moves she who watches her, the Witch might step from the shadows through the open parlor window.
Silent night,
Moonlit night,
Nothing’s changed,
Nothing is right.
Elphaba works to memorize every detail of the tragic beauty of the Lady in slumber. A bejeweled scepter lies beside her on the couch, a diamond encrusted tiara sits atop her golden curls, and even in slumber the Lady appears regal. Her celestial blue gown is peeled from her chest like cerulean snake’s skin, shimmering eerily in the light of the moon. A flesh-toned bustier covers Glinda’s stomach and chest, her breasts threatening to spill over the top. Her skin glows milky white in the moonlight, and her lips appear discolored. Elphaba decides it is the moonlight that gives Glinda’s lips a lavender hue.
Oh, what cruel tricks the moonlit night plays on the eye; if she hadn’t known better the Witch might have thought Glinda to be dead, for her cheeks lack their usual rosy tinge. She’s deathly pale, and the only source of color on her face is the dark blue color painted across her eyelids and the thick false eyelashes resting on her cheeks.
The Lady sleeps deeply, the Witch observes. Glinda’s breathing is shallow; the rising and falling of her chest is barely visible. How odd.
This is not the first night the Witch has observed the Lady asleep in her parlor. In the weeks following the Witch’s supposed melting, Elphaba crept to this very window nightly to glimpse, however briefly, the Lady as she slept. As the days wore on the Witch had grown to trust the cover of the shadows. Her visits to Glinda’s parlor window grew longer. Glinda was a fitful sleeper, and often cried as she slept. Elphaba often tried to quiet her, humming spells meant to ease the tension in Glinda’s back and shoulders. It was unclear whether the spells themselves or the melodic rising and falling of Elphaba’s voice soothed Glinda as she slept.
Tonight, however, the Lady does not stir.
The Witch readies her broom for departure before whispering, “Sleep peacefully, my sweet.”
And the Lady does.
So peaceful is her slumber that in the morning, the Lady does not wake.
Sleep in heavenly peace.
(Manipulation by blowers_daughtr)