Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Shard by shard she rearranges the world.
It looks the same, she says, but it is not.
It looks as they expect, but it is not."

— Excerpts from the initial stanzas of the Oziad, Gregory Maguire

“It’s always been fascinating to me how things can be simultaneously true and false, how people can be good and bad all in one, how someone can love you in a way that is beautifully selfless while serving themselves ruthlessly.”

— The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, Taylor Jenkins Reid

As far back as I could unwind my memory, there was Glinda the Good.

She was ubiquitous throughout my childhood. Her smiling face in the papers, greeting a delegation from one far-off land or another. The crowds that gathered whenever she visited our town. Her melodious voice at the opening of my new school, the first public school to teach Animals and human children again, after the bans. That was the only time I saw her in person. I was seven, and she was smaller than I’d expected. Her hair shone, magnificently blonde. It fell in loose curls towards her waist. Her husband stood ramrod straight next to her, his hands folded in front of him. He was a solemn looking man, with a prominent jawline and thick eyebrows. I don’t remember much else about him. My mind draws her instead, over and over again, the lines and curves as vivid as the day she stood before us. I can still perfectly recall how she moved her hands when she spoke, gracefully, as if conducting us.

Her voice shook as she finished the speech. Her husband had to help her offstage. She never said anything about that, of course. Nor about anything else, besides the usual trill of why it was important to stand together, to be a community. Glinda the Good was ubiquitous and beloved, but not knowable. Never reachable. No, she would disappear into one of her dozen houses for months at a time, then emerge with a glowing smile to do more good before disappearing again.

So what in Oz did she want with me, then?

I shook my head and read the invitation again.

Lady Glinda Upland of the Arduennas cordially invites you to her family home in Pertha Hills for an interview. You will hear the whole truth and can do with it as you see fit.

Please RSVP at your earliest convenience.

This invitation is non-transferable.

Wordlessly, I stared at the piece of paper, her looping signature on the bottom. Hadn’t she just retired, today, in fact? I’d heard something about it on the radio. There was a concert held in her honor, mournful violas and oboes lamenting the departure of Oz’s beloved Good Witch.

But Lady Glinda didn’t give interviews. She didn’t talk. At least not about herself. So much so that the tabloids had taken to calling her Glinda the Silent in the years before Lord Chuffrey’s death. There was the occasional lifestyle feature, and that exhibit on her characteristic gowns that had gotten rave reviews. I’d gone with my university friends at the time, for lack of anything better to do. But anything about Lady Glinda’s personal proclivities, her habitations, her marriage, and especially the Wicked Witch was off-limits. When pushed, she would tersely concede that yes, she had known her. They had even been friends. Then she would silence the questioner with a look so piercing that it was clear the interview was over.

Until now, perhaps.

You will hear the whole truth and can do with it as you see fit.

In spite of myself, my mouth went dry. Lady Glinda’s biography. An exclusive with all of the lurid details, high society gossip, the intricacies of her early life in Pertha Hills and her... entanglements with various historical figures. It would certainly sell for a pretty sum. Enough to get me out of this apartment. Perhaps even enough for a small house in the hills, with a forest nearby and a clear stream. Yes, the money would be good.

And I could finish my book.

My heart thudded.

Yes, I could use the money to finish my book. My passion project— trying to make a coherent picture out of the shreds of my Vinkan childhood before I was ripped from my family, caught in the Wicked Witch of the West’s and the Wizard’s mutual path of destruction. The loss—not even knowing what exactly I had lost, so dim was my memory—resonerated years later, sending me from useless job to useless job, living alone, writing everything down so I wouldn’t lose it ever again. I’d written a draft as an article for our literary magazine. My editor sent it back to me with a note: haunting and elegiac. Then she stuffed it in the back of the monthly gossip rag, nestled between obituaries and ads for tinctures and potions.

Yes, the book needed to be finished. More accurately, I needed to finish it, but what I needed for that was to go back to the Vinkus, to see the mountains rising against the sky with their jagged edges. Everything I wrote without some notion of returning felt unsatisfying and incomplete. But Vinkan winters, long and harsh, made passage through the mountains impossible when the train tracks got buried in meter-high snow. And in the summer, there was always work, galas and art exhibits to cover, and bills to pay.

But the thought of interviewing Lady Glinda. . .the Wizard’s golden girl. The Wicked Witch’s friend. Lady Glinda was suspended between one of the most controversial political figures of the century and a known terrorist, and still she came out of it looking good. My previous interview experience had extended to the occasional starlet or low-ranking politician looking to climb up an administrative ladder. Not one of the most influential people in Oz, shrouded in mystery. What would I even ask her?

“Just maybe don’t start with the Wicked Witch of the West,” I muttered to myself, then snorted at the thought. That was probably all rumour, anyway. The truth would be boring. They crossed paths at university and went to a pub once, or something. Or sat next to each other in a lecture.

Well, if anyone could find out, it would be me.

You will hear the whole truth.

How much of my life had I longed for the whole truth? Not about Lady Glinda, perhaps. But I had to start somewhere.

“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll do it.”

--

I was greeted at the train station in Frottica by a woman holding a sign with my name on it and a Chicken.

“How do you do,” the Chicken greeted me. I shook her wing, gripping my suitcase tightly. Every threadbare piece of clothing I owned was stuffed into that worn leather thing. I hoped to depart for the Emerald City immediately after the interview. I could type up a manuscript on the shoddy old typewriter I’d bought in university within days, peddle the document off to the highest bidder, then get on the next train to the Vinkus. “Such a delight to have a guest here, at last!”

“I was surprised to receive the invitation,” I said carefully, not knowing if Lady Glinda was as secretive with her staff as she was with the rest of us.

“Weren’t we all,” the woman said, taking my bag without letting me protest and loading it onto a nondescript carriage. “I mean, we didn’t get the invitation. But we were surprised she’d even sent one.”

“Not exactly known for giving interviews, is she?” The Chicken said, hopping onto the driver’s seat. The woman opened the door for me and motioned at me to get in. The seats were velvet-lined, darkest blue. Decadence like I couldn’t imagine. Suddenly, I felt more foreign than ever.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I haven’t introduced myself. Where are my manners?” My laugh sounded forced.  

“Don’t worry,” the Chicken said. “I’m Miss Billie. This is Miss Daisy.”

I nodded at them mutely. The carriage smelled like sandalwood and a light, flowery perfume. Must be Lady Glinda’s. The nerves in my stomach twitched. I felt the dry sandwich I’d gotten off the cart in the train like a rock in my stomach. We started moving with a jolt. Praying that I wouldn’t throw up on Lady Glinda’s velvet seats, I stared out the window at the meadows and fields moving past us. Pertha Hills. The name had a dainty, quaint feel to it, with the landscape to match. Cows grazed on the side of the road, moving sluggishly away from us as we clattered by. It would be lovely to be from here, I thought. I felt a pang of nostalgia for a life I’d never had, and never would.

To keep my mind off my stomach, I tried to recall my interview preparation. I’d pored over all the old articles about Glinda’s time with the Wizard, and most of her old speeches that I could track down. The early texts were all vaguely concerned with goodness and wickedness, things that, to me, belonged more in religious writing than in political discussions. Isn’t it nice to know, Glinda had pronouncified in Munchkinland on the day of her former “friend’s” death, that good will conquer evil? She was so sure of herself, of her own goodness. I wondered if her claim that she’d been friends with the Wicked Witch of the West was meant to solidify that image: I am so good, that I can be friends with Wickedness and not be contaminated.

Unwittingly, I snorted. Maybe I could ask her that. Discussions of “good” and “wicked” disappeared entirely after that day, replaced by calls to restore Animal rights and improve the lives of the Quadlings and the Vinkans. Flowery language, but more pragmatic. Rhetorical whimsy reserved for metaphors about how Oz had to be one, both people and Animals.

I had spent my early childhood in the Vinkus, and my hazy memories only consisted of arms, holding me, a gentle touch on my cheek, rushed sketches of the landscape. I had no memory of how the Animals were treated there, or if there even were Animals. After that, though, I recall that the Munchkin family that was my first foster placement held an Animal as livestock, a Cow with a blaze on her forehead in a perfect heart shape. She simply stared mutely whenever I passed by her in the field; I only knew she was a Cow because she followed instructions perfectly, to the letter. A few years and several foster families later, I returned to the same area for yet another placement and could have sworn I saw that same Cow at the market, working at a stall. When I approached her, she spoke, haltingly, but the words were clear. There were no more Animals as livestock in Munchkinland. So something must have changed during those years, and even though Glinda’s words seemed, on the page, hollow, she must have really known how to work a crowd.

And you can work an interviewee, I thought, trying to sound convincing. I knew how to ramp up the questioning. Nothing too intense to start off with, easy things. Build rapport, at first. Flatter. How did you find your passion for political work? What are you most proud of? How do you think your work has changed Oz? Then, spiraling into the deeper, more personal topics. What made you break with the Wizard’s policies? I was so sorry to hear about the sudden passing of Lord Chuffrey. Can you tell me about him?

And then the scandalocious topics, from which I’d hopefully get the material that would give me enough money and credit to never have to write an article about TikTok creatures again: How do you reconcile your earlier political positions with your current advocacy for Animal rights? In your opinion, what still needs to be done for Quadling Country and the Vinkus? What exactly was your relationship to the Wicked Witch of the West? Yes, I had a plan.

What I hadn’t figured out was what she wanted from me. To interview her, yes, but what she was hoping to get out of it. Glinda would be looking to use me to boost her image in some way or the other, I was sure. To paint herself in the most flattering colors. I just had to be aware of that, enough to make my own choices about how to write it.

By the time we arrived, it was dusk. The sun spilled soft orange over the field, dousing the land in golden light. I got out of the carriage, grateful for the warm spring air. My nausea subsided.

“I hope you had a good carriage ride,” the Chicken – Miss Billie – said, moving around me. “Now come on, dear, don’t be shy. She’s just inside.”

Breathing deeply, I turned towards the house. It was less opulent than I’d imagined; more a farmhouse than a castle. The meticulous lawn was surrounded by a clean, whitewashed fence. Flowers were neatly planted in a pattern of red-orange-pink along the path leading to the double-paned front entrance. My pulse quickened.

There was a light burning behind the window. I thought of Glinda in her gowns, floating daintily over Oz. Knowing everything. Seeing everything. The Wizard’s mouthpiece. “Is she nice?” I whispered, my voice suddenly thick in my throat.

“You don’t need to be afraid of her,” Miss Daisy said, breezing past me. “She’s private, but she won’t bite your head off.”

The door opened silently.

“Lady Glinda!” Miss Billie called. In her voice the honorific sounded more like an affectionate nickname. “We’ve brought Miss Nor for you!”

“Welcome,” her voice chimed out of the depths of the hallway. Yes, that was her. “Miss Nor. Thank you for coming all this way.”

Steeling myself, I made my way into the house of the witch.

--

By the time the tea had been poured and Miss Billie and Miss Daisy had said their good nights after an excrucifyingly long dinner, I was forcing myself to stay calm and not to rush the plan. It worked enough for me to nip at my tea before speaking. “Lady Glinda,” I started, rushed words betraying me, “thank you so much for inviting me here. I promise—”

She held a single finger up, and I instinctively fell silent.

“Now, I know you’ll have a lot of questions,” she said, rearranging a biscuit on her plate.

“Yes,” I said, trying to summon the fierce determination most of my university professors had described as exhausting. “I’m honored, really, but—”

“You can ask them,” Lady Glinda said pointedly, “after I’m done.”

She smiled and folded her hands primly in her lap. She wore a simple dress, girlish pink. Her hair was blonde, still—she must dye it, I thought wildly, maybe I should ask her about that—, and shoulder-length. It curled in at the ends. Her eyes shone out of her face like in dozens of grainy pictures and finely rendered portraits. She looked younger than she was, at least until her smile dropped. Then she seemed impossibly small, engulfed by the plush cushions of the sofa. She looked down at her hands, then back up at me. She smiled again, but her eyes stayed watchful.

“Done with what?” I asked, inadvertently leaning forward.

“With everything I want to say,” Lady Glinda said, her hands twisting in each other. Was she nervous? “Everything I need to say. The entire story.”

I raised an eyebrow. “The entire story?”

“The good, the wicked.” Lady Glinda threw her hands up and laughed wryly. “The entire story, the whole truth, call it what you want. It doesn’t matter.”

“Lady Glinda—”

“You can call me Glinda,” she said. Her eyes ticked over my face. I looked down, suddenly self-conscious.

“Glinda.” It sounded so strange when I said her name like that. After a second, I shook my head. “Lady Glinda. You said I can do what I see fit with it. What… what does that mean?”

“I want you to publish it,” Lady Glinda—Glinda—said. “But of course, in the end it’ll be up to you.”

“As a book, or a feature, or a profile—”

“Well, I don’t just want a pamphlet,” Lady Glinda said conspiratorially.  There was the polished voice I’d heard so often on the radio. It had a nasal quality to it, more than her usual voice. She cleared her throat. “What do you say?”

I forced myself to take another sip of tea, slowly. “Why me?”

“I like your writing.”

“What writing?” I set my teacup down with clink.

Glinda just waved her hand.

Unsatisfied, I leaned back. “It’s not a very typical interview format, is it? I mean, classically, one person asks questions, and the other answers.”

“Hm.” Glinda quirked an eyebrow. “Take it or leave it.”

“Fine.” I crossed my arms. It wasn’t antagonistic, but it wasn’t pleasant. I felt a gulf between us open up, all that time and knowledge and power just tumbling into the abyss between our tea cups. “So start, then.”

Lady Glinda sipped her tea slowly. “Tomorrow, Miss Nor.”

“Call me Nor, if I’m supposed to call you Glinda.” I had to bite down a smile. It was back, that fire that had made me exhausting. Small, but alive.

“Nor.” Glinda smiled, not unkindly. “We’ll start tomorrow.” She finished her tea and stood, carrying her teacup and saucer in one perfectly manicured hand. “Thank you for coming all this way, really.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” I said blandly.

She walked by me, placing a veined hand on my shoulder like she had to steady herself. Her grip was tight. It lingered after she left.

--

“A long time ago, I decided I’d never speak about this again,” Glinda started the next morning, staring down at her hands. She wore a simple blouse and tailored pants. She still looked glamorous. I studied her face, realizing—at least intellectually—that Glinda Upland of the Arduennas really was a fantastically beautiful woman. The goodness seemed inherent in her face, nestled in between the creases of her eyebrows and the curve of her cheekbone. I snapped back to attention when she cleared her throat and continued. “So you must forgive me if it’s… difficult.”

I shrugged with false generosity. Not false because I wasn’t generous, but because I had nothing to give.

“And what you must understand,” Glinda said, a rough edge creeping into her voice, “is that things then weren’t different than how they are now. But we were.”

“We?”

“Yes.” Glinda smiled sadly. “I said the entire story, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” My pen hovered over the empty page. “The entire story of your life.”

“Hm.” Glinda snorted. “Then that’s another thing you have to understand.”

I set the tip of my pen down on the page.

“The entire story isn’t my life. It’s ours.”

“I see your famous flair for the dramatic has persisted into retirement.” I watched Glinda’s face closely. She didn’t even react to my comment. She just stared at some point behind my head, morning sun turning each strand of hair it touched gold. Part of me wanted to roll my eyes. The rest was hooked. I was the crowd of Munchkins hanging onto Glinda the Good’s every word. I was the Wizard, bewitched, by all accounts, by her charm and winning smile. I was seven years old again, watching her hands while she spoke.

She closed her eyes. “My name was Galinda, then.” Her voice stumbled over the word. “The proper Gillikinese pronouncification.” A smile tugged at the edge of her lips. “I had just arrived at Shiz University.”

Glinda opened her eyes again, seeming more lost than ever. I watched her for what felt like several minutes. “What now?”

“Now,” Glinda said, looking directly at me, “the story begins.”

Chapter Text

Galinda was running late. Late! To the first day of Freshers’ Week! To the ceremonial greeting of all new enrollees! It wasn’t her fault, of course. Popsicle had barely remembered to order her new clothing trunks, so Galinda had been forced to pack everything in such a hurry, and then Momsie had fussed over Galinda’s dress for so long that the boat had almost left without them.

What a disaster! If Galinda knew anything, she knew that the first day of university was most important. On first days, everyone decided who they were going to be friends with, who they would date. Galinda shuddered to think about what would have happened if she missed it.

As the towers of Shiz slowly came into view, famous from the postcards and the paintings, Galinda felt herself relax. She would make it on time. She would find her friends from boarding school and they would make memories, like they always said they would. After all, she was gripped with determination not to let her friend group fade away at university, like she had heard from so many older students.

When the boat began to dock, Galinda, unable to contain herself, squealed in anticipation. “We’re here,” she sang, jumping off her mountain of boxes and leaping across to dry land. “Momsie, Popsicle, come on! I’m not getting any older!”

“Oh, Galinda.” Momsie dabbed at her eyes with a glove, stepping daintily down from the boat. “Why, I remember—”

“I don’t know if we have time for that,” Galinda said quickly, placing a hand on her mother’s back and gently turning her so she faced away from the crowd.

Momsie grasped her hand. “Thank you, Galinda. I forget myself.” She shook her head and patted Galinda’s arm. “I just—” Momsicle caught herself this time and cleared her throat. “I am so proud of you, dearie. Our Galinda, at Shiz!”

Galinda tossed her hair and giggled.

“She is the smartest,” Popsicle agreed. He motioned for the boatsman to help with the boxes.

“Well, you would know,” Galinda said. She looked around at the other students, all excited and bustling. Did they have their parents with them? She tried not to jerk around too much. No other parents around here, as far as Galinda could tell.

Steeling herself, she made an adult decision. “Alright, parents, time to go. Board the boat.” Galinda tried to lighten her tone. It would be hard on Momsie and Popsicle that she was going to be so far away. Her boarding school had only been in Settica, a quarter-day’s carriage ride away. She had faithfully returned home to see them every weekend and every term break. Shiz was simply too far for that. Besides, she would have to spend her weekends socializing, making friends and such. “Go home. Nothing to see here.”

After another flurry of good-byes, Galinda was alone. Finally. “They are going to miss me so much,” she muttered to herself. Then she giggled. Momsie and Popsicle were lovely, yes, but here she was. At Shiz!

“Galinda!” A squeal came from her right. Before Galinda had the chance to turn, Pfannee and ShenShen smacked into her from the side, engulfing her in a tangle of limbs. “You’re here!”

“Oz!” Galinda clutched her chest in fake shock. “You’re happy to see me.”

Pfannee elbowed her. “Galinda, you won’t believe the other students here.”

“I saw a girl wearing the most horrendiferous boots,” ShenShen said, voice low. “They were brown and clunky and—”

Galinda and Pfannee stared with wide eyes.

“And knee-high,” she finished. She closed her eyes. “I’ll never recover.”

Pfannee made a gagging sound.

“Oh, ShenShen.” Galinda clutched her friend’s shoulder. “We must make new memories to push that horrendible image out of your mind.”

“I suppose that’s for the best,” ShenShen said.

Galinda glanced over at her suitcases and boxes, dutifully being carried to her private suite by a gaggle of well-dressed young men. She made the mental note to tip them later. It was always beneficial to be remembered as a good tipper. “Now,” she said, turning her attention back to Pfannee and ShenShen. “I am simply dying to see our new classmates. And those boots!”

“You don’t want to see the boots,” Pfannee said quickly.

“Well, once I know magic—“” Pfannee and ShenShen nodded approvingly “—I can simply charm them away. Or make them invisible, so they don’t disturb your eyes.”

“Oh, you’re too kind,” ShenShen said, threading her arm through Galinda’s and guiding her through the crowd.

--

I didn’t want to say anything, but really?

Not that it wasn’t entertaining to hear Galinda/Glinda talk about her university days. This must be what it’s like to get cornered by an aunt at a family dinner, I thought. Too bad I’d never had an aunt. Or a family dinner I could remember, for that matter. Glinda’s voice had a light, airy quality to it, almost like she was speaking to me from very far away. She sighed a little, perhaps searching for a way to continue to story without telling me anything of substance.

“I can see how you’re looking at me,” Glinda said suddenly.

“How am I looking at you?” I tried to keep my voice as neutral as possible. Glinda’s raised eyebrow indicated I wasn’t doing a good job.

“Just wait,” Glinda said. She made a shushing motion with both hands. “Sometimes stories need a moment.”

--

The crowd parted, whispering in a frenzy.

“And I instantly had to think about you,” Galinda was saying to Pfannee, “because I know how you adore that color, and I thought it would go so perfectly with your purple backpack.”

“You’re so sweet.” Pfannee put a hand over his heart. “I will treasure it forever.”

“Oh, you know I love giving gifts,” Galinda said, smiling brightly. “I’m sure it’ll arrive in the next few days with the rest of my things. I hope it all fits in the boat.” Truthfully, Galinda had only forgotten a box, but ShenShen had always come to boarding school with three suitcases for the week, and not having enough things was always a sign of being unprepared for necessary social obligations.

“Ugh.” ShenShen rolled her eyes. “That’s the only bad thing about this place. A boat simply just does not have enough room for everything I need this semester.”

“Dreadful,” Galinda said. All three of them nodded to each other. Galinda smiled, pleased that they agreed. That was important for group cohesion.

It was at that moment that she realized it had fallen strangely quiet in the courtyard.

In the years to come, Galinda would often wonder if she maybe shouldn’t have turned at that moment. She could have stared straight ahead, towards the grand staircase. She could have ignored the silence and the whispers and gone to orientation and perhaps everything would have turned out differently. In place of the turn, she imagined a world where everything was quieter and softer, a world in which she finished her university studies and went back to Pertha Hills and got married with parental approval and had a good, normal life, with a good, normal man.

Instead, Galinda turned.

A girl stood in the middle of the crowd with her arms crossed. Galinda shuddered at the clunky boots. Not as bad as the ones ShenShen had seen earlier, but nearly. Galinda’s eyes moved up slowly, over the girl’s frumpy black dress, the thick braid resting on her shoulder, the glasses through which a frenetic, bright pair of eyes shone.

“What’s wrong?” The girl asked. She wheeled around, glancing at the faces that surrounded her. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

No one responded. Everyone just stared. Galinda’s face grew hot. Staring was rude, but it felt impossible to avert her gaze.

“Alright,” the girl said with a sigh. “Let’s get this over with. No, I am not seasick. No, I did not eat grass as a child. And yes—” her eyes met Galinda’s then, and Galinda felt a shock travel all the way up her spine to the base of her skull. “I have always been like this.”

--

“Wait, what was wrong with her?”

“Well, she was in the center of the crowd, so you can imagine that calls a bit of attention to oneself.” Glinda’s hands were shaking, but her voice was steady. Polished. Amused, like she was letting me in on a marvelous joke. Her teacup clattered as she replaced it on the saucer.

“But why was everyone staring at her in the first place?” I shifted forward slightly in my seat. “I mean, her clothing was outdated, but surely...” My voice trailed off. Oz, my hand ached from writing. Half of these notes would be useless. Maybe she was hoping I’d get a cramp by the time she got to the good stuff.

Glinda swallowed. Her hand reached up to touch her throat. When it came away, I saw it was still trembling. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“Lady Glinda?”

“Pardon me.” Glinda laughed and shook her head. “It’s been a very long time.”

“You don’t remember?”

“Of course I remember,” she snapped.

My ears burned. “I’m sorry.” I had touched a nerve. Poked into something that didn’t make her seem good, most likely. She would retreat now, and I would have to flatter her to coax her out again. So instead of pushing it, I waited. The air hummed around us. I wondered vaguely what Miss Billie and Miss Daisy were doing. If they were even here.

“Well, you see,” Glinda said, voice softer, “she was green.”

“Green?”

“Yes.”

I only knew of one green person in Ozian history. “Like the Wicked—”

“Yes.” Glinda cleared her throat. Her still hands rested on her upper thigh. “Don’t interrupt again.”

--

"You're green," Galinda gasped. She nearly bit her tongue out of shock. What a stupid thing to say. Everyone could see that. And rude to boot. Galinda had always had a quick tongue. She generally found that charming, but now she wanted to kick herself.

"I am.” The girl’s voice rose in an unflattering imitation of Galinda’s. A murmur arose somewhere to Galinda’s right, then traveled through the crowd.

"Oz," Pfannee muttered under his breath. He took half a step away from Galinda.

ShenShen just kept staring.

Galinda felt her body go hot, then cold. This whole situation was completely derailing her ideal first day at university. Everyone would be talking about this green girl, whoever she was, and how Galinda had commented on her skin tone. She would be Galinda, the girl who pointed out obvious things, rude things. Was green even the right term?

“Well.” Galinda straightened her back. So she had spoken insensitively, out of turn. She was not going to spend all of the semester trying to make up for that. Smiling, she stepped towards the green girl. “I am very sorry you’ve been forced to live with—” Oz, words were failing her. She couldn’t just say the greenness. “—that.” Not ideal. 

The green girl snorted.

Galinda steeled herself and prepared to soldier on. “And I am planning to major in Sorcery,” she said, holding her hands out. “So if at any point you might want to solve the… problem.” Better. Galinda shrugged, a practiced rise and fall of her shoulders that communicated Oh, this is nothing. “Maybe I can help.”

Now the green girl was staring at her. Galinda felt acutely uncomfortable. It was a strange, new feeling. She could hear her heart pounding in her ribcage.

“Oh, she’s so good,” Pfannee said, placing his hand over his heart.

“So good,” ShenShen echoed. She nodded her head sagely. “Galinda, we love you.”

Galinda’s heartbeat slowed. She looked at the green girl and smiled again. At least Galinda could still count on her charm and, hopefully, her aptitude for Sorcery which was sure to show itself in the coming weeks, if not days. She was pleased to see everyone smiling at her, nodding graciously.

Except for the green girl.

“Offering to help someone you don’t know with skills you don’t have.” She scoffed quietly. “I’m sure everyone is duly impressed.”

Galinda swallowed. Her mouth felt dry. What in Oz had she done wrong now? She was only trying to help. She tossed her hair decisively. Everyone was impressed. If not by her skills, then by her goodness. “I could care less what other people think.”

“Couldn’t,” the green girl shot back.

Galinda wrinkled her nose. “What?”

“You couldn’t care less,” the green girl repeated.

Galinda stared, mouth open. Was she correcting her? Maybe Galinda was a little imprecise with her phraseology sometimes. Did it even matter? She’d always thought it was cute. And she did have a hard time remembering turns of phrase.

“Though I doubt that very much.” The green girl honest-to-Oz smirked.

Whatever heat had left Galinda’s body in the past few moments came flooding back ten times stronger. Her pounding heartbeat was back, too. The girl was just so arrogant. She didn’t have to accept Galinda’s offer of help – to be honest, Galinda was pretty sure that would be advanced Sorcery, certainly not something she could reasonably do soon – but she could have at least said thank you. Galinda doubted that anyone had ever offered to do that before. And if they had, and had gotten that reaction? Well, no wonder she was still green.

Not that it’s an unpleasant color, Galinda thought, tilting her head for a moment to take in the green girl’s overall form. Actually, it was lovely, like the deepest part of a forest after a steady rain. Lovely, but unusual.

“Elphaba Thropp!” A voice came from behind the crowd, booming and decidedly displeased. “Stop making a spectacle of yourself!”

A short, dignified looking man emerged, pushing a young woman in a wheelchair. Galinda immediately found him unpleasant.

“Well, this is my sister Nessarose,” the green girl— Elphaba? —said, still in the middle of the crowd. “As everyone can see, she’s a perfectly acceptable color.”

“Let’s go,” Pfannee said, putting his hand on Galinda’s back.

“I was just trying to help,” Galinda said. She shook her head and tried to steady herself.

“No, you were so good,” ShenShen said, patting her arm.

“I don’t know what her problem was.” Pfannee shepherded Galinda away, towards the courtyard where they were to be addressed by the faculty. “I don’t even see color.”

Inadvertently, Galinda glanced behind her as they walked away. Before she could spot the green girl, she came to her senses and turned back around.

--

Galinda, who had never been adept at listening and sitting at the same time, found her mind drifting back to Elphaba as she sat, not-listening to the Dean of something-or-other drone on and on about academic excellence. Was Elphaba a student here? She must be. Galinda could vividly see her sitting in the front row of every class, shooting her hand up the second the docent stopped speaking. She probably corrects them, too, Galinda thought, with that infuriatingly smug tone. Or she’ll correct me in class. Galinda settled back onto the bench, frown deepening. Elphaba hadn’t won the Ozian National Board Award for Excellence. Elphaba was probably overly focused on mathematics and sounding so right all the time with no appreciation for a skillfully crafted narrative or artistic argumentation. Elphaba would not ruin her first day at Shiz, or any day for that matter.

Shaking her head, Galinda forced herself to concentrate on Dean Something-Or-Other. It never looked good to seem absentminded when someone was speaking.

As she tossed her hair, she spotted Elphaba again. Ugh. She was probably waiting for the Dean to make a minor mistake. Galinda whipped her head back around.

“And our esteemed Dean of Sorcery Studies, Madame Morrible!”

Galinda leapt to her feet, clapping enthusiastically. Oz, she had almost missed the announcement because of Elphaba. The nerve of that girl. But Galinda pushed those thoughts as far away as she could—and there Madame Morrible was, in the flesh. Galinda felt her breath catch. She had read all of Madame Morrible’s essays on weather magic and object magic. She had even followed her participation in the academic discussions on magic wands, which had greatly informed her prize-winning essay. Yes, Madame Morrible was eminent in her field, and Galinda was sure her Sorcery skills would blossom under her tutelage.

Madame Morrible glided through the crowd, looking dignified and, frankly, magnificent. Butterflies fluttered in Galinda’s stomach. She hadn't heard back after sending her essay, but Madame Morrible must have read it. Galinda sat down again, clasping her hands over her lap. After the speech, she would have to make a beeline towards Madame Morrible, claim her rightful spot. Maybe Madame Morrible had just forgotten to respond. Maybe her return letter had gotten lost in the mail! That might be a big issue with the boats, Galinda mused. Then she smiled. They could laugh about that later, after Galinda had proven herself.

After the ceremonial greetings ended, students flurried this way and that, looking for their friends or trying to avoid them. Galinda made her way through the crowd, alternatively apologizing with a winning smile and pushing people out of the way. “Madame Morrible, wait!”

Finally, she caught up to her. “Hi,” Galinda said. “I’m Galinda Upland.”

Madame Morrible stared at her blankly.

“Of the Upper Uplands? Of the Arduennas?” Galinda trained her eyes on Madame Morrible’s face. This was the face of Sorcery, according to Ozmopolitan magazine.

The face of Sorcery looked a little confusified. “If this is about room assignments, might I suggest—”

“Oh, no, my parents have already arranged for me to have a private suite.” Galinda fell into step next to her. “This is about my application to your Sorcery seminar. I sent you my essay.” No sign of recognition in Madame Morrible’s face. Galinda sighed inwardly. The poor woman, she must be completely overworked. “Magic Wands: Need They Have A Point?”

“Ah.” Madame Morrible stopped. Finally. “Well, dear, I don’t teach my Sorcery class every semester.”

Galinda had known that, it was in the university pamphlet. For select students only, at the discretion of the Dean. But the admissions officer had promised to forward her essay to Madame Morrible, and he had seemed so sure that Galinda would fulfill the requirements. He’d told her that Madame Morrible looked for excellent students, with a special quality to them. What was Galinda, if not that? “But I—”

“Now, if someone very special was to come along...”

“Well, that’s what I’m saying,” Galinda said, motioning to herself.

Madame Morrible simply gestured towards the crowd, then bowed at Galinda slightly in farewell and strode off into the depths of the hallway.

“We’ll talk soon,” Galinda called after her, desperate.

She walked back to Pfannee and ShenShen with her heartbeat thudding in her ears, a phenomenon she had experienced way too many times already today. The first day of university was supposed to be perfect, and now everything was going wrong. She had recovered earlier, she hoped, but this...

Galinda felt tears brimming behind her eyes. She did what she always did when she was about to cry: close her eyes for a second. Will the tears away. Think of nice things—of her friends, of her newest pair of shoes—and when she was done, the tears were gone.

“Galinda!” ShenShen called as Galinda approached them. “We’re in the same building!”

“Oh, thank Oz.” Galinda plastered on a smile. “And no horrifical roomie, either!”

“Can you imagine,” ShenShen said, dropping her voice.

Pfannee nudged her. “So, how’d it go with Madame Morrible?”

“I fear she’s getting senile,” Galinda said. “She could hardly recall my essay—”

Pfannee and ShenShen gasped.

“—and she said she wasn’t even holding her seminar this semester, even if someone very special came along.”

“But you’re more than very special,” ShenShen said.

Galinda tossed her hair, but her heart wasn’t in it.

Pfannee rolled his eyes. “That’s the problem with tenure.”

Nodding, Galinda clicked her tongue. “Well, never mind all that. I’m sure she’ll recover. The semester is long. Perhaps she’s only caught a cold and can no longer think straight.”

“You’re so tenacious,” ShenShen said. Pfannee nodded. Galinda smiled, basking in the support of her friends.

“Oz!” ShenShen screeched as a bench came flying towards them. Galinda moved out of the way instinctively, her throat constricting as screams flooded the air. There seemed to be several things happening at once—an explosion? Whatever had tossed the benches at them? And, most strangely, the young woman in the wheelchair—Nessarose, was it?—twisted in mid-air as if shot out of a cannon, screaming.

Galinda’s eyebrow quirked. Was this... Sorcery? There was something in the air, a current, like electricity. A metallic taste on Galinda’s tongue. She had never experienced anything like this before. For a quick moment, she felt more alive than ever, skin tingling and goosebumps on the back of her neck.

When the dust cleared, there was Elphaba in the center of it, gripping the wheelchair tightly. She looked horrified, as did Nessarose.

Again, there was only silence. Silence and eyes on Elphaba and Nessarose, who were whispering furiously to each other. Galinda was dumbfounded. Her heart raced again. Sorcery. Real Sorcery. Something she had only read about in books.

“Magic,” a sonorous voice intoned from behind them, “is simply the mind’s attempt to understand the impossible.”

It was Madame Morrible again. Galinda nearly squeaked. Maybe she was here to tell Galinda she had been wrong after all. Maybe it was all just a farce, a game, to make Galinda feel hopeless and then give her that hope back in a glorious display of power.

“Yes, that was me,” Madame Morrible continued. “To prepare you to expect the unexpected here at Shiz.”

The courtyard erupted into applause again, but Galinda could only focus on that electrifying feeling. “I need to get into her seminar,” she whispered forcefully to ShenShen and Pfannee, who were both looking a bit pale.

“You want to subject yourself to that?” ShenShen pointed shakily at the overturned benches.

“Yes,” Galinda said. “I have to go over there.” Madame Morrible was now talking to Elphaba, who probably didn’t even know who Madame Morrible was and who had almost certainly not read her dissertation on Sorcery as the Line between Art and Science. Madame Morrible was probably just apologizing, she reasoned. Galinda crept along the overturned benches, hoping to overhear what they were talking about. Maybe it would help her get into the seminar.

She was so focused on staying out of sight that she didn’t notice when her foot hooked onto something and she fell forward, nearly hitting her head on a bench. “Oof,” Galinda said, getting up. She brushed herself off briefly. Then she summoned all of her courage—all of what her schoolteachers called excitable energy—and raised her hand. “Madame Morrible, I—”

“Thank you, dear,” Madame Morrible said.

Galinda smiled. “You’re welcome. For what?”

Madame Morrible’s smile was warm. Galinda felt a rush of relief. Finally. “Miss…”

Galinda waited, hoping Madame Morrible would remember her name.

“Elphaba,” the green girl said next to her.

Um. Galinda swallowed. What was happening?

“Elphaba. You can room with Miss Galinda.”

“What?” Galinda blinked. What was happening? Maybe Galinda had fallen and cracked her skull open on a bench and this was her dying brain’s last attempt to scare her into living. Maybe she was hallucinating. Maybe she was dreaming.

“It’s very good of you to volunteer,” Madame Morrible said, barely glancing in Galinda’s direction. She turned abruptly and started walking back across the courtyard. “You, come with me.”

Thank Oz, she’d probably explain. “Yes, of course,” Galinda said, smoothing out her skirt and brushing herself off again. How embarrassing to fall like that! At least it had been charming.

“Not you,” Madame Morrible said. She pointed past Galinda—past Galinda!—towards Elphaba, who had an excited glow in her eyes that made Galinda’s stomach turn. “You.”

Galinda froze.

“I want to give you private lessons,” she heard Madame Morrible say to Elphaba. Had she put an arm around her? “And take no other students.”

No other students.

Galinda, who wanted things often, had never wanted anything as badly as she wanted to become a Sorceress. It was why she had applied to Shiz University in the first place, when her parents wanted her to go to school closer to home. It was why she had written that essay about the magic wands, which was apparently ridiculous and not as good as she thought it had been, or else this wouldn’t have happened.

What was happening? Today was supposed to be perfect, Galinda whined in her head. But that wasn’t helping. Galinda felt the image of her perfect, perfect first day of university slip away all at once.

Pfannee and ShenShen rushed up next to her. “What happened?” They asked, nearly in unison.

“Something is very wrong,” Galinda said, gripping onto them to steady herself. “I—I didn’t get my way.” She closed her eyes. Happy things, happy things. But the tears didn’t go away. “I think I need to lie down.”

--

“I didn’t realize Madame Morrible educated the Witch in the art of Sorcery,” I said, underlining that in my notes. Yet more proof of how the Wizard had created his most famous enemy.

“No more interruptions,” Glinda said tersely.

“I apologize, Lady Glinda.”

Her gaze softened, if only a little. “It’s been a long day. We should stop.” She got up abruptly, grasping her tea. “Good night, Nor.”

“Good night, Glinda.” At some point it had gotten dark outside. I felt lightheaded and a little queasy. Maybe Miss Billie could scrounge up some food for me. Or I could just go to bed.

I knew I would be too frustrated to fall asleep quickly. I had material, yes, but for what? For a fluffy ghost-written autobiography? It certainly wasn’t enough for the hard-hitting piece of journalism I wanted it to be.

Yes, it was interesting that apparently Glinda and the Wicked Witch of the West had shared a room at university, but that had been over half a lifetime ago, and who hadn’t had a strange roommate at university?

And Morrible teaching the Witch—there had been some sort of rumour about that already, but nothing definitive. Having Glinda the Good back it up was interesting, but it wasn’t something that would make the article or book or whatever I was writing sell quicker.

And Galinda having been a bit rude, a bit self-centered as a girl—frankly, it only made current Glinda come off better, like a nondescript snake that had shed its skin and emerged shimmering, more miraculous through the contrast. And that wasn’t news.

I sighed in frustration.

Maybe tomorrow would be better.

Chapter Text

As expected, I spent the night tossing and turning in satin sheets, nicer than anything I would ever be able to buy for myself.

At least until I sold this book.

Realistically, it would be a book. Everything else wouldn’t do it justice. Even if Glinda circled around society gossip and stories of her university days for the rest of the “interview”, it would have to be worth selling. Pfannee of Phan Hall was one of the most influential art dealers in the Emerald City. ShenShen Minkos was a banker, carrying on her family’s legacy. And Elphaba Thropp…

When I finally fell asleep, I dreamt of a magnificent landscape, a thundering waterfall at its center. The river plunged a hundred feet down. I felt the spray on my face, strangely vivid. In bed, I shuddered. The scene was so loud.  There was an incessant hum, coming from just behind the rushing water, that made my dream-head hurt.

After a moment, I realized it was a drawn-out scream.

I stared in horror at the waterfall as a green hand emerged from behind it, covered in boils, skin puckered and shriveled and… dripping. Melting. I couldn’t look away. Inch by inch, the witch emerged. Her eyes were blood-red, her mouth a snarl that twisted towards me before dissolving into ragged bits of molten flesh.

I jolted awake, relieved. My heart pounded. Gentle moonlight shone through the window, and the room smelled of a flowery perfume, a smell that seemed to permeate the entire house and all of Lady Glinda’s belongings.

They said the witch’s red eyes came from eating children. They said what happened to Prince Fiyero was so horrific it could hardly be repeated, that his body had been altered beyond repair. They said her skin was green to mark her wickedness, that the wickedness had slumbered inside of her until bursting out at the first chance she got. That water, pure as it was, could eat her flesh down to the bone. They said she had melted quickly, but that she really had melted. These were the official contemporary accounts, pushed and promoted by the propaganda office of the Wizard himself. . . and Glinda the Good. 

In more recent analyses, I recalled, partially to comfort myself, these claims were relativized. There were children she had taken from their families, likely to pressure them into accepting pro-Animal legislation, and while her skin had been green, it was a birth defect of some sort. Perhaps her mother had consumed something strange during pregnancy. Prince Fiyero had never been found. And while the bucket of water as her cause of death was indisputable, it was more likely due to an anaphylactic reaction from a water allergy or, as Dr. Grayling of Shiz University argued in his controversial book The True History of Oz, the result of a head wound from being hit on the head with the bucket. That her body was never recovered could be chalked up to a thousand different circumstances.

Lady Glinda hadn’t disputed the official cause of death, and the girl involved had disappeared shortly after, never to be seen again.

Everyone else was probably too relieved to question it in detail.

Instead of going back to bed, I got up and strode over to the window, looking at the green fields. The sun was already beginning to rise. The dew in the grass shimmered like diamonds. I sat down at the small desk in my room and reviewed my notes again. I’d started a timeline last night, to place all of the events Lady Glinda—Glinda, I corrected myself, it was best to stay on her good side—talked about into context. Just in case her mind started wandering, and she started recounting stories out of order.

Birth, school. Shiz University. Her engagement to Fiyero Tigelaar, the last Prince of the Vinkus. Vaguely, I wondered if she’d ever been. I could’t imagine Glinda in those mountains, far away from high society balls and glittery dresses. His subsequent kidnapping and possible murder by the Wicked Witch of the West. Her roommate, apparently. Remembering my dream, I closed my eyes. Enough of the notes.

I ate breakfast, as much as I could bear, with Miss Billie at the kitchen table. She made small talk about the weather and gossiped about neighbors I’d never met. Nothing about politics. I wondered if she’d been forbidden to speak to me about that. Perhaps, in a few days, she would trust me more, and I could ask.

“Lady Glinda will be ready shortly,” Miss Billie said, brushing crumbs off the table with a neat sweep of her wing. “You must forgive her. She doesn’t sleep well.”

Neither do I, I thought, but held my tongue. At least Glinda hadn’t dreamed of the Witch. I shuddered.

“Should I make you a cup of tea until then?”

“I can do it myself—”

“No need, dearie,” Miss Billie said. She went to work, switching on the kettle and elegantly using her beak to turn on the kitchen faucet. Everything had been accommodated for her, I noticed. The kitchen counter had a series of platforms built into it that Miss Billie controlled using her feet, raising her up and lowering her back down so that she could access all the cabinets. The kettle was attached to a track which curved at the end, so she could simply push it back and forth to fill it from the sink, onto the heating element, and further to pour tea into a mug.

I took the steaming cup from her. “Thank you, Miss Billie.”

She waved her wing. “It’s no trouble, dearie. Come, you can wait in the sitting room.”

Lady Glinda arrived a mere 15 minutes later. She looked harried and drawn as she descended down the stairs from the wing of the house I hadn’t had the privilege to enter yet. “Good morning,” she said, her voice bright and clear despite the rings under her eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” I lied, seeing no need for the truth. “And you?”

“Do I look like I’ve slept well?”

I blinked. “Well—”

Something twinkled in Glinda’s eyes. “Don’t look so confused, Nor. I’m allowed to make a joke, aren’t I?”

I snorted despite myself.

“Anyway,” Glinda said, settling down onto the couch. “Where did we stop?”

--

After a pastry and a vicious session dissecting Elphaba’s outfit— “Those glasses,” ShenShen had moaned— Galinda already felt much better. She would write to the student resources office and ask if there was another Sorcery seminar she could enroll in, just until Madame Morrible came to her senses. She would also ask if Elphaba could be removed from her room, as Galinda had only “agreed” to a roomie due to a horrendible misunderstanding that surely couldn’t be legally binding. So she strode into her dormitory building confidently, with ShenShen at her side, to search for her room so she could at least unpack before Elphaba had the chance to take up all the closet space with her gigantuous boots.

“I mean, there must be some broom closet she can sleep in,” she remarked to ShenShen, stepping aside to make way for someone carrying a large box. “Or if not, then poor Momsie and Popsicle should at least receive the fee for the private suite back.”

“There’s a fee?” ShenShen asked.

“I wouldn’t know,” Galinda said, waving her hand in the air. Yes, there was a fee. Popsicle had grimaced ever so slightly as he’d seen the bill, but Galinda had always done better in single rooms at boarding school, so he’d sprung for it. The scholarship money had helped. “I mean, I just assumed.”

“How dreadful,” ShenShen said. “Oh, here you are, Galinda.”

Galinda liked her dorm room instantly. There were large, elegantly curved windows. There was a stunning, polished floor. And, Galinda was pleased to note, there was a balcony. Perfect for people watching, perfect for being watched.

And a second bed set up in the corner.

Oz, they were efficient here.

“I think they’re rubbing it in,” Galinda said. She tried not to look at it. “ShenShen, how will I survive?”

“I’m so sorry.” ShenShen patted Galinda on the shoulder. “Galinda, I have to go to my room and unpack now. Dinner later? And you can tell us all about the green bean.” ShenShen smiled gleefully.

“Okay,” Galinda sniffed. She needed time to be alone, just for a bit. To be alone and to pretend none of today had happened. At least until Elphaba arrived. Galinda rolled her eyes and bent over a box, determined to get a head start on unpacking.

--

Oz, she had so many things. Galinda wondered briefly how ShenShen could have filled two boats with her outfits. Galinda was already having trouble getting everything into the limited space provided. How were two people supposed to live in a room this size? She shook her head. At least she didn’t have to room with ShenShen.

Galinda hesitated as she approached the dresser on Elphaba’s side of the room. How much space would her roommate—Galinda shuddered—need? Elphaba was probably someone who had very few things, only enough to fill a little drawer. If Galinda left her too much space, Elphaba would surely be embarrassed. Galinda knew she herself would be, in that situation.

She sighed, pleased with her understanding of human nature. It was better to cram one’s things into a drawer than to have a big, empty closet with three frumpy dresses on hangers. And Galinda simply had too many things for her side of the room, and Elphaba would have to look at the clutter, too. And ideally, Elphaba would be moving out very quickly, so it wouldn’t matter anyway.

Galinda nodded and began to unpack her things into the dresser, letting her mind wander. How unfair that Madame Morrible had simply brushed her off like that, after such a display of magic! No wonder Madame Morrible seemed so dignified if Sorcery had such a physicality to it. And Elphaba and Nessarose, helpless in the middle of it. Galinda felt her stomach twisting, and with a start she realized she was jealous. To be so involved in Morrible’s spell! That must have been the experience of a lifetime.

Although, Galinda thought, it was a little strange that she’d made a beeline towards Elphaba immediately after. And if Morrible had thrown the benches, and the wheelchair, why had she then offered Elphaba a position in her seminar? Now, if someone very special came along… Galinda frowned. And Nessarose, whispering furiously to her sister, had looked less afraid or shocked and more… annoyed. Galinda stopped unpacking for a moment and crossed her arms. Of course it was Elphaba. Of course she had that power. Of course Elphaba was excellent at the one thing Galinda had wanted to do for as long as she could remember. Galinda trembled, unable to place the feeling, until she realized it was an anger in her stomach that glowed white-hot.

Gnashing her teeth, she flung her clothes on the ground. She could put the bed on the balcony, she imagined wildly. She could take all of Elphaba’s left socks. She could put water in those hideodeus boots, so that Elphaba would have wet toes during her first day of class.

No, that wouldn’t do. Galinda forced herself to breathe in deeply. Despite her annoyance, she knew anger was an unbecoming emotion. It made one do uncalculated things. It made one red in the face. Look forward, she instructed herself, make a plan and stick to it. After all, Elphaba was her roommate, and if Galinda knew anything, she knew that proximity was a good way to get what she wanted. So instead of plotting revenge, she folded her blouses as neatly as she could until her pounding heart had slowed and the strange feeling in her stomach had settled, then sat back and regarded the room as a whole.

Overall, she was pleased. It already looked like her room at home. She had moved a coat stand to separate Elphaba’s space from hers visually, because she imagined Elphaba was a person who needed a bit of privacy, and this way Galinda could pretend her room ended there. And Elphaba’s corner of the room was small, but cozy. Galinda was even a little jealous, looking at it. Not that she wanted to live there, but to curl up with a nice fashion magazine and a tea on the tiny bed.

The bed. That was the only thing. Galinda frowned. It just looked so dull. She imagined Elphaba pulling the clothing on the rack aside and her face falling at the sight of grey little mattress.

A finishing touch, then. Galinda glanced at the clock on the wall. Where was Elphaba? It was nearly evening. There wouldn’t be time for anything elaborate. And, if Galinda was honest, she didn’t want to put in too much effort for a roommate that would likely be gone by the end of the week.

She sat down at her desk, already home to her makeup collection and a dozen bottles of nail polish, and retrieved her sketch book out of a drawer. She thumbed past her drawings of buildings in different styles—Bloodstone Medieval, a style that reminded her of great stories, and made her feel small with its magnificent arches; Gallantine, noble and restrained with a clean and simple beauty, much like Galinda herself, as she liked to think. Finally, she reached an empty page and tore it out neatly, hoping it would be worth it to get into Elphaba’s good graces. She thought of writing her a note welcoming her to Shiz, telling her that she could always ask Galinda for fashion advice if she needed it (and she desperately did). Galinda shook her head. She intended to coexist with Elphaba, at least until she got into the Sorcery seminar, not to befriend the girl.

It’s Great! She wrote instead, in large, looping handwriting. The letters were highlighted with her favorite pink brush pen. She placed the message on the bed, so that it fell into one’s eyeline when one pushed the clothing aside. Yes, it was sufficiently cheery. Galinda nodded to herself, pleased.

There was a knock at the door, and Galinda shot upwards, her stomach a bundle of nerves and bile. Finally, Elphaba. She strode over to the door and yanked it open, plastering a smile across her face. “Welcome--” Her face relaxed. “Oh, ShenShen. Thank Oz it’s just you.”

“Don’t tell me you mistook me for the green bean,” ShenShen said, shuffling into the room and glancing around at Galinda’s things. She walked over to the closet and opened it, rifling through Galinda’s dresses. It was an aggrieviating habit that both ShenShen and Pfannee had always had, to the point that Galinda had taken to locking her most private possessions away at boarding school to avoid scrutiny.

“No, of course not.” Galinda’s laugh sounded tinny. “How’s your room?”

“Lovely.” ShenShen finally closed the closet door again. “So glad to have the quiet. I can’t imagine having to share with someone else. Though I must say, I am secretly thrillified at your misfortune.”

Galinda blinked. That makes one of us. “Being able to share is such an important character trait.”

“You’re so good,” ShenShen said, placing a warm hand on Galinda’s shoulder. “And you can tell us everything the green bean does, and we’ll never be bored.”

Galinda laughed half-heartedly. “Oh, yes. Certainly. That...definitely makes this fine.”

“It’s funny.” ShenShen elbowed Galinda lightly. “Anyway, let’s go to dinner.”

“I’m going to wait here for Elphaba,” Galinda said, not quite knowing why.

ShenShen wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sitting with her.”

“Oh, no,” Galinda said, rushing to correct herself. “I just don’t want her to get overwhelmed, you know. By the room.” Galinda shook her head sadly and gestured to her things. “It might just be a bit too much.”

“You’re so right,” ShenShen said. Then she guffawed. “Imagine her going through your things and showing up at dinner in pink!”

“Oz,” Galinda said, holding a hand to her forehead. “That would be simply catastrophical.” She shook her head. “No, I’ll come after she’s settled in a bit. You two can go ahead.”

ShenShen left, promising to save Galinda a seat. Galinda settled onto her bed, between the fluffy pillows. She shook her head. Wait for Elphaba? Heavens, why?

She didn’t have to wait long. Heavy footsteps shuffled down the hall, and Galinda’s stomach filled with dread again.

“Elphaba,” she greeted as neutrally as possible, throwing the door open. She strode to the center of the room and flung out her arms. “Welcome.”

Elphaba, silent, stood behind the door and brushed her boots on the doormat.

Galinda watched her look around the room. Elphaba’s eyes were unusually alert, she thought. They took everything in, from Galinda’s half-unpacked trunks to the gauzy pink curtains. Galinda felt her skin hum. Residual magic, perhaps?

“Do you really think this is fair?”

Of course Elphaba would say that. She knew Galinda had been promised a private suite! There were people left in this world that weren’t self-centered! Galinda felt a rush of... well, something. Relief? They could go down to the student resources center together and rectify this horrendible situation. Then, out of gratitude for letting Elphaba stay for even a few nights, Elphaba could speak to Madame Morrible, Galinda could get into the seminar, and few years later she’d be laughing about how the temporary roommate mix-up had simply been the stroke of luck needed to get into the Sorcery program.

“I don’t think this is fair,” Galinda said, smiling sweetly at Elphaba. It wasn’t her fault. She just had to let Galinda fix it. “I was promised a private suite. But thank you for asking.”

Elphaba’s gaze became hard. Galinda remembered the screaming from earlier. The benches tossed in every direction. Suddenly, she felt very small and very breakable. She smiled weakly at Elphaba, who strode forward suddenly. Inadvertently, Galinda took a step back.

“I was just--” Elphaba motioned vaguely towards the door, and Galinda’s eyes flickered between her roommate and the balcony. “I’m just trying to shut the door,” Elphaba said, voice edged with impatience.

“Oh.” Galinda laughed. “Can you—can you not?” The thought of Elphaba walking by her that closely made her breath hitch.

Elphaba sent her a dubious look.

“I just so... enjoy air,” Galinda said, then winced inwardly. “You know. Need it to live.”

Elphaba accepted this without comment and continued looking around the room, placing her hands on the furniture every once in a while. She moved gracefully and nearly silently, Galinda noted. Very deliberate. She imagined Elphaba was a methodical person. Thorough. Not like Galinda, who had a penchant for doing things quickly, getting caught up in useless details. Maybe that was why Elphaba was better at Sorcery.

Galinda pushed that unpleasant thought to the back of her mind. “I saved you some space, by the way,” she said, proudly presenting Elphaba’s “nook”. Elphaba turned to her and raised an eyebrow. “It’s great.” Galinda motioned towards the letter.

Elphaba simply rolled her eyes and pushed past Galinda into the nook, pulling down the sheets Galinda had painstakingly hung up over the windows.

“It was nothing,” Galinda continued. Maybe Elphaba just felt too awkward to speak? “Roommates do these things for each other.” Elphaba probably just felt too awkward to speak. Galinda knew she had a tendency to overroll people with her enthusiasm. That was what made her fun to be around. “And in return, maybe you can do me a favor? Like... put in a good word with Madame Morrible? Deal?”

In horror, she realized Elphaba was moving her things, gathering decorative trinkets and placing them unceremonioushly on Galinda’s side of the floor. Galinda sighed, annoyed. She would just have to cut to the chase.

“I know it was you down there that made that happen,” she said forcefully.

Elphaba stopped moving. Galinda regarded her, pleased to get a reaction. Then Elphaba grasped Galinda’s trunk with both hands and pulled it across the floor. “You heard Madame Morrible.”

Galinda could play this game, too. She pulled the trunk back in her direction with so much strength that her and Elphaba were nose-to-nose. “How do you do it? Tell me.”

Elphaba just looked down. Their hands were nearly touching. Galinda felt electricity in the air again and knew she should probably be afraid. At the same time, something pulsed in her, pushing her forward. The desire to see magic again. “Please,” Galinda said. “I can keep a secret.”

There was something indefinable in Elphaba’s wild, bright eyes. Hatred? Fear? It flashed for a moment, then it was gone. Elphaba yanked the trunk back suddenly, so that Galinda’s hands lost their grip.

“Fine,” Galinda spat. “Be that way.”

How could Elphaba ignore her so? Galinda felt her thoughts getting faster, running circles in her mind. “But it is rather selfish on your part. I asked you really nicely and I made you this card and I even left you a whole drawer--”

“I don’t know.” Elphaba’s voice was harsh. “I’ve never known!”

The balcony door slammed shut, glass raining onto the floor. The whole room went cold. Galinda felt her ears pop. There it was again, the thrill. It was like jumping into the coldest part of the lake on a warm summer day. Galinda wanted to consume it, to let it consume her. She held a hand to her chest, trying to steady herself. Feeling her heart stumble. Vaguely, she wondered what was wrong with her, why she hadn’t stepped away. No survival instinct, she chided herself.

The glass splintered further, elegant cracks that radiated towards the edges of the glass.

Elphaba looked nearly as frightened as Galinda felt. They stared at each other wordlessly, the trunk between them like a barrier. “I--” Galinda started. She felt her voice falter.

“There.” Elphaba swallowed. Galinda watched her blink, thick eyelashes sweeping up and down. “Your air.”

Galinda couldn’t look away. “Elphaba,” she whispered. “Do you feel that, too?”

Elphaba stalked past Galinda towards the door, threw it open, and slammed it shut behind her.

Galinda leaned on her trunk, trembling. Oz, she had never felt anything like that before. No wonder Sorcery had drawn her in so much, even as a child. And now Elphaba was going to ruin it for her. Galinda shook her head violently, trying to dispel what was left of the rush. When it was gone, she ached from its absence.

She tried to conjure up the feeling again, staring at the crack in the door and willing it to burst further. Was something stirring inside of her? It certainly wasn’t enough. Galinda held her hands out, willing them to do something, anything. Her eyes narrowed.

She gave up with a sigh.  “Time to eat,” she whispered to herself. She smoothed her skirt down with both hands and did her best impression of Elphaba’s low voice. “Why, thank you, Galinda, for letting me share your room. The least I can do is to help you get into the Sorcery seminar.” But no, she had to make it difficult. Oz, the nerve of that girl.

Gritting her teeth, Galinda went to dinner.

--

“She had powers that young? She was that strong?” My hand was blue with ink. I looked at my pages and pages of furiously scrawled notes. I had to begrudgingly admit that it seemed Glinda did genuinely know the Witch. And Galinda not knowing Sorcery at first – it was an angle I could work with, if she gave me nothing more interesting. An underdog type of story about power, how Galinda had overcome her wicked roommate and a discouraging professor to become the celebrated Sorceress she was today. Though I’d probably have to make her seem less self-involved for that to land.

“She was that strong.” Glinda sighed. “She was... unstoppable.” Her mouth tightened. Perhaps she was thinking of her fiancé, and the rumors of what the Witch had done to him.

I raised an eyebrow. “But she was stopped by a bucket of water.”

Glinda tilted her head graciously, as if to concede, but I saw an apprehensive look rush across her face.

I leaned back. “Wasn’t she?”

“We should go on a walk tomorrow,” Glinda said, suddenly adjusting her skirt. “Around my old haunts in the village. They have a wonderful eggnog in the cafe by the bridge.”

I didn’t want to go on a walk with Lady Glinda, either making awkward small talk or listening to her wax poetic about her Frottican childhood. I wanted to hear more about the Witch, about how they tore each other apart in their dorm room and parted ways, never to speak again, as they must have eventually. Her sorrow after losing Fiyero. How Galinda had experienced Sorcery. Was she sensing the danger her volatile roommate would become? Or was it just her rewriting history, to make herself seem more special?

But Galinda—Glinda—wouldn't give me that if she didn’t want to. If she wanted me to drink eggnog with her and talk about how she used to frolic in the fields, then I was going to drink eggnog and listen. So I nodded and smiled, because what else could I do?

Chapter Text

I hated to admit how much I liked Pertha Hills.

Maybe it was something about the rolling landscape and the lush, green trees. The winding paths through the meadows and the villages, patient with their curves and detours. Or maybe I just liked it, no other reason needed. I’d spent the better part of the last ten years moving from city to city, wherever I could get a writing job. Occasionally, they’d send me to the country to cover a farmer’s strike or a protest. But then I never had time to go on long, leisurely walks.

I walked half a step behind Lady Glinda, out of respect or the need to distance myself, I didn’t know. She had a quick stride for a woman of her age—she's not that old, I reminded myself—and spoke even quicker.

“Look,” she said, pointing to a neat, rustic building with a chimney, overgrown with ivy. “That was my school. My elementary school. It’s an inn, now.” She walked by quickly, without looking inside. Pointing at the next house: “I had a childhood friend living there—Mopsy or Meepsy or something—some ridiculous name. I think her parents hated her. And there—” she stepped daintily over a thin, bubbling stream, pointing in front of us as a gazebo came into view over the hillside “—Lord Chuffrey proposed.”

She hadn’t mentioned him before. I held my tongue, stifling every instinct I had when it came to interviewing.

“We walked all the way out here in the rain,” Glinda recalled, without a hint of wistfulness in her voice. “I was sopping wet once we got there. I had to throw the dress away. Terrible waste.”

That was all she said about that.

“I was here with Elphaba, once, too,” she said as we rounded the next bend, and I was so surprised I tripped over a root and nearly fell. “Keep up, Nor.”

“Sorry, Lady Glinda.”

“Glinda,” she corrected me, edge in her voice.

“Glinda.” I recovered my footing and followed, again a half-step behind. “You said you were here with Elphaba—”

“Yes. I suppose we’ll get to that later. You must forgive me, for occasionally jumping forward. Reliving a life in order is difficult. It is unbearable to linger at the beginning, if you know how it will end.”

There was the rhetoric I recognized from the speeches. I hadn’t heard that one before, but it certainly seemed like something Glinda the Good would say. It seemed more authentic coming from her than on a page.

I chanced a question. “How will it end?”

Glinda didn’t look at me. She just walked ahead.

--

Lady Glinda retired early that night, but the next morning she was in the sitting room at our usual time, clutching a cup of tea. She wore glasses that day, rounded spectacles that sat at the end of her nose. “Nor, good morning,” she greeted me as I sat down. “I trust you’ve recovered from our walk?”

I nodded mutely, then got my notepad out. I’m here to work, I wanted to scream. Just tell me what I need to know, so I can leave. The further we got into the story, the further the Vinkus crept away. I saw myself sitting in that room as the leaves began to turn red and snow fell on the silent meadow. As Glinda droned on and on about university, her goodness, Emerald City parties.

Glinda’s eyebrow quirked. “You’re not happy.”

I cleared my throat, embarrassed that my expression or silence had given me away. “It’s not about me.”

“No, it’s about me,” Glinda said. Her bluntness made me look up at her in shock. “But it’s no fun to sit here if you’re not happy, or at least interested.”

“I am interested,” I said, meaning it. “I just expected something... different.”

Glinda pushed her glasses up. “Different?”

“Well, for one, I expected that I would ask questions and you would answer them. Not that I don’t like listening to you speak.”

Glinda huffed. “I just want to be thorough.”

“I understand that,” I said delicately. “I’m just not used to it, that’s all.”

Glinda stared out of the window behind me for a moment, eyes lost. Then she perked up. “An offer, then.”

I motioned vaguely in agreement.

“You can ask me one real question a day.” She settled back, hands in her lap. Seeming almost proud. She was so pleased with herself.

“Fine.” I had no choice, anyway.

“But if it’s too soon for the question,” she specified, “you have to respect that.”

She was relentless. Glinda the Good At Bargaining. Although I found nothing about it funny, I had to bite back a laugh. “Fine.”

--

“Galinda, can you please turn your light off?”

Galinda flipped around, pulse rushing. “You can close your eyes, you know.”

“I can still see the bright pink light when my eyes are closed.”

“Hmph.” Galinda turned around, crossing her arms. Her covers were too hot. She flung them down. “Maybe I want to read.”

“You don’t want to read,” came Elphaba’s tired reply.

Galinda glared at the ceiling. Elphaba had apparently been terribly busy while Galinda was at dinner, because somehow all of Galinda’s belongings were now piled up in the corner of her side of the room. Which was supposed to be all of the room, Elphaba, she shouted in her head.

“Well, maybe I need to sleep with the light on. You don’t know me.”

A quiet, measured sigh came from Elphaba’s bed.

“Rather inconsiderate of you, I must say,” Galinda continued. “I could have a trauma. Or nightmares.” Galinda knew she was being petty, but Elphaba had won battle after battle today.

“You will have nightmares if you don’t turn off your light.”

Galinda gasped. “I have no mind to turn off the light at this moment. I am much too comfortable to even think about moving.” But Oz, she was uncomfortable. Every inch of her seemed to have a different complaint. Her arms were cold, her face was hot, her stomach churned.

“Have it your way, then,” Elphaba said.

Galinda grinned to herself, triumphant. Tomorrow, she would go to the student resources office and get the roommate situation fixed. Then, she would write Madame Morrible a lovely, long letter in her best handwriting about the influence of Sorcery on her personal development. And then—

The light sputtered off.

Galinda shot upright and looked immediately at Elphaba, who had tried and failed to use the cover of darkness to slink back into bed without Galinda noticing. The cord of the lamp dangled helplessly over Galinda’s nightstand. “I saw that,” Galinda said furiously.

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” Elphaba nestled into her sheets. Mere seconds later, a comically fake snore emanated from her “sleeping” form.

Galinda flopped back onto her pillows, gritting her teeth. Tomorrow, she would win. She had to.

--

So they had had a hard time at the beginning. Galinda’s transfer requests were denied, to her disappointment and ShenShen and Pfannee’s quiet delight. There was rearranging of furniture and unfortunate situations concerning Galinda’s hatbox and Elphaba’s left socks. After they’d gotten all that out of their systems, Galinda had felt reasonably confident they could move on.

Reasonably.

But no. Apparently, they couldn’t.

Galinda considered herself an exceptionally generous person, one who had a big heart. No, it wasn’t Galinda’s fault that she couldn’t get used to her roomie. Not when the roommate in question was so, so annoying.

Elphaba spent most of her time at her desk, scrawling in that horrendibly messy handwriting of hers. She always seemed to be working. Her glasses sat squarely in the center of her face, unapologetic.

Meanwhile, Galinda would sit on her bed—her desk being occupied by tubes of lipstick and perfumes—and flip through a textbook absentmindedly. There are more interesting things to think about, she comforted herself whenever she worried about her grades. Like shoes, or how Pfannee had invited her to his parents’ country home over the weekend, and what she would wear to lunch that day. Or what Momsie and Popsicle were doing. Had she replied to their latest letter? Yes, those things all seemed infinitely more important than reading about yet another Quadling rebellion. Sometimes, when her mind and eyes wandered, they would find Elphaba, who always seemed impossibly disciplined at those moments, going back and forth between books and her own messy notes with practiced ease.

In those moments, a strong dislike would bloom in her stomach, surprising Galinda with its ferocity. That feeling was only rivaled by the trembling rage that overtook her whenever she thought of Elphaba studying Sorcery. For one, Elphaba always left her books where Galinda would certainly see them. And when Elphaba practiced, she muttered to herself and held her hands out, making the desk tremble or a drop of water rise up out of a glass, and that made it impossible for Galinda to concentrate on anything else. She hated that she felt the magic, suspended between her and Elphaba, like a rope pulled taut that never managed to snap.

And the dislike was almost certainly mutual. At least Galinda couldn’t imagine that Elphaba liked her, which was an unfamiliar feeling. Why would she, though? She seemed uninterested in other people in general, even when they whispered about her in the hallway or refused to make space for her at lunch. She only went out to see her sister, once a day, like clockwork. And for classes and meals, of course. And even if Elphaba did have the capacity to like other people, it certainly wouldn’t be Galinda, who spent most of her time telling Pfannee and ShenShen about Elphaba’s peculiarities, some invented, all embellished, which she only sometimes felt a little guilty about.

At least Galinda had friends. It was the one, useless thing she was better than Elphaba at, apparently. All the hordes of people following her and she still wasn’t a single step closer to the Sorcery seminar.

“Hello? Oz to Galinda?” Pfannee shook a salad fork at her.

Galinda snapped to attention. “Yes, I’m here! I am mentally and physically present.” She laughed and tossed her hair.

ShenShen leaned forward, a glint in her eyes. “It’s the green bean. Behind you.”

“What is she doing?” Galinda asked, resisting the urge to look.

“She’s…” Pfannee made a face.

“Tell me,” Galinda whispered excitedly.

“She’s getting a tray and sitting down with her sister,” ShenShen said, disappointed.

Galinda’s face fell.

“I wish she’d do something more interesting,” Pfannee complained. “It’s boring to make fun of her like this.”

ShenShen brushed crumbs off the table. “Galinda, what did she do last night?”

“She read,” Galinda said, rolling her eyes and taking a bite of potato. “Like she does every night. Oz, you’d think she’d run out of books.”

“Was she reading something really, really weird?” Pfannee threaded his fingers together.

Galinda considered inventing something ridiculous but came up empty. “I think it was next week’s reading. For History.”

“Ugh,” Pfannee said, throwing his hands onto the table. “We get it, she’s smart.”

“Of course she’d read ahead.” ShenShen glowered in Elphaba’s direction. “Your roomie is too boring, Galinda. Maybe we should steal her socks again.”

Galinda laughed, high-pitched and a little fake. “Well, I’m not too sure--”

“I need entertainment,” Pfannee pouted. “There’s nothing to do here.”

Galinda mentally went through her to-do list, all of the readings she had neglected and the assignments she still needed to complete.

“Pfannee is right.” ShenShen speared a green bean on her fork and held it up triumphantly. “You need to do more.”

“You want me to...stab Elphaba?” Galinda squinted at ShenShen.

ShenShen rolled her eyes. “Galinda, that’s no fun. We need information. The green bean stuff is getting old.”

“There are more green vegetables,” Galinda protested weakly. She didn’t need more information. Loathing Elphaba already occupied nearly every nook and cranny of her brain. “Cucumber. Broccoli. Avocado. Or is avocado a fruit?”

Pfannee gave her a look. Galinda knew it too well. Every time they’d gotten kicked out of class, it had been because of that look. But they’d always had a marvelous time afterwards, hadn’t they? Strolling over the grounds, their laughter mingling, arms linked together.

“Fine,” Galinda said, and felt a rush of warmth as ShenShen and Pfannee squealed and drummed on the table. “I’m not doing anything illegal!”

“Yes, we know, you’re too good,” Pfannee said with an affectionate eyeroll. “Just talk to her.”

“Ask her about her secrets.” ShenShen giggled.

“Ask her if the Cow she got those horrendible dresses from is still in business!”

“Oh, ask her if she turns purple when she gets a sunburn!”

ShenShen and Pfannee collapsed on each other in a peal of infectious laughter.

“You two,” Galinda grumbled, daring to look over to where Elphaba sat with Nessarose.

--

Galinda smoothed her nightdress down with her hands for what felt like the twentieth time. She glanced at Elphaba, reading at her desk. The green girl seemed completely immersed in her book, rhythmically turning the pages one by one. Her robe fell loosely around her outstretched legs, revealing the curve of her inner thigh.

Galinda wanted nothing more than to just go to bed. The mattress was soft and plush beneath her, and she’d just had her sheets freshly washed. Swan diving into them and nodding off to Elphaba’s incessant page-turning seemed so much nicer than trying to strike up a conversation. But she had promised Pfannee and ShenShen, and their disappointed faces were so vivid in her imagination that the words bubbled up and left her before she’d even thought about what to say.

“How was your day?”

It sounded more like a squeak than a question. Galinda thought for a moment that Elphaba would ignore her, but then she placed a finger into her book and closed it. “It was fine.” Her voice was even. Neutral.

“Did you learn anything interesting?”

Oz, she sounded like a great aunt, inquiring after an unknown relative’s hobbies.

“We have the same classes.” Elphaba blinked at her from behind those giant, swooping glasses.

“Not Sorcery.”

Elphaba sighed and put the book down. “You really want to know?” The defensiveness in Elphaba’s voice, which Galinda had thought was just built in, had receded somewhat.

“Yes, of course,” Galinda said, wincing at how rushed the words sounded. She moved a little towards the foot-end of the bed, closer to Elphaba. “I really want to be a Sorceress,” she said, whispering a little.

They looked at each other warily.

Then Elphaba cracked a smile. Or half of a smile. “I kind of got that.”

“So, what are you learning?”

“It’s more theory than you’d think,” Elphaba said. She relaxed visibly as she spoke, hands moving through the air to accentuate her words. “It’s about understanding the... the medium of what you’re trying to change. Like when you levitate a feather, it’s wind. You’re trying to create a controlled updraft. So you need to understand wind patterns, how a vortex forms...To levitate anything heavier, you have to manipulate gravity. Which is more part of the fabric of the universe, so to speak, so you have to know where to look in order to undo the knot that ties it together.”

“But you do it automatically,” Galinda said, pulling her legs up on the bed and hugging her knees to her chest. “And gravity isn’t... well, it’s not like wind. It doesn’t change.”

“I don’t know how I do it,” Elphaba said softly, staring down at her unpolished nails. “But yes, that’s why it’s much harder to make anything heavier fly. Gravity is, generally, stagnant. Inevitable.” Elphaba smiled, this time wider, with teeth. “But not always.”

Not when you’re as special as Elphaba, Galinda thought, without much bite. There was a tingle running across her skin again. Seeing Elphaba’s smile dance across her face was so much better than reading those articles. “So the level of difficulty is determined by the quality of the—the thing that it’s trying to change?”

“Yes, exactly,” Elphaba said, scooching forward in her chair, genuine delight lighting up her features. “There are some things that can’t be changed at all. Like the direction of time, or entropy. Then things that are considered advanced, like gravity. Weather and appearances are constantly changing, so those are easier. After that comes everything with a straightforward mechanism, like making a feather float or something on a hinge move. Parlor tricks, basically. They’re so easy, you could do them.”

Galinda stiffened. “Miss Elphaba, just because I’ve been denied the opportunity to learn Sorcery doesn’t mean—”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Elphaba said, shrinking away from her. “I just—”

Galinda felt a familiar chill settle in her stomach. “Thank you for that fascinating insight,” she said. “Now, I really must get to bed.” Without waiting for a response, Galinda flopped onto her pillow and pulled the covers up tight around her, closing her eyes tightly. She doesn’t know you, Galinda thought. She doesn’t know what you could do.

Hearing footsteps, Galinda cracked an eye open again. Elphaba stood in front of her, arms crossed. “So it’s alright for you and your friends to call me a green bean but if I say anything even slightly insulting that crosses the line?”

Galinda, having no good answer to the question, simply turned around.

--

“And she was going on and on about Sorcery,” Galinda told Pfannee and ShenShen. “It was so boring. Like, stop lecturing me, you’re not Madame Morrible?”

“You’re so brave,” Pfannee said, patting Galinda on the shoulder.

“Anything for you,” Galinda said, getting her notebook out and thunking it on the desk. “But really, never again. I’ve had enough.”

They went silent as Elphaba stalked into the classroom, dropping herself onto a seat in the front row.

“She can correct Dr. Dillamond better from the front,” Pfannee whispered loudly.

Elphaba glanced in their direction. Galinda sniffed. She couldn’t hear them. Probably.

“Imagine her pushing the old Goat aside and just taking over the lecture,” ShenShen said. The three of them erupted into laughter. Galinda accidentally caught Elphaba’s eye just as her gaze slipped back to her notebook. Ugh.

“Settle down, everyone,” Dr. Dillamond said, clopping into the classroom with a congenial look on his face. He sniffed, his glasses shifting on the end of his nose. “I have read your latest essays,” he continued, motioning for his assistant to pass them out, “and I am amazed to report some progress.”

“This one took me forever to write,” Galinda whispered.

ShenShen already looked bored. “Who cares?”

Galinda took her essay from Dr. Dillamond’s assistant, grimacing at the grade. She had passed, at least. Better than the last one. She just found the historical texts so borific.

“Though some of us still tend to favor form over content,” Dr. Dillamond continued. Stopping in front of Galinda’s row, he cleared his throat. “Miss Glinda.”

Galinda felt her ears turn red. “It’s Galinda, with a ‘Ga’,” she said. If she couldn’t write an essay, she at least knew how to pronouncify her name.

“Yes, of course,” Dr. Dillamond replied. “Miss Glinda.”

“Ga-Linda,” Galinda shot back. “Ga. Linda.” She huffed, turning her disappointment of an essay face down on the desk. “I don’t see what the problem is.” She laced her hands together. “Every other professor manages to pronouncify my name correctly.”

She stared at Dr. Dillamond, willing him to say something. Something about her essay and how it wasn’t good enough. Something about her name. There were things she deserved, and a modicum of respect was certainly one of them. She had been valedictorian, damn it.

“Maybe the pronouncification of your precious name isn’t the sole focus of Dr. Dillamond’s life,” an impossibly smug voice came from the first row.

Galinda rolled her eyes. Elphaba. Who else?

“Maybe Dr. Dillamond isn’t like every other professor.” Elphaba didn’t even have the decency to look at Galinda. “Maybe, just maybe, some of us are different.”

Different. Like Galinda would, apparently, never be. She scoffed. “Well, it seems the artichoke is steamed.”

The laughter bubbling through the room did nothing to make Galinda feel better. Elphaba turned to make eye contact then. Galinda expected rage, or enlightened superiority. Instead, Elphaba looked disappointed.

We’re even, Galinda motioned towards her. She sent her a small smile.

Elphaba nodded slightly.

“Yes, we Goats lack upper front teeth, which accounts for the mispronunciation, Miss Glinda.” Dr. Dillamond graciously declined his head towards Elphaba. Whatever good will Galinda had accumulated towards her roommate in the past half-minute left her body suddenly. Oz, what a teacher’s pet. How wonderful that everyone just loved Elphaba, and couldn’t even pronouncify Galinda’s name.

“He could just stop saying it,” Galinda hissed to Pfannee and ShenShen, who nodded in agreement.

Dr. Dillamond began to drone on and on about, well, something. Something about Animals. Galinda felt her mind wander, as usual. To Elphaba in the front row, diligently taking notes and nodding to herself, looking for eye contact with Dr. Dillamond often. Ugh. And there was that annoying Munchkin Biq who followed Galinda around like a duckling, only without the adorableness. Galinda shook her head and forced herself to listen. Her grade depended on it.

“So when and why did this change?”

“From what I’ve read, the Great Drought.”

Oz, there was Elphaba again! Galinda noted with pleasure that the other students were also rolling their eyes. She always had to be the smartest in the room, didn’t she? And she probably even was, Galinda begrudgingly admitted.

“Quite right, Miss Elphaba,” Dr. Dillamond said. Oh, so her name was fine. He didn’t call her Elphba. He’d probably just start singing praises in the next few minutes. Or he’d really let Elphaba take over the lecture. “Food grew scarce. And when people are hungry and angry, they begin to look for—”

“Someone to blame.”

Elphaba and Dr. Dillamond looked at each other serenely. Galinda had to stop herself from planting her face onto the desk. “Excuse me,” she said, feeling an insuppressable urge to break up whatever mind-reading thought-exchanging academic discourse was happening in front of her.

Dr. Dillamond broke Elphaba’s gaze and looked up at Galinda.

“Why can’t you just teach us history, instead of always harping on the past?”

Elphaba’s ears turned darker green, Galinda noticed with satisfaction.

Dr. Dillamond’s ears flicked.

Okay, Galinda had heard it, too. But what else was she supposed to say? She didn’t remember any of the reading. She supposed she could have said something about how Animals might have had a disadvantage due to not being able to use a conventional printing press, making them dependent on humans to publish their written words. But Elphaba would have probably just rolled her eyes at that and said something like Galinda, you’re not considering the extremely influential Animal-run newspaper Animal Times, did you even do the reading?

Dillamond was droning on again in his sonorous voice. “We ignore the past at our own peril! It helps explain our present circumstances. For instance, if we examine this timeline—” He deftly hooked his hoof into a sling, flipping the blackboard with ease.

Gasps ran through the classroom. Galinda, just dotting the “i” of Timeline in her notes, looked up a second later.

ANIMALS SHOULD BE SEEN AND NOT HEARD

Galinda felt as if she’d been doused in cold water. Dr. Dillamond was annoying, but that certainly didn’t justify those words. Perhaps it was a disgruntled student, annoyed at their grade. Galinda couldn’t imagine another reason for writing such a horrendible thing. She glanced at Pfannee and ShenShen, who stared wordlessly at the chalkboard. Elphaba’s face was half-hidden in shadow, but she looked furious.

“Who is responsible for this?” Dr. Dillamond said, hooves trembling. He looked around the room, eyes darting from one scared face to the next.

No one said anything. Galinda leaned over to ask Pfannee if he had any idea, then thought better of it and snapped back into position. Best not to draw attention to herself.

“Very well,” Dr. Dillamond said. She saw his shoulders shake as he moved away from them, escaping towards the back of the classroom. “Class dismissed!”

Galinda froze at her seat. Perhaps this was just a demonstration of some sort? To shock them into understanding the importance of history?

“I said, class dismissed!” The goat bellowed, backing into his desk. A vase fell to the ground and shattered. At the sound of glass breaking, Galinda felt all of her muscles unlock at once. “Let’s go,” she whispered hurriedly to ShenShen and Pfannee. “You heard him.”

The others didn’t hesitate.

Galinda glanced at the Goat as she got up, feeling sorry for him. He seemed genuinely distressed at the message, even though it had probably only been an annoyed student. Perhaps someone would help—and there was Elphaba, striding towards Dr. Dillamond with confidence.

“So annoying,” Galinda muttered. She turned back towards the exit and left the room.

--

Elphaba came back to their room late, with a lantern Galinda didn’t recognize and grass stains on her skirt.

“Doing field work so late?” Galinda asked, spraying her favorite lavender bedtime spray on her neck.

“Leave it, Galinda.” Elphaba sat down on the bed and pulled her boots off.

Galinda hummed to herself and fluffed her hair in the mirror. “Was Dr. Dillamond alright?” She asked carefully.

“Galinda.” The harshness in Elphaba’s voice made Galinda sit up straight. “Leave it.”

Galinda smacked her hand on the vanity. “I don’t know what I did to deserve such a rude roommate—”

“Please consider,” Elphaba said tersely, “that your problems are not the biggest in this world. Or that that are more important things in life than being rude.”

“It was just a question.” Galinda watched herself shrug in her vanity mirror, enjoying how her pink nightgown amplified the movement.

“You are not stupid,” Elphaba spat.

“I’m not?” Galinda laughed sarcastically. “That doesn’t seem to be your opinion.”

Elphaba rolled her eyes. “No, you’re not. Even though you act like it. So you can’t use that as an excuse not to know things.” Elphaba got up, punctuating her word with measured steps. “And I won’t explain to you why your behavior in class today was absolutely horrendible.” She stopped right in front of Galinda, glaring down at her, so close that Galinda could see the dark freckles scattered on Elphaba’s nose and the specks of dust on her glasses. Elphaba smelled good, like rain.

Galinda swallowed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Then figure it out, Galinda.” Elphaba wheeled around and stomped towards her bed.

“Oz,” Galinda whispered, holding a hand to her stuttering heart. Shaking her head, she went to sleep.

--

Glinda sighed and finished her tea. “I wasn’t the most politically aware 18-year-old.”

Understatement of the year. Galinda primarily seemed obsessed with finding reasons to hate her roommate, though that may have just been her memory centering Elphaba due to its knowledge of her future historical relevance. “So you had no concern for the plight of the Animals at that age?” My book could present Glinda’s life as a long road to political enlightenment. How she shed her self-centeredness and became Good. It would be better if there was a personal aspect to it, a relationship with an Animal who could symbolically forgive her for her ignorance in early years. I could draw a parallel between her growing magical talent and her increasing advocacy for the oppressed citizens of Oz.

“Is that your question for today?” Glinda asked, taking off her glasses.

I sighed. “I guess.”

Glinda paused, her face in shadow. She reached over and turned on the light. “I was concerned with shoes. Parties. But to answer your question, no, I wasn’t. I thought that was the boring part of politics.”

“The boring part of politics that determines the rights of living beings?”

“That’s a second question, Nor,” Glinda said, looking very tired. “But yes. Like I said, I wasn’t politically aware. I didn’t see how things... how they came together. The greater picture. That didn’t come naturally to me.”

“It wouldn’t for most 18-year-olds,” I said, hoping she would take my statement as validation and open up.

“It did for Elphaba.”

“But it didn’t help her, in the end.” I tapped my pen against the page.

Glinda’s dark eyes were impossible to read. “I suppose not.” She rose from the sofa. “Good night.”

Chapter Text

Oz, Galinda was tired of being single.

For one, she always had to carry her own handbag, which was so restricting. Galinda needed to gesture. How else was she supposed to express herself? With words? It wasn’t only that. Not having a boyfriend was annoying in other ways, too. Galinda found herself thinking much more about whether people liked her when she was single, which was certainly not how she wanted to spend her time. A boyfriend—whenever present—could always provide a welcome distraction from her ruminations about whether a comment had been strange or a greeting too excitable: if she second-guessed herself, she could just gaze into a pair of adoring eyes with a mischievous boy grin and know that her innate lovability was still as much a part of her as her ability to walk flawlessly in heels.

At boarding school, she’d dated whoever showed enough interest in her and didn’t smell bad. Mainly, they were sons of lords or commanders. Always tall. Always with broad shoulders and gentle hands. When Galinda laughed at their jokes, she would collapse against them, delighted by how vulnerable and charming she must have looked. Galinda enjoyed that the most—how much like a girl she seemed next to them, bubbly, but restrained. Cute. The best version of herself. A boy was, hands-down, the best accessory to achieve that effect.

But since it was exhausting to smile constantly and moan theatrically when they kissed her neck behind the dormitories, Galinda had quietly decided that boyfriends were a Monday-thru-Friday thing. On weekdays, she could walk with them in the school hallways or have them accompany her to town to carry bags and compliment her when she tried on outfits. On the weekends, she wanted to relax. So every Friday—despite the occasional Thursday-night declaration of affection from whichever boyfriend she was with at the time— she took a carriage back to her parents’ house, settled into her favorite chair with a new fashion magazine, and generally tried to move as little as possible until Sunday.

But the boys at boarding school had simply been practice for the real thing. Now that Galinda was an adult, it was time to step it up a notch and find a boyfriend she could spend a weekend with.

The selection at Shiz had been surprisifyingly disappointing so far. Biq hovered around her, exuding tears or sweat. Regardless, he was always damp. At least he was nice enough. The rest apparently couldn’t muster up enough courage to talk to her or were profoundly boring once they did. Galinda had generally found that somehow, most men were boring.

The morning after her row with Elphaba, Galinda woke early after a night of restless sleep. If one could even call it a row. Galinda sniffed and turned on her bedside lamp. This is what I get for trying to make conversation, she thought.

She shuffled out of bed quietly and rolled her eyes at Elphaba’s silent profile. Elphaba was probably dreaming sweetly of Sorcery class. Elphaba would probably wake rested and rejuvenated and ready for the oh-so-taxing-life of Elphaba Thropp, history enthusiast and the apple—the green apple, Galinda thought, smirking—of Madame Morrible’s eye. Ugh. At least Galinda wouldn’t have to stand in line for the shower now, if she hurried. Then she would have time to curl her hair before breakfast. She yawned and pulled a fluffy sweater over her head. Mornings at Shiz were so chilly.

Galinda opened the door to the hallway, wrinkling her nose at the stack of papers in front of her feet. The school newspaper, apparently. Was this her subscription? She couldn’t imagine paying money for the Shiz Gazette. She scrutinized the back page, which featured an article about a new campus book-place, or something. That explained it. This was something Elphaba would read. Galinda made a mental note to complain about the newspaper being a dangerous tripping hazard. She flipped it over and prepared to let it drop to the ground.

Instead, she squealed so loudly that Elphaba shot upright, looking flustered. Like a green… flustered thing.

“Galinda, is someone attacking you?”

“No,” Galinda said. Her voice pitched upwards.

Elphaba fell back onto her mattress with a dull thump. “Too bad.”

“You don’t get it.” Galinda grasped the newspaper so hard her knuckles went white. “I have to—”

“Please don’t manhandle my newspaper,” Elphaba groaned.

“Elphaba, this is so much more important than your stupid newspaper. This my future!” Without waiting for Elphaba’s next snarkified remark, Galinda ran down the hallway, now more determined than ever to get into the shower on time. She would beg. She would insult someone. Oz, she would even commit a mild assault.

Prince Fiyero was coming to Shiz.

Galinda spent the rest of the morning in a frazzled haze, obsessively going over every detail of her makeup and hair. A flat curl, discovered in the reflection of the metal laboratory tables, sent Galinda rushing back to her dorm room to fix the situation. She meticulously reapplied her lipstick after gnawing it off in annoyance during History, courtesy of Elphaba Thropp’s five-minute monologue on how the assassification of Archduke Winkifred had led to the Vinko-Munchkin War. After that, Galinda decided to skip the rest of the day’s classes while Pfannee and ShenShen took diligent notes for her.

At least she wasn’t the only one. Nearly every conversation Galinda caught a snatch of was about Prince Fiyero.

“He’s the most beautiful man in the Vinkus!”

“What, out of the five people who live there? He’s the most beautiful man in Oz!”

“But such a delinquent.”

“That just makes him hotter.”

“I wonder what his parents think, after getting him into the Royal Winkie Academy with their money…”

“It’s Vinkus, you dolt. Do you want to offend a prince?”

At lunch, Galinda could hardly eat. “Watch the door,” she instructed Pfannee and ShenShen. “We need to see him arrive.”

“The flood of people storming the courtyard will probably cue us in,” ShenShen said.

“I just can’t believe we’re going to meet him,” Pfannee gushed. “After we practiced kissing with his royal portrait!” He held a hand to his chest. “Best relationship I ever had.”

“And we’ll get to stare at him in class,” ShenShen sighed. “At least until he gets expelled again.”

“Do you think he’ll sign his cover of Ozmopolitan?”

Oz, didn’t they want to think bigger? Galinda cleared her throat. “Friends.”

Pfannee and ShenShen traded a look.

“I have a confession.”

“Go on,” ShenShen said.

“I want to date Prince Fiyero,” Galinda said in a loud whisper. “And I need your help.”

ShenShen nearly fell out of her chair.

“Date Fiyero?” Pfannee whispered back. “The prince?”

“Yes,” Galinda said. She grabbed Pfannee’s hand, then ShenShen’s. “Just think about it. I’ve been obsessed with him since school and now he’s here! At Shiz.” She trilled a high note. “Oh, it must be fate. He’s so perfect—so…” she faltered, trying to recall something intimate about him. “So princely. And there was that time when he did the magazine cover with his Horse! He’s a friend to Animals.” And he wouldn’t be boring.

“He’s a prince, Galinda,” ShenShen said, but she was grinning from ear to ear and nodding. 

“It’ll be a star-crossed love,” Galinda said. “The prince and the girl from Pertha Hills.” She caught her own reflection in her cup and smiled brightly at herself. “And am I not the loveliest little fishy?”

Pfannee tilted his head. “Do you mean fish in the sea?”

Galinda waved her hand. “No matter.”

“I think you can do it,” ShenShen said, motioning back and forth with Galinda’s hand in hers. “You’re going to go up to him. You’re going to toss your hair—”

“He’s going to fall over dead,” Pfannee interjected, “and you’ll have to resuscify him and the second your lips touch he’ll wake up and say Galinda, where have you been all my life?”

“Yes!” Galinda let go of their hands to drum on the table. “I knew you’d understand!”

“Of course.” Pfannee grinned brightly. “That’s what friends are for.”

The moment was interrupted by the rapid shuffling of footsteps, chairs being pushed back, screeching, and more than a few shrieks. Galinda looked at Pfannee and ShenShen, who both nodded gravely to her, determination set in their faces.

It was time to meet the prince.

--

“I know of him,” I said inadvertently.

Glinda looked up, surprised to be brought out of her reverie.

“Sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Continue.”

Something in Glinda’s gaze shifted. “That’s alright, Nor.”

“The last Prince of the Vinkus… the last hope of the Arjiki.” I looked down at my notes, words blurring through tears. I didn’t know much about Vinkan history or culture. But I knew about him. The few Vinkans I had met said his name in hushed, revered tones. Although he’d started out as a lackadaisical playboy, he’d grown up to be captain of the Emerald City Guard. People had hoped he’d bring glory to the region, perhaps even independence. Those hopes that dissipated, according to the historical record, into a cloud of green smoke. I looked back up at Glinda, whose face was set in a neutral, but distant expression. I remembered seeing a picture of her greeting a Vinkan envoy in the Emerald City after the Wizard had left, warmly clasping his hands in hers. Then they had disappeared behind a closed door with the Throne Minister. The deal she helped negotiate included the construction of the railroad through the high mountains and, more significantly, legislation regulating that the Vinkan government could tax all profits from mining on Vinkan land, regardless of where the exclusively Gillikin-based companies were registered. Perhaps losing him had softened her, I thought, my mind turning the story over again. Or he had shaped her with his childhood stories. Or they had shaped each other. Yes, that was better. She grounded him and made him forget his playboy ways and accept responsibility for the first time. He gave her a perspective outside Gillikin and its luxuries.

Only for them to get ripped apart by the Wicked Witch of the West.

That would certainly sell.

“He was the last hope for a lot of us,” Glinda whispered, so quietly I could barely hear.

There were so many questions I was itching to ask. It took every ounce of willpower I had to just nod. “Keep going, Glinda.”

Bowing her head, she did.

--

Oz, he was perfect.

Fiyero swung off his Horse—the Horse from the photoshoot, something in Galinda squealed—with a casual but exhilarating boldness that left her clutching a column for support. He couldn’t see her. Not yet. She envisioned him passing through the crowd in the courtyard. His gaze would sweep across the assembled students. No one would quite stick out enough. At that moment, Galinda would appear, a dream-like vision in pink. He would look at her with a piercing but loving gaze. He would know—

Galinda was so caught up in her daydream that she didn’t realize that Fiyero had already reached the end of the crowd and was now perusing the campus map, hands planted firmly on his hips. “Drat,” Galinda hissed. Just walking up to him seemed so desperate. How had she not thought of this? Improvising, she sidled over to a pair of hapless students pretending to read, but who were clearly watching Fiyero. 

“Hi, can I borrow this?” She snatched their book away from them. She needed it more. Walk carefully, she instructed herself. Don’t be too excited. And for Oz’s sake, don’t run into him! She lowered the book just as she approached him. Batting her eyelids, she mustered him like she had never seen him before. “Are you looking for something?” She motioned to the map. “Or… someone?”

“No, I was…” Fiyero turned to look at her, eyes narrowing a bit. Soft butterfly wings appeared in Galinda’s stomach. “I mean, what was I doing?”

Galinda giggled. “How should I know?”

Oz, Fiyero’s eyes sparkled in the light. “Our first fight.”

“Hm,” Galinda said, fighting the urge to scream in triumph. Fiyero’s gaze had been appreciative, but not overtly hungry. Just the way she liked it. She skipped around to the other side of the map, leaned against it, and cracked the book open again. She glanced briefly down at the words. Ugh. Boring. Thankfully, Fiyero was swinging around the corner already, arm extended in a boyish display of elegance.

“Well.” Galinda turned a page. “I promised to give a guided tour to any recently arrived students, so…” She gasped a little and tilted her head, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Wait. Are you a recently arrived student?”

Fiyero regarded her for a moment, eyebrows raised. Then he broke out into a dashing grin. “I am. Though I’m sure I won’t last longer at this school than at any of the others.” Galinda imagined that he was insecure, deep-down. That the playboy persona, the rebel without a cause, only masked a wounded soul who could finally make Galinda feel what all those other boys hadn’t.

At that thought, Galinda smiled at him, unabashified. “But I wasn’t at any of your other schools.”

She breezed past him, glancing at him over her shoulder. She didn’t look for too long; she didn’t want to come off as desperate. It was enough to make sure he followed.

--

So far, everything was going according to plan.

Galinda had had to improvise by palming off that annoying Munchkin to Nessarose Thropp. She had seen Nessarose glance at him more than a few times before, and Nessarose herself was perfectly lovely. So why wouldn’t it work out between them? Galinda hoped they’d mention her in their wedding vows. But who cared about that? Much more importantly, Fiyero had invited her out with him. Galinda dropped onto her bed, thrashing her legs back and forth to get rid of the excitement building in her chest.

Turning around, she looked at the clock. Oz, she didn’t even have that much more time to get ready. At least her hair was already curled. She would only have to touch it up. Spray more hairspray on, so it wouldn’t flatten while she was dancing. She was a little apprehensive to go to the Ozdust Ballroom, the second-most scandalocious place in Shiz. Older students had gossiped about the crowds there, Animal and human alike, served with illegal alcohols and entertained by a band that was known to occasionally sing a Wizard-critical ditty. But no matter. Galinda of Pertha Hills would have been too nervous and made an excuse. Galinda, Shiz University scholar and paramour to Prince Fiyero, was not going to back down. Yes, this was the start of her new life. A life with Fiyero by her side, who wouldn’t be boring. Her brain created a slapdash compilation of activities they could do together: art galleries, museums, theatre.  Him in his Vinkan blue clothes and her in the brightest pink. She sketched a scene for herself, from the perspective of a bystander: Phantom-Fiyero and Phantom-Galinda kissing in front of a piece of lovely artwork, colors blooming around them.

Galinda felt her heart opening and sunlight streaming into her future. Finally, something was going right! Now maybe she could stop thinking about the things she didn’t have, like Elphaba and her stupid talent for sorcery. She could while away the hours thinking of a prince instead. Maybe she could be a little kinder, then, to Elphaba. Generous, now that she had something to be generous about. 

A sharp knock at the door had Galinda leaping off her bed with a thud. “I’m coming,” she yodeled.

“You’re not dressed yet,” Pfannee gasped. “Galinda, we’re going to be late!”

“I need help,” Galinda sang, gesturing for Pfannee to follow her to her closet. “But I found the dress I want to wear.” She reached in and gently yanked it out, a wonderful composition of red and pink and orange that made Galinda feel like an elegant goldfish. “What do you think?”

“I think I’d have to see you in it,” ShenShen remarked, glancing it over.

Galinda froze. She had been pretty sure she would look incredible. Not 100% sure, but pretty sure. Now she was questioning it again. Then she shook her head. “Of course! That’s what I brought you here for.”

She dipped behind the partition and stepped into the dress, emerging to oohs and aahs from Pfannee.

ShenShen just tilted her head. “It’s so… unstructured.”

“But that’s because it isn’t on properly yet,” Galinda whined. She turned and faced her friends with her back. “Pull.”

Obediently, they did. When they all looked back up to survey her in the mirror, ShenShen finally nodded. “Yes. This is it. I should have never doubted you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Galinda twirled, giggling. She stopped suddenly. “But it has to be tighter.” She turned around again and braced herself. “Do your worst.”

“Are you ready?” Pfannee said to ShenShen. They took a deep breath in unison, then pulled again, so hard that Galinda momentarily thought she was going to snap in half.

“Yup, that was it.” Galinda turned from side to side, eyes gliding over her mirror self. Yes, that was Galinda as she wanted to be. Expensively dressed. Elegant. Going to a forbidden club with the richest, most influential boy at school. She could barely bite back the grin that threatened to spread across her entire face, which she always found a bit much. “Am I not the most scandalocious little fishy?”

“I still think it’s fish in the sea,” Pfannee commented. He stepped around Galinda, looking up and down to make sure she hadn’t overseen a stray thread or zipper. “Galinda, you have outdone yourself. Fiyero is going to lose what’s left of his mind.”

“I hope he remembers how to get into the Ozdust Ballroom,” Galinda said huffily, sitting down in front of her vanity. The dress rustled against her legs. “And then, if we get caught, we can just say we happened to run into each other…”

“Galinda,” Pfannee interrupted her. Galinda turned. Pfannee had his grubby hands in her trunk again! Ugh, it made Galinda want to scream. She smiled instead and tilted her head innocently. Granny’s hat dangled from his hands, black and spiky and horrendibly ugly.

“Oh,” Galinda whispered, before she could stop herself. She grimaced. Who knew Granny’s Lurlinemas gift would come back to haunt her so? She had sent it in a pink box with a bow on it, with a loving note attached. Galinda had even kept the note, because it made her happy to think about it.   

She’d kept the hat for the same reason.

Looking at it, she bit her lip. Yes, it really was horrendibly ugly. It changed her features in all the worst ways and black made her look washed out. And why was it shaped like that? The days in which Galinda dressed up as a witch were long gone. But Galinda knew her Granny had been careful to line the inside with soft fleece, and she sometimes just liked to run her hands across it to remind herself that someone cared that much about what was on her head. Even if it made her ugly.

“Galinda.” Pfannee cleared his throat. Galinda started, realizing they probably expected her to say something. “What’s the reason?”

“Oh, it’s my Granny,” Galinda said, pulling a face. “She always makes me the most hideodeus hats.” And her birthday was coming up. Galinda made a mental note to send a card soon, so that it would arrive on time. She tried not to look at the hat, hoping that would stave off the guilty feeling creeping into her body. “I’d give it away, but I don’t hate anyone that much.” She busied herself with her mascara. What else could they expect her to say?

Pfannee and ShenShen exchanged wild grins.

“What?” Galinda asked, mascara brush in mid-air.

Pfannee tilted his head back towards the far side of the room.

Elphaba’s side of the room.

“No,” Galinda gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth. “I couldn’t.”

They were shooting her that look again. That let’s get into trouble look. It was, somehow, both a validation and a test of the integrity of the group.

“Could I?” Galinda squeaked.

As if on cue, Elphaba burst into the room, a stack of books tucked haphazardly under her arm. She stared at them, confusified. Maybe even a little disappointed? Ugh. Galinda had much more to worry about now than the green bean’s feelings. 

“Well, we have to go,” Pfannee said, nudging ShenShen, who nudged Galinda in turn. “We have to…”

ShenShen cleared her throat. “We have to go rouge our knees.”

“Yup,” Pfannee said, herding ShenShen to the door. “I love your shoulder pads,” he said, smiling at Elphaba with his signature playful grin that Galinda normally enjoyed. Now, it just made her stomach fuzzy. “And your outfits in general. Just so… cheerful. Joyful.” He made eye contact with Galinda just as the door closed. “Do it, Galinda!”

Elphaba glanced at her. Galinda blinked. Her eyes seemed softer than usual. It was probably just a trick of the light. Elphaba settled with her books on Galinda’s vanity, folding her hands on top of them. “Listen, Galinda, Nessa and I were just talking about you—”

Ah, she had come to thank her. Well, that was just obvious. Thanks to Galinda, Nessa would now have a lifetime full of happy moments with her small, damp man. What more could she want? Galinda bowed her head, as if to graciously accept the thanks. This would be a great start to their new and improved relationship as roomies.

As Galinda’s gaze shifted, it fell onto the stack of books Elphaba had now placed directly in front of her.

Introduction to Sorcery

Elements and Power: Fundamentals of Sorcery

Witchcraft between life and Life

Suddenly, Galinda was overcome with longing. It came from somewhere deep inside her chest, where so much wanting and wishing lay in wait, yet to be disturbed. It pushed out Fiyero and all the scenes in her head she had constructed. It pushed out everything, so that the only thing left was the overwhelming empty feeling she had lived with since the start of university, without the power coursing through her body and buzzing through the air around her like a thousand electric shocks.

And Elphaba would always stand in the way between Galinda and that sensation. She would always be better at Sorcery. Elphaba could forget about Galinda tomorrow and never have to think about her again. Galinda, on the other hand, would have that empty feeling, tethered to Elphaba, for the rest of her powerless life.  

So much for being generous.

“And we were just talking about you,” Galinda interrupted. She dredged up the sweetest smile she could. “About how you should join us tonight!” Elphaba frowned. Galinda thought to herself, not for the first time, that it was fascinating how the green varied between Elphaba’s lips and the rest of her skin.

“I don’t follow.”

Overcome with a rush of energy, Galinda stood up and dashed over to her roommate. “You, join us.” She took Elphaba’s hands—surprisingly cool—into her own. A flutter of magical energy or whatever it was hissed over her skin. Oz, what was Elphaba doing in that class? “At the Ozdust. I’m inviting you!”

Elphaba withdrew her hands. “Why?”

Galinda wiped her now-sweaty palms on her dress. “Well, everyone will be there.”

Quirking her eyebrow, Elphaba waited.

“And don’t tell me you have nothing to wear,” Galinda babbled, before she lost her nerve. “Because you can wear this.” She retrieved the hat from behind her and presented it to Elphaba with both hands, blinking in the best impression of sincerity she could summon. “It goes with everything you own.”

“It’s… very tall.”

“That’s so in this season,” Galinda gushed, holding it out forcefully towards her roommate. “And it’s so dignified! Just like you.”

Elphaba took the hat from her tentatively, inspecting it with wary eyes.

“It was a gift from my Granny, but the black just makes me look so washed out,” Galinda said nervously, her hopes split between Elphaba taking the hat and Elphaba throwing it back on the desk. “But you can really pull off an all-black outfit, so…”

 “Well, okay.” Elphaba smiled a little. Not broadly, like when they had just talked about Sorcery. It was just a tug at her lips. “Thank you, Galinda.”

“Of course,” Galinda said, patting Elphaba on the shoulder.

--

“You must think me cruel,” Glinda said.

I looked up from my notes. “Sorry?” I must have misheard.

Glinda cleared her throat. “You must think me cruel,” she repeated.

So I hadn’t misheard. “Because of… because of the hat?”

Glinda shrugged, a restrained rise and fall timed perfectly with an exhale. “Amongst other things.”

“I mean, you were 18.” I scrawled a note about the conversation we were having in the margins. It was probably good to make a note of such things, for context. “And it was just a hat.”

“Hm.” Glinda laughed derisively. “The witch hat.”

“The very one?” I raised my eyebrows, impressed. Glinda the Good giving the Wicked Witch of the West her signature hat. That was a fun fact, and a good tidbit for a press release about the book.

“Yes,” Glinda said. She pressed a thumb into the center of her other hand’s palm, holding the pressure for a few seconds. “I was… vindictive. Narrow-sighted. And she paid for it.”

“The witch hat didn’t make her wicked, Glinda.” Was I comforting Glinda the Good? Glinda, who had more material wealth and comfort than I could wrap my head around, never mind possess myself? Oz, what had I become. It was just something about her, I thought. She pulled you in. “And you did become friends, eventually.” Apparently. I had to remember that before I fixated too much on a narrative.

Glinda sighed then. “You don’t know the half of it yet, Nor.”

“That’s why I’m here,” I said plainly. Just tell me! I screeched inwardly.

Nodding, Glinda closed her eyes. “Yes, I suppose so.” She sat there for a moment, lost in herself.

“I find it interesting how the two of you…” I paused, trying to find a way to say it without offending Glinda. “You’re such diametrical opposites.”

Glinda snapped her eyes open, clear and brown and sharp. “How do you mean?”

“You wanted magic, and she had it. She had… an understanding of politics that you—” I was going to offend her. I regretted opening my mouth so much. “—that you didn’t, at the time. But somehow, eventually, you moved past each other and became opposites again, just…in the other direction.” I was doing it again. Typical Nor. Babbling on and on about things that made sense only to me.

“I suppose we did.”

We sat in silence for a moment. I found myself underlining the word tethered in my notes. Yes, Galinda and Elphaba had been tethered to each other, in some strange way. One without skill and a developing goodness. The other with all the skill and ostensible goodness, which would fade to nothing by the time she got old enough to do anything about it. I wondered if Galinda would have preferred to have the Wicked Witch’s life. At least she would’ve had innate magic. On the other hand, maybe power had corrupted Elphaba, who seemed impossibly far away from the incendiary figure she would once become.  

Glinda cleared her throat. “Nor, your question.”

“Yes.” I straightened my back. Time to feel like a real interviewer, I thought bitterly. “Can you describe Prince Fiyero for me?”

Glinda blinked. Instinctively, I nearly apologized, but forced myself to hold still. It was clever of Glinda to tell me so much before she allowed questions. If I had been permitted to ask her things right away, it would have been normal to be relentless. Now, I felt like she’d do me a favor by just answering one.

“He was…” Glinda’s voice drifted off. “How to describe Fiyero.” She looked down. “He was charming, but outspoken. He would have been a wonderful ruler. He was funny. Very easy to look at.” She laughed a little, searching my face for a sign that she was saying the right type of thing. I nodded to her, and she went on. “It was also easy to be around him. He could smile at you and make you feel included. You were always in on the joke.” She sighed. “We were both a little selfish, and a little too ambitious, to a point.”

“He sounds like quite the character,” I prompted.

“Oh, he was.” A fond smile etched itself onto Glinda’s exquisite face. “I enjoyed spending time with him very much. And he understood me in a way not a lot of people have.”

“That must have been a great loss.”

“Yes.” A single tear ran down the side of Glinda’s face.

For some reason, I was moved to comfort her again. “I lost him too, in a way.”

Her eyes opened wide for a moment, out of shock or something else, I couldn’t say.

“I never knew him,” I clarified, not wanting to start false rumors. “But since I’m… from the Vinkus, I can only imagine what he could have done for us. If he had been around.” I winced at myself. Had that been insensitive?

“Oh. Yes.” Glinda nodded. “Right, you’re from the Vinkus. Lovely landscape, isn’t it.” She stood suddenly, stretching like a child or a cat. “See you tomorrow, then?”

She patted me on the shoulder mechanically and made her way up the staircase into the private wing of the house.

Chapter Text

Despite my exhaustion, I reviewed my scrawlings again, trying to look for clarity I knew I wouldn’t find. My weak attempts to structure myself with notes in the margin were basically incoherent scraps—Vinkus? Fiyero? Sorcery? It should have been easy to write. I would, of course, have to follow the rough contours of Glinda’s life. Even I could manage that. But what the story would be about, thematically, politiologically…and that line of thinking was wrong, anyway. I clenched my teeth together in frustration. My editor would have screamed at me to gather information first, then craft the narrative. But I had already been on a train to the Vinkus in my mind, breathing in the crisp mountain air for the first time in my adult life. Sighing, I let my head fall onto the desk. I should never have taken this on. I wasn’t good enough. She should have gotten one of the famous biographers to do this. Not me, who had barely scraped together enough for a living by writing quill reviews and articles speculating about the inner lives of tiktok creatures for nearly a decade.

I had never taken on a project this ambitious before, except for the book about my childhood. At least that was my life, and if I messed it up it would just fade into oblivion like the rest of me. Glinda, even if she came off selfish, untalented, or privileged would still have her livelihood and her country home if I messed it up. And who would the court of public opinion trust more, if I wrote something she or they didn’t like? Glinda the Good Witch, with her glittering laugh and benevolent smile, or the overconfident Vinkan girl, described by her first awful foster family as a habitual liar? Who fumbled what should have been one of the decade’s—no, the century’s—easiest bestsellers to write? Normally, when my constant companions—fear of failure and existential dread— crept into my bones, I put my head down and worked until they went away. But I had nothing concrete to work on, now. I just had to wait. Starving, I was sitting in front of a feast that had been rationed out into tiny portions by Glinda.

A soft knock at the door made me sit sharply upright. “Come in,” I said, rubbing my forehead.

The door opened with a creak. I turned slowly, with no energy left in my body.

“I don’t want to bother you,” Glinda said.

I banged my knee on the table as I stood up. “Glinda, hello.” Why had I stood up? Immediately, I felt ridiculous. “Is something wrong?”

“Your light was on,” Glinda said. “It’s late.”

“I’m sorry, I can turn it off.”

“That’s quite alright.” She took a tentative step into the room. “Is something wrong? Or do you always work at night?”

“It’s easier for me.” I slowly sat down again, unsure if she’d find it impolite or not. “But I’ve also been having trouble sleeping.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Delicately, she sat down on the chair next to the dresser. My ancient jacket, hung on the chair’s back, brushed against her arm. “Is it the room? I was going to have the bed replaced. Just haven’t found the time yet.”

Oz, this was a strange interaction. “No, the room is fine.” Nicer than anything I’ve ever had before. That would sound bitter. I leaned back in the chair a little, trying to look more relaxed than I felt. “It’s just… quite the assignment that you’ve given me.”

“Hm.” Glinda shrugged, flicking her hair over her shoulder with a calculated headshake. Was she doing a hair toss? “Are you getting anything good out of it?”

“Shouldn’t you know?”

“I know,” Glinda said, motioning to herself for even more emphasis. “I’m just asking about you.”

“Yes, I am getting something good out of it.” I laughed a little, despite myself. There was an earnestness about her I couldn’t dismissify. “I’m not sure how you want me to write it, though.”

“That’s why I said you could do with it as you see fit.” Glinda rose, probably wanting to end the conversation as abruptly as she had begun it. “It’s your story.”

“It’s not, though,” I protested. “It’s yours—”

“Nor.” Glinda paused in the doorway, backlit by the light in the hallway. I could barely see her face. “I know it’s not easy. You’ll do a fine job.”

I slept that night without dreams, straight through until morning.

--

Truth be told, she hadn’t thought Elphaba would come.

When she crept out of the building with Pfannee and ShenShen, laughing and shushing them at the same time, her roommate was nowhere to be found. She surely wouldn’t leave a note. The Ozdust was exclusive, and hard to find, and if Elphaba didn’t know how to get there or get in, then that was just how things would be.

So Galinda discarded whatever thoughts she had that may have been slightly tinged with guilt and got onto the wobbling boat, gripping onto Fiyero for balance.

“Careful,” he said, shooting her a grin.

Galinda smiled primly and settled in next to him. As they floated out of Shiz Harbor, his arm, warm and strong, snaked its way around her waist. Galinda leaned in closer, marveling at how easy it was with him. She had imagined that she would be aflutter with nerves and energy, talking and thinking a mile a minute. But Fiyero’s presence had a more calming effect on her, and she was surprised she could just sit next to him as he spoke to Pfannee and ShenShen about his first impressions of Shiz. Not that she was bored! She was simply content watching him, and watching the others watch him.

“Have you ever been to the Ozdust before?” She asked him during a conversational lull, leaning close so that he might feel her breath tickle his neck.

“No, I haven’t.” Fiyero leaned back. She enjoyed the way his eyes moved over her face, enthralled. “But I’ve heard it’s quite the place.”

“Oh?” Galinda raised an eyebrow. “A place for what?”

 “Anything you can imagine,” Fiyero said, dropping his voice.

“Anything?” Galinda’s mouth was a little dry. Vaguely, she chastised herself for not drinking anything before leaving Shiz. Although then she might’ve had to go to the bathroom on the boat… better to have a dry mouth.

Fiyero smirked. “Anything.”

“Hm.” Galinda moved her gaze down to Fiyero’s lips, then back up when she was sure he’d noticed. Maybe she would be out of her element at the Ozdust, but this was territory she could navigate blindfolded without a map. “It’s probably very different, here. Than in the Vinkus?”

Fiyero nodded. “Quite.”

“You could take me there someday,” Galinda suggested casually, surprised at her own boldness.

“Oh, you’d love it.” Fiyero said, motioning upwards. “The sky is full of stars. The grasslands move like an ocean.”

“Well, we have these,” Galinda said drolly, motioning to the dim lights that lined the banks of the canal. “Ninth wonder of Oz, if you ask me.”

Fiyero laughed at that, sending a warmth through Galinda’s stomach that she had rarely felt before. It was nice that it was easy to make him laugh. “I know you’d like it, Galinda. It’s like thousands of diamonds, suspended in the blackest night.”

“Diamonds?” Galinda smacked him on the shoulder playfully. “You clearly know me so well already.”

Fiyero tilted his head at that and squinted at her. “Do I?”

“What do you mean?” Galinda’s laugh was higher and thinner than she wanted it to be.

“Ah.” Fiyero chuckled, but his gaze didn’t lose intensity. “There’s more to you than meets the eye.”

Galinda shifted on the bench, uncomfortable. What did he mean? Was this how men in the Vinkus flirted? Gillikinese men tended to concentrate on compliments about her looks or her charm, which Galinda found much easier to reply to. She tried to recover and dropped her voice scandalociously. “Well, you haven’t seen all of me yet.” Her voice cracked on the last bit. Hopefully, he hadn’t noticed. She cleared her throat quietly.

“That’s not what I mean.”

Galinda huffed in confusification. Was he rebuffing her? His gaze was still appreciative. His hand hadn’t moved from her side. She lowered her eyes and looked at him through her dark eyelashes, knowing that normally made men go crazy. “Well, I guess we’ll find out.”

Fiyero just smiled at her, with his perfect teeth.

--

An hour or two and a few cups of punch later, Galinda had forgotten about nearly all of her problems. Elphaba wouldn’t show up, she was sure of that now. And her Granny would certainly never find out Galinda had given the hat away, and Galinda would send her the most beautiful birthday card she could find.

So instead of worrying about those unpleasing things, she let Fiyero twirl her over and over until she was breathless and giggling, collapsing against him whenever there was a pause in the music. The babble of conversation and stomping feet in a steady rhythm surrounded them like a wall. Occasionally, someone touched her arm as she swirled past them, greeting her or telling her she looked lovely. Everyone knew her. Pfannee and ShenShen, she noted, watched her and Fiyero approvingly and shot her thumbs-up whenever they spun past them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Biq and Nessa talking together quietly, shy smiles on both of their faces.

Finally, finally something was going right. Galinda sighed with relief. Relief that university wouldn’t turn out to be a bust after all. Relief that she could, apparently, have a good man who was nice to talk to if she put the effort in. Relief that she’d even helped Nessa! And that unfortunuous situation with the hat would just have to be a remnant of her unsuccessful first weeks of university, in which she had given in to pettiness a little more than she would have liked.

The music slowed, and Fiyero changed the pace of his step. Galinda stumbled, grateful for his quick arms steadying her so she wouldn’t fall. Oz, that would have been embarrassing. Normally, she was a natural on heels, but it was hard to know what he would do next. Eventually, they settled into a type of rhythm, one of Fiyero’s hands on her elbow, the other on her waist.

“I’m glad we met, Fiyero,” she said to him, admiring the shape of his eyebrows and mouth.

Fiyero grinned his lopsided grin. “Same to you, Galinda.”

When he spun her the next time, Galinda stepped in a little closer. She could feel the rough fabric of his coat on her skin. She looked up at him, blinking slowly. Okay. It’s go time. Pfannee and ShenShen fluttered around the periphery of her vision. His lips were so, so close. She could see the creases in his skin. Just do it, Galinda thought to herself. Kissing was fine after it started, but this was the moment she hated the most. Standing on the tips of her toes, she leaned in.

Just before their lips touched, she felt Fiyero’s hand on her chest, holding her back with the tiniest amount of pressure. “Galinda,” he whispered softly into her mouth. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she breathed and closed the gap.

Fiyero wasn’t overeager, like the boys she had previously kissed. His lips were firm and soft, but didn’t give too much. They moved against hers with just the right amount of pressure. His tongue stayed neatly behind his teeth, where it belonged. He cupped her face gently after a moment and drew her closer. Galinda’s hand froze on his waist, holding on for balance. Absentmindedly, she shifted her head back and forth, how she always did. It seemed to be enjoyable. At least she had never gotten complaints. Oz, she was still thirsty. Dancing was such an underestimated physical activity, Galinda mused. It was probably combination of the heat in the room and the twirling. Also, her heels.

They broke apart after a moment, Fiyero’s hand still on her cheek. “Let’s get another drink,” she said to him, dragging him away from the dance floor. “The punch is amazing.”

“Galinda,” Fiyero said, so sternly that Galinda had to laugh at his expression. “How many of those have you had?”

“They’re just so good.” Galinda, having finally reached the bowl, was stopped only by Fiyero’s gentle hand on her wrist. She patted his arm awkwardly. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m simply impressed by your tolerance,” Fiyero said, watching Galinda ladle more punch into a cup. It sloshed as she moved it to her mouth, spilling slightly onto her chin.

Galinda downed it in one go and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, hoping Fiyero hadn’t noticed. “I am impressive,” she conceded. Her mind was hazy, and she already felt brighter, looser. Maybe it had been enough punch, now. She put the cup aside and leaned against a column. “But you’re impressive, too.”

“Am I?” Fiyero smiled again, moving over to stand next to her.

Galinda considered kissing him again, but decided to make him wait for a bit. It was better to draw out tension this way. Instead, she shook out her hair. "Are all Tigelaars this handsome?"

“You.”

Galinda and Fiyero turned simultaneously.

Madame Morrible. Madame Morrible at the Ozdust.

Galinda squeaked, teetering on her heels. “That’s the Sorcery professor I told you about,” she whispered, tapping Fiyero's arm excitedly. It couldn’t be. Galinda's vision must have gone bad. There was something in the punch. A hallucinogenic. But Madame Morrible, dressed in elegant robes and with her hair done up as always, did not go away even as Galinda blinked at her desperately. If anything, her irritated gaze got even more lifelike. With a trembling finger, Galinda pointed to herself. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Madame Morrible pursed her lips. “And you can go back to doing…” she motioned towards the crowd, frowning. “Whatever this is.”

Fiyero looked between Galinda and Madame Morrible dubiously.

“Go,” Galinda whispered to him.

He scampered off.

Galinda turned back to Madame Morrible, breathless. “Madame Morrible.” Her thoughts, never prone to accepting moderation, moved fluidly out of her under the punch’s influence. “You are—no, really. I admire you so much. Your scholarshiply works—”

“Enough.”

Galinda swallowed. It occurred to her suddenly that she was in an illegal club, drinking. She had snuck out instead of adhering to Shiz University’s strict curfew and its even stricter code of conduct. Any second now, Madame Morrible would surely open her mouth and Galinda would receive the most vicious diatribe of her life. If she wasn’t instantly expelled and sent back to Pertha Hills. Galinda winced in anticipation.

Instead, Madame Morrible reached into the depths of her cloak and wordlessly retrieved a magic wand.

“A magic wand? For me?” Galinda shook her head vigorously. She must be imagining this. There was no other explanation.

“It’s a training wand.”

“Oh,” Galinda breathed. The wand looked strangely mundane, not too magical at all. Perhaps sparks would fly the first time she took it into her hand. Galinda reached out her hands slowly, not quite daring to touch it. “A training wand? For magical studies? It is truly my heart’s greatest desire to become a sorceress. I…I’m speechless.”

“And yet you say so much.” Madame Morrible looked deeply unhappy. Vaguely, Galinda wondered why. She imagined that Madame Morrible didn’t often go out. It was probably harder, at her age.

Gently, Galinda took the wand, turning it over in her hands. “How can I express my gratitution? Thank you—for having faith in me.” Faith when even Galinda had given it up. So deep was Madame Morrible’s commitment to her students.

“I actually have no faith in you,” Madame Morrible said flatly.

Galinda squeaked in indignation. “But then why—”

“This was your roommate’s idea, not mine.” Madame Morrible glanced around, at the patrons flurrying around them. Her mouth twisted.

Galinda shook her head. “I’m confused.” Maybe the punch was hallucinogenic. Maybe that was why the Ozdust was illegal.

“You’re not the only one,” Madame Morrible said. “Miss Elphaba has requested that I include you—” she closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if to gather strength before continuing, “—in our private sorcery seminar. And she insisted I tell you this very night, or she would quit.”

Galinda was used to thinking quickly. Too quickly. Especially after that amount of punch. Now, her mind felt sluggish. Gathering her thoughts was like swimming through quicksand. “But…why?”

“I’m a Sorceress, not a mind reader,” Madame Morrible snapped. Galinda shrank back, clutching the wand protectively. Madame Morrible’s fierce gaze softened a bit. She took a small step towards Galinda and tilted her head towards her. “I cannot risk losing her. So, here I am.”

I look like a goldfish, Galinda thought uselessly. In this dress and when I stand here just opening and closing my mouth. An actual goldfish.

Madame Morrible’s eyes wandered over Galinda’s face and her perfectly styled hair. Searching for something, perhaps. A shred of magical talent or goodness. Galinda had, for a moment, a sharp fear that Madame Morrible was actually a mind reader. She could see all the pettiness and vindictiveness inside of her. She knew about all the readings Galinda had lied about completing and the haphazardly put together assignments that had somehow still gotten her through. She knew about Elphaba. She knew about the hat.  

Madame Morrible took a step back. “My personal opinion, dear, is that you do not have what it takes.”

Anxiety twisted in Galinda’s stomach. She could not think of anything to say.

“I hope you will prove me wrong,” Madame Morrible said. “I doubt you will.” She smiled, as kindly as she probably could. Galinda forced herself to relax. She probably just wanted to motivate her. Although her methods were unconventional for that.

“Well,” Galinda said, finally, “thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You might want to thank your roommate.” Madame Morrible crossed her arms. “She just got here.”

The warm haziness of the punch left Galinda so suddenly that she stumbled back and bumped into the column. “What?”

“You invited her,” Madame Morrible said, pushing past her towards the bar.

Galinda stared at the spot Madame Morrible had just occupied, mind uselessly looping through different options. She could run away. She could fall and pretend to hit her head or actually hit her head and claim she had developed amnesia. She could run to Elphaba—move, her brain shouted at her, find her before she comes in. But Galinda just stood, frozen in useless shock.

The music stopped with a screech. Laughter simmered through the room.

Galinda turned.

Someone stood at the top of the stairs, clad in a somber but elegant black. The jagged silhouette of a pointed Witch hat bobbed into view. The figure began to move haltingly down the stairs, glancing helplessly from left to right, searching for a kind face or maybe just a door to escape out of.

Elphaba was here.

She was here. She had gotten dressed, and done up her hair, and crammed out a pair of semi-formal shoes. She had positioned the hat neatly on her head. She had likely even fastened it with a pin; Galinda knew it tended to shift when one moved. Wildly, Galinda wondered what in the world had motivated the girl to get dressed up and come here, all this way, just to stand there with that wounded, defenseless look on her face.

Oz, who was she kidding. Elphaba was here because Galinda had invited her.

Galinda moved back towards Fiyero slowly, as if she was dreaming. When he saw her, he placed a hand on the small of her back. “That’s your roommate, right?”

“Yes,” Galinda said miserably.

Pfannee and ShenShen guffawed in a corner.

Elphaba had now arrived at the bottom of the stairs, advancing through the crowd that had formed a bubble around her. Just keep dancing, Galinda wanted to shout at them. Nothing to see here.

“What a disgustifying hat,” someone muttered.

Regret spasmed through Galinda’s body. She was overcome with the temptation to close her eyes and wait for this all to be over. It would have to be over eventually, right? It was half a wonder Elphaba hadn’t turned at first sight of the crowd and run back up the stairs. Galinda knew that was what she would have done.

Elphaba reached up to the top of her head, removed a pin—so she had pinned the hat on, Galinda thought, dejected—and set the hat on the floor. It sat there, lonely and strange-looking, casting a ragged shadow.

Galinda’s heart skipped.

With fluid motions, Elphaba began to dance. Galinda forgot, for a moment, where she was. Elphaba’s movements were unlike anything she’d ever seen before. They reminded her of water coursing through stones, or thin branches bending in the wind, refusing to give up the last leaves of fall. Entranced, she watched Elphaba until the tittering and murmuring from the crowd grew louder and enveloped her in a wall of jeering noise.

Galinda knew exactly how this would go. Elphaba would end her dance and everyone would laugh and go back to ignoring her. She would escape into a corner and disappear, eventually. When Galinda came back to their room, tipsy and stumbling over her suitcases, Elphaba would pretend to be asleep. Tomorrow, they would act like everything was normal, but Elphaba would be even more guarded than before. She would be more fiercely protective of her academic standing. Her comments would be even more biting, her corrections more pedantic. And Galinda would sit in the last row and laugh at the protections Elphaba built up around her in an attempt to make life a little more bearable. That was how the story would end. It would just happen, like a leaf falling from a tree or a stream following its inescapable path to the sea.

Elphaba moved closer to the crowd. She put the hat back on. She replaced the pin. Galinda watched her grandmother’s hat fly around the room.

“I’ll say this much,” Fiyero murmured, breath tickling Galinda’s earlobe. “She doesn’t give a twig about what anyone else thinks.”

“Of course she does.” Galinda felt cold. “She just pretends not to.”

Galinda didn’t know how to do Sorcery. Truthfully, she didn’t know if she ever would. She was certain that she’d at least never be able to change fundamental laws of nature. At least not like Elphaba.

She stepped forward anyway.

Although she knew she well and truly deserved it, her heart still sank when Elphaba drew back from her. Oh, Oz. Elphaba didn’t deserve this. Not for being annoying—although, now that Galinda thought about it, she couldn’t remember any specific instance that seemed like a proper justification for that annoyance, apart from the situation with the hatbox. Certainly not showing up to a party she’d been invited to, wearing a hat Galinda had given her personally.

Galinda glanced around at her friends and classmates as she took another step, relieved that Elphaba didn’t try to move further away. Maybe the music would just start up again and they could all go back to normal. Nothing to see here, folks! It’s a new dance style. Very “in” in the Emerald City. With a sinking feeling, she realized everyone was staring at her instead, eyebrows knit together in confusion and amusification. Someone laughed and was promptly shushed. What now? Of course she hadn’t thought this through. She wheeled around, hoping for a sign. Fiyero stood in the crowd, his lips slightly parted as his eyes flickered back and forth between Galinda and Elphaba.

Helplessly, Galinda turned back towards her roommate. She was on her own.

Without understanding why, Galinda put her hand to her forehead in a pale imitation of the elegant motion Elphaba had performed earlier. Elphaba stared at her blankly. There was no malice in her eyes. Galinda could not, for the life of her, understand why. She wouldn’t have been surprised if Elphaba struck her, or threw the hat at her feet and stomped off.  

Instead, Elphaba waited.

What do you want me to do, Galinda thought wildly. I can’t fix this, Elphaba.

As if in answer, Elphaba looked down at her own green hands, then at Galinda’s.

They mirrored each other perfectly. As their hands touched, the air came to life around them, thrumming with strange energy.

Looking back, Glinda found it unbearable that she remembered so little of that dance. Secondhand accounts existed—Fiyero had even once begun a lively retelling at an Emerald City party before getting silenced by a glare from the Wizard—in which it was reported that the dance had truly been an otherworldly moment. Like gears of a clock, Galinda and Elphaba spun against each other. When one inhaled, it seemed the other exhaled, completing the breath.

Galinda’s memory consisted only of fragments: cupping Elphaba’s cheek to wipe a hot tear away, the warmth of Elphaba’s body radiating through the dress. Most distinctively, Galinda remembered hugging Elphaba after a moment and feeling her thudding heartbeat against hers. Elphaba’s hands came to rest softly on her waist. Elphaba smelled good, mildly spiced with the slightest hint of citrus. When they broke apart, Galinda was breathless. Her body pulsated with adrenaline. Elphaba was laughing—truly laughing, in a way Galinda had never seen before. She was enchanted by the way Elphaba nearly came undone through her laughter.

Grabbing her roommate’s hand, she pulled her out of the crowd, up the steps. She didn’t know where she was taking her, yet. But wherever they went, they would go together.

--

“So that was how your friendship started,” I said.

Glinda opened her mouth.

I held my hands out quickly, in surrender. “That wasn’t my question.” 

“You’ve got to be more careful with your intonation, Nor,” Glinda said. “When your voice goes up at the end, it sounds like a question.”

“That’s why I clarified.” My head ached. I took a deep breath. “This is my question. Were you ever afraid of the Wi—of Elphaba?”

Glinda’s eyes flashed. “No.”

“Even after she… when you weren’t friends anymore?”

“Not even then.”

“I don’t understand.” How could she not be afraid of someone who terrorized the country and kidnapped her fiancé? Even if their academic rivalry had mutated into a quiet truce or a genuine friendship, there must have been a point where the Witch had become too unpredictable, too altered. Perhaps it was painful for Glinda to admit that she had misjudged her former roommate so severely. Or maybe she had never been afraid of Elphaba because to her, Elphaba had always remained the bookish girl she had danced with at university, never to grow up and become the Wicked Witch. Briefly, I wondered if she even wanted me to write about the dance in the book. It seemed strangely intimate for a moment between future bastions of good and evil, respectively. Like they were two sides of the same coin. Oz, there would be an uproar if I wrote that. I could barely imagine a greater insult.

“You’ll understand, Nor.” Glinda settled back into the plush couch cushion. “That was quite the night." Her gaze clouded over. I wondered how it felt for her to retreat into her memory, the only place in which her university friends were alive and unmarred by future wrongs. “Morrible, showing up to the Ozdust. Fiyero and I kissing for the first time.” She sighed. “Dancing with Elphaba.”

“A real turning point.” If I stayed as neutral as possible, maybe Glinda would keep reminiscing.

“Elphaba was much braver than I was,” Glinda continued. “I would have…turned heel at the first opportunity and run away.”

“She was nothing if not persistent.” I couldn’t keep the bite out of my voice. It was true, though. The Wicked Witch of the West had had a reputation for persistence, up to and across every moral and ethical line.

I half-expected Glinda to recoil and instantly end today’s session. Instead, she just shrugged limply. “She never gave up on anything.”

“Maybe she should have.”

Instead of shirking Glinda’s gaze as it focused in on me, I held eye contact. I didn’t mean to challenge her. I just wanted to see if I could spot Galinda, sheltered behind that beautifully untouchable face. Before I could—if she even was there anymore—Glinda closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly.

Glinda sighed. “She never gave up on me either, Nor.”

I didn’t bother asking what she meant. There wouldn’t be an answer. I was sure of it.  

Chapter Text

Sitting at a table, they regarded each other.

Elphaba’s eyes were bright as usual. Her mouth seemed less tense than it normally was: her lips were slightly parted, and there was almost a smile hiding somewhere, not quite visible. Elphaba’s glasses slid haphazardly towards the end of her nose. Galinda had the urge to push them back up for her, but clenched her hands in her lap instead. A rotten feeling had bloomed over her heart, and a sinking dread that she’d never be able to accumulate any sort of good will from Elphaba after the events of the past few weeks.  

They spoke at the same time.

“I’m so—”

“I—”

 Galinda cleared her throat. “Sorry, go on.”

“No, it’s fine.” Elphaba waved her hand. “Please.”

“I am so sorry,” Galinda burst out. She put her hands on the table, pressing them flat against the cold wood. “I don’t know what to say. Did you really talk to Madame Morrible for me?” She was rushing her words. It was a bad habit that she’d always had. It made people tune out. Galinda forced herself to take a deep breath, which normally, helped the words come out smoother. But she was better than this, usually. “I’ve been— awful.” She shook her head in disbelief. Elphaba just shrugged.

Sighing, Galinda continued. “It was just the Sorcery, and the books, and—” Oz, this was not going well. She could tell by the arch of Elphaba’s finely plucked eyebrow. “You can just tell Madame Morrible you made a mistake. No, I can tell her you made a mistake. Not that you made a mistake—I made the mistake. I am the mistake. And the hat—”

Galinda motioned helplessly to the hat, still firmly on top of Elphaba’s head.

“You don’t have to keep the hat. You can burn it.”

Miserably, Galinda slumped into her chair. Although she didn’t exactly know if Elphaba was one to hold grudges, this would certainly be an occasion for one. Honestly, Elphaba would probably never forgive her. She had ruined her only chance at Sorcery, and her only chance at being friends with Elphaba. Her chest throbbed with a dull ache at the thought of going back to their venomous back-and-forth after that dance, which would just have to be a reminder of a potential different life, now. One that Galinda had permanently ruined.   

Elphaba bit her lip, eyes flickering towards the wall. Galinda followed her gaze to an intricate display of carved ice, a blur of green reflected within as Elphaba reached up to take the hat off. She saw Elphaba swallow as she ran her long fingers over the lining and the brim. She was probably seeing how ugly the hat was for the first time, Galinda thought. She braced herself for the reaction.

Then, Elphaba sighed sharply and placed the hat on the table between them. “Look, Galinda,” she said, sounding not quite as annoyed as she could, at least. “I like the hat.”

“You do?” Galinda stared blankly at Elphaba and the hat, not quite believing what she’d just heard.

Elphaba shrugged. “Yes, I really do.”

Was there a hint of a smile in Elphaba’s voice? More than a hint, Galinda thought. The relief that came over her was so strong that tears shot into her eyes. “Keep it,” Galinda said breathlessly, pushing the hat across the table to Elphaba. “It doesn’t look good on anyone, but it looks really good on you.” Galinda was surprised that she meant it. Instead of making Elphaba look awkward and gangly, the hat made her look larger than life. It just suited her, in that plain and simple way that things fit to one another.

Tentatively, Elphaba reached out and touched the hat, fingers gliding across the creases in the fabric. “Is that a compliment?”

Oz, there was the alcohol talking again. Galinda closed her eyes, mentally smacking herself for her quick tongue. If she hadn’t ruined it yet, she surely would in the next few minutes. “It was supposed to be a compliment,” she mumbled in weak defence. “I guess it didn’t—”

“I’m just not used to that, from you,” Elphaba commented dryly.

Galinda sighed and bit her lip. “I know,” she said. “I haven’t… been very nice to you.” Her voice broke.

Elphaba glanced at her with a neutral expression.

Galinda felt her heart pattering all over the place. Disoriented, she swallowed. She could have lived with anger. She could have even lived with annoyance, or the haughtiness she had come to expect from her roommate. But this was unfamiliar terrain, and Galinda felt herself getting frustrated. Elphaba could at least nod, or something. Why was Galinda responsible for saying something now? Guilt twinged at her heart, and she forced the feeling down. Elphaba hadn’t set Galinda up to be humiliated in front of everyone. That had been all her.

It was Pfannee and ShenShen, Galinda imagined herself saying desperately. They put me up to it. They threatened me. No, but that wasn’t true. Elphaba would see through it instantly. And that rotten feeling in Galinda’s chest would probably never go away.

“I’m really sorry,” Galinda said finally, unable to summon a clever turn of phrase—which would probably be wrong anyway—or believable excuse. Something urged her closer to Elphaba. Following the feeling, she reached a hand out and touched Elphaba’s arm lightly, just with her fingertips. She prepared herself for the sting of rejection when Elphaba inevitably pulled her arm back.

After a moment, she did, but just to put the hat back on her head. “It’s a good peace offering.” She tilted her head and looked at Galinda, not unsimilarly to the intensity of Madame Morrible’s stare. Oz, not two mind readers. After a moment that felt like an hour, Elphaba smiled, teeth poking out between her lips. “And I guess we’ll have to get along,” she said, shrugging, “if we’re in Sorcery class together.”

Oz, no. Tears brimmed in Galinda’s eyes again. Not Sorcery class. She couldn’t live with Elphaba dangling hope in front of her if she would snatch it away in the next or last minute. That would really, truly destroy her. “You really don’t—”

“Galinda.”

Obediently, she fell silent.

“I already asked Madame Morrible,” Elphaba said, lacing her fingers together and placing them on the table. “And I know you really want it.”

Galinda nodded softly. Her voice came out a whisper. “I do.”

“So…” Elphaba’s voice trailed off.

Galinda held her hands to her mouth. “Oh, Elphaba. I don’t deserve it.” She reached out across the table again and took Elphaba’s hand, really grabbing it, in hers. Elphaba’s hand was warm and soft. Her thumb rubbed the back of Galinda’s hand softly, like an afterthought.

By some miracle, she could be forgiven. A relieved tear rolled down Galinda’s cheek.

“Let’s just start over,” Elphaba said hurriedly. She drew her hand away from Galinda’s and offered it back to her to shake. “I’m Elphaba Thropp.”

Galinda cleared her throat, flustered at her sudden display of emotion. Not that she was a stranger to displays of emotion. There were usually just more people around. “Galinda Upland,” she said, shaking Elphaba’s hand firmly. “Of the Arduennas. Of the Upper Uplands.” She placed a hand on her chest. “I’m from Pertha Hills.” Had they ever even exchanged pleasantries like this? She knew Elphaba was from Munchkinland only because she’d seen her incredibly dour father in the news.

“I’ve heard it’s lovely there.” Elphaba raised her eyebrows. “Glinda, you said?”  

Galinda straightened her back. This was a test of some sort, presumably. Elphaba looked at her expectantly, perched on the edge of her chair. Galinda still rolled her eyes, just out of principle. “After Saint Glinda, yes,” she said neutrally. “Though my name is pronouncified Ga-Linda. The proper Gillikinese pronouncification, if you please.” She smiled modestly, then dropped her voice conspiratorially. “I have a third cousin named Glinda and she’s simply awful.”

“What, is she of the Lower Uplands?” Elphaba took a sip of her drink.

“She defrauded my Popsicle and he had to declare bankruptcy.” Galinda blinked innocently.

“Oz,” Elphaba said.

Realizing what she’d done, Galinda felt her ears grow hot. Her poor Popsicle. She just wasn’t reliable. This was how rumors started. This was how her father lost business connections. “I’m not supposed to talk about that,” she said miserably, in a feeble attempt to do damage control.

“Well, I won’t tell anyone.” Elphaba cleared her throat. “That’s why my hat is so tall. It’s where I keep the secrets.”

Galinda found herself laughing, really laughing. It was an unfamiliar feeling to laugh with Elphaba rather than at her. Though it was also decidedly more satisfying this way.

They sat for a moment in silence, a strange charge in the air between them. What did one say in this situation? Galinda, who normally found herself adept at small talk, cycled through possible conversational topics and discarded them just as quickly. She’d slept mere feet next to Elphaba for several weeks now, and yet she somehow felt like she was walking on eggshells. Trying to compose herself, she smiled. “Well, Miss Elphaba—”

“Elphaba.”

“Elphaba.” Galinda swallowed. Had she ever said the name before? She had, of course, in all those gossip sessions. But it felt unfamiliar, the way her mouth formed it, the burst of the “b” a novelty. It was like a different word entirely. “I’m here with my friends. Would you like to meet them?” The rest of them would see it like Galinda now did, she was sure. How could they not?

“Your…friends?” Elphaba raised an eyebrow.

Galinda nodded.

Elphaba’s eyes widened. “Wait, Galinda, timeout. You’re not actually going to introduce me—”

“Of course not.” Galinda shot her a winning smile. “I’m just going to say I made a horrendible misjudgment of your character and that I actually saw your dress in last month’s Ozmopolitan. ShenShen and Pfannee will melt just like butter. And the others—” Nessarose would obviously be easy. Biq needed to get along with his future sister-in-law, so he practically had no choice in the matter. And Fiyero—

Fiyero.

Galinda froze. Where had she left him? When had she left him? They’d seen each other after she’d spoken to Morrible, right? She dimly remembered pressing the wand into his hands before going to dance with Elphaba, but after that…

“What is it?” Elphaba said, disconcerted.

“I forgot about my date,” Galinda squeaked. “Oz, I forgot about Fiyero.” The prince! Her non-boring boy! I ruin everything good that happens to me, she wailed inwardly. Not wanting to waste another second, she sprang up and grabbed Elphaba’s hand, pulling her forward with a lurch. “Oh, I gotta get down there.” Looking back at Elphaba’s bemused expression, she smiled. “You’re going to like him, Elph! We just have to make sure he doesn’t forget me.”

“Elph?” Elphaba wrinkled her nose.

“I’m not happy with that, either,” Galinda conceded. “We’ll work on it.”

At breakneck speed, Galinda pulled Elphaba back down the stairs, holding her hand tightly as they weaved through the crowd of people dancing and laughing and drinking. It wouldn’t be good to lose her, Galinda thought. Poor girl’s been through more than enough today, already.  But the memory of Elphaba’s miserable entrance seemed distant now. Instead, Galinda was filled with a diffuse hope that made her feel buoyant. No, not just buoyant… exhilarized. She even skipped a little as she walked. Craning her neck, she spotted Fiyero with Nessa and Biq in the corner, chatting animatedly. Hm. Part of Galinda had hoped he’d been dejected and moping in her absence. Silly, she thought in the next moment. It’s good that he’s independent. That meant he would understand that Galinda needed time to herself, that she didn’t want to spend all day going for walks in the snow and kissing or drinking tea like the boyfriend she’d had over Lurlinemas her last year of school. Oz, he’d been boring. Not like Fiyero, who could keep himself occupied.

As they reached the group, Elphaba’s hand went slack in hers. Galinda, without turning back, gripped Elphaba tighter. “Don’t run,” she whispered. “You’ve got this.” If Elphaba had heard, she didn’t reply, but her fingers curled around Galinda’s again. Triumphantly, Galinda grinned.

With her free hand, she reached up to tap Fiyero on the shoulder.

“Galinda!” Fiyero said, turning around. He smiled. “Where’d you run off to?”

His gaze slid past her towards Elphaba, and for a moment Galinda felt her stomach roil with nerves. She squeezed Elphaba’s hand.  “We got a drink.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Nessa said, pushing herself over to her sister. She hugged Elphaba around the waist, beaming at her. Galinda’s fingers tingled as Elphaba let go of her hand.

“Miracles do happen,” Elphaba said drily.

Nessa’s shoes sparkled spectacularly, sending flecks of light up onto the ceiling and the walls. “Where’d you get that hat?”

“Guilty,” Galinda said automatically, then blushed. It was probably too soon to make jokes about it. Elphaba laughed, at least, covering her mouth.

“Elphaba, meet Boq,” Nessa said as Galinda turned back towards Fiyero.

“Did you forget about me?” Fiyero murmured, mouth dangerously close to hers again.

“Never,” Galinda gasped, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek lightly, just so he wouldn’t be worried. He still smelled good, even after an entire night of dancing. Galinda knew that wasn’t something to take for granted. “I missed you horrendibly! I just wanted to check on Elphaba—” Automatically, she turned to look for her. “Whom you haven’t met yet. That must be fixified.” She tapped Elphaba on the shoulder. “Fiyero, dear, this is my roommate, Elphaba Thropp. Nessa’s sister.”

Fiyero waved in greeting. Tentatively, Elphaba waved back. After a moment, her arm fell against her side loosely, the back of her hand twitching against Galinda’s. Galinda took a deep breath. She couldn’t just pick up Elphaba’s hand again. Even if Elphaba needed the support.

“Any relation to Governor Thropp?” Fiyero asked, tilting his head.

You’re famous, Galinda mouthed at Elphaba.        

Elphaba rolled her eyes. “Don’t start.”

“He’s our father,” Nessa said proudly.

“Well, I’m Fiyero.” Fiyero smiled again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Of the Vinkus.”

Elphaba’s face brightened suddenly. “The Vinkus?”

“Yes,” Fiyero said, looking slightly taken aback. “In these parts, you call it Winkie—”

“I’ve read a lot about the Vinkus,” Elphaba interrupted. She pushed her glasses up, like she was getting ready to debate someone. Galinda twitched for a moment before she saw that Elphaba was smiling again, and heard that her voice was free of the desperate edge it usually had in class. “But the library only has books about Vinkan history written by Gillikinese—eminent scholars, surely, but I doubt they manage to accurately—”

“Elphaba,” Nessa warned with a low voice.

Elphaba took a deep breath. “Sorry. I forget myself. You have better things to do than talk about this at a party.” She took a step back and looked at the three of them warily. “I’ll stop.”

“She loves history so much, she forgets that everyone else doesn’t,” Nessa said, not without affection.

Galinda’s breath hitched, ears ringing. The zealosity in Elphaba’s eyes had made her whole face light up. She nodded at Elphaba to go on.

Elphaba sent her a grateful smile and a resigned shrug.

“My father always recommends The Sea of Grass,” Fiyero said after a moment. Then he ruffled his hair. “Though I think that’s because it’s very friendly to the Wizard, and he’s rather devoted to him. Personally, I don’t find it captures the people well. But there are some transcriptions of oral history available in my family’s collection, if you’d be interested?”

Heart fluttering, Galinda watched them speak. They delved into topics she wasn’t even sure she’d ever heard of. But Elphaba was happy, and Fiyero glanced over at her often enough that she didn’t feel left out. Occasionally, he touched her elbow lightly and sent a soft smile her way. Elphaba glanced over at Galinda occasionally, as if to check if she was doing everything correctly. Galinda found herself nodding in encouragement. Nessa and Boq—no, it was Biq, Galinda was sure of it—returned to the dance floor, where the band was striking up a lovely, if slow melody. Galinda clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, suddenly itchy with the urge to move. It would be rude to simply leave Elphaba alone. But she was with Fiyero, wasn’t she?

Having made up her mind, Galinda tapped Elphaba on the shoulder, then leaned over to whisper in her ear. Her nose bumped against Elphaba’s cheek in her excitement. “Oh, sorry,” she whispered, holding Elphaba’s steady arm for support. “I’m going to go to the bar. Do you want another drink?”

Elphaba blinked, and for a moment Galinda was afraid she’d actually said something wildly offensive. Then she cleared her throat. “Yes. Thank you, Galinda.”

Galinda nodded. “I will be right back.” Then, beaming at the both of them: “I knew you’d get along!”

When she glanced back at them, Fiyero was leaning against a column, jacket unbuttoned and hair beginning to curl from the humidity in the room. Biq and Nessa sat side-by-side, shoulders bumping together as they spoke. And Elphaba, just before Galinda turned her head away again, looked up and smiled at her, all the way across the room.

--

Glinda hit me with an expectant look.

“Right, my question.” Flustered, I rifled through my notes. I had a question about Fiyero and his relationship to the Vinkus. I had a question about Nessa—the second Wicked Witch that Galinda had been friends with, apparently. Again, I wondered how she’d kept her image clean. Not everyone had been so lucky. The Bear that had had the misfortune to raise the Thropp girls was hounded out of Munchkinland, never to be seen again.

Before I could decide on what to ask, there was a soft knock at the door.

“Lady Glinda,” Miss Billie called from the hallway. “There’s someone on the telephone for you.”

“Thank you.” Glinda drew a sharp breath and stood. “See you tomorrow, Nor.”

 “My question,” I said, deflating.

“Save it for later.” Glinda waved her hand. “It’ll be a bonus.”

--

In the evening, I sat down to stare at my notes. Although it was fruitless, the activity had somehow become part of my nighttime routine, between drinking Miss Billie’s fragrant lavender tea after dinner and brushing my teeth in the always-chilly bathroom. At least there was an interesting angle emerging with Galinda and the Witch’s—Elphaba’s, I corrected myself—friendship. Whoever those two girls at Shiz had been, they would change so completely within the next few years that their old names would be shed like skin off a Snake.

It poured that night, but the soft patter of raindrops on the roof did nothing to lull me into sleep. Instead, my thoughts fell easily into the groove of thinking about Glinda again, Galinda and the Witch, Galinda and Elphaba. I imagined them dancing together, green and pink blurring into one. Like gears of a clock. Glinda’s face had been perfectly composed as she recounted their dance, her breath even and measured. I couldn’t imagine dancing with another person like that. I didn’t think I’d ever known anyone well enough.

What a fascinating line it was that they walked, hatred bleeding into perfect understanding… a keep your enemies closer sort of deal, perhaps? Oz, I was getting tired. My thoughts were unraveling, curling in on themselves like the dirt roads in Pertha Hills. They went back to the dance, instinctual and intimate. And their rapport afterwards…how could I describe them together, so that the tabloids wouldn’t get ahold of it and think I was slandering their precious Glinda the Good? I had to balance these things. Use the relationship to develop Glinda, not to strengthen her association with some of the most publicized terrorist acts of the century.

But how those girls must have danced together…

Perhaps they cemented their fate in that moment. And afterwards, when Elphaba met Fiyero, did Galinda ever consider she would be the one to take him from her? Ignoring the sensible part of my brain’s plea to stick to facts instead of building narrative castles in the sand, I imagined a meeting between them as fully-formed public figures. The Witch, clad in Galinda’s hat and her signature rags standing idly across from Glinda the Good, in expensive designer clothing, clutching a custom-made wand. I supposed that Glinda, burdened by the responsibility of her position, would try to appease the Witch by reminding her of simpler times, where there was room for dancing and light conversation. Whatever shred of humanity left in her would have to respond to that: her university friend, begging for mercy.

You’re going off again, I chided myself. This was what had gotten me into trouble in foster homes from Munchkinland to Quox: taking a spark of truth and running with it. In my heart, I was still the girl who was so desperate for a story she’d make one up just to feel important. Who’d say things that had neither rhyme nor reason.

So, like a child, I turned and pulled the covers up over my ears.

Chapter Text

In the boat on the way back to university, Galinda sat between Elphaba and Fiyero. Her head rested on the shoulder padding of Fiyero’s jacket, buzzing lightly. Not unpleasantly, it was just… busy. The babble of conversation rose and fell around them. Perhaps they were saying something about her outfit, or wondering about why she was sitting with Elphaba. The boat, swaying gently, did not entice her to sleep. Instead, her hand intertwined itself autonomously with Elphaba’s, fitting in between her fingers with ease. Now, she was warm.

Galinda felt a soft nudge in her ribs. “Are you falling asleep?” Elphaba asked, eyes large.

“I am wide awake, Elphaba,” Galinda replied, nudging Elphaba right back. The adrenaline in her body hummed. She removed her head from Fiyero’s jacket, patting his shoulder absentmindedly. It would be impolite not to look at Elphaba while they were talking. She had already made a bad impression on her once. That couldn’t happen again.

“Oh.” Elphaba nodded. “Well, that’s good. I wouldn’t know who else to talk to.”

So what if Galinda smiled at that? It was nice to sit and exchange words with Elphaba that weren’t biting or mere formalities. It was nice to know that Elphaba could duck her head to grin sheepishly instead of just rolling her eyes. And it was especially nice to know that Elphaba did think she was at least a little funny, because when Galinda made her best impression of Madame Morrible, Elphaba laughed so hard she nearly fell off the bench. Her laugh was a distinctive cackle that filled the night air, sharp as a whip and infectious. The first time she laughed, Pfannee and ShenShen turned around in perfect unison and sent them twin stares of doubt. Inwardly, Galinda had groaned. But she tilted her head and beamed at them anyway, fingers fluttering in the cool night air.

The next time Elphaba had laughed, they’d laughed, too.

When the boat docked, shuddering against the pier, Galinda was strangely disappointed. Perhaps it would just be over now, that night. A fluke or a freak event. They would go back to ignoring each other, like nature reverting its course or a body striving for homeostasis.

Then Elphaba turned to help her off the boat.

After a series of whispered goodbyes and a brief kiss for Fiyero—don’t forget him again, Galinda had instructed herself sternly—they stumbled back to their dorm room. Well, Galinda stumbled. Elphaba, still seeming remarkably sober, walked with impressive steadiness, occasionally using a gentle touch on Galinda’s arm or waist to keep her from running into a wall or a doorframe. Galinda felt keenly then that a new phase of university truly had arrived, one in which she could be kind and Elphaba would genuinely like her. Yes, that would be the great difference to the time before. Content, she sighed.

“What a night,” Galinda sang when they finally arrived in their room. She yanked her heels off and threw them roughly in the direction of her closet. She’d pick them up tomorrow. When she’d slept.

Elphaba perched herself onto her bed, daintily unlacing her shoes. “Are parties always like that?”

“Well,” Galinda said, suppressing the sudden urge to squeal or jump onto her mattress, “I don’t know what kind of parties you throw in Munchkinland—” She coughed. Maybe that was a bit too much? “Though I’m sure the parties there are amazing.”

“I’ve never been to a party before,” Elphaba said quietly. “So I wouldn’t know.”

Galinda gasped. “Never?”

Shrugging, Elphaba reached up to the undo her hair. Her braids cascaded down towards her mid-back. Galinda found it fascinating how her shoulders could move up and down so gently. When Galinda shrugged, it looked choppy and desperate.

She shook herself to get back on topic. “Never ever? Not even a birthday? Not even your own birthday?” She winced at her voice, high-pitched and thin. This was usually the point at which Pfannee and ShenShen changed the topic. To shut herself up, Galinda started brushing her teeth furiously. That had always seemed to work in the past. Oh, but she was too excited to just stand her and brush her teeth. She would have teeth forever, but tonight was going to slip away from her like water through an open hand. “So that was really your first party?” Her words were muffled through the toothpaste.

Elphaba shrugged again. “Do funerals count?”

Galinda was surprised at the resonant laugh that burst out of her chest. Normally, she wanted her laugh to be dainty and light, but now she was either too drunk or too tired to care. She was so tired, in fact, that she was no longer tired at all. She spit the toothpaste in the sink, rinsed quickly, and wiped her chin with the back of her hand. “That’s funny,” she said gleefully and splayed herself across Elphaba’s bed, flopping from side to side to try to get comfortable. A weak voice in the back of her head speculated helplessly on why Galinda felt the need to be comfortable on Elphaba’s bed. Well, little weak voice, Galinda thought, it’s very comfortable here, and I feel no need to walk all over this room to my bed. “Oof,” she said, finally finding a tolerable position. “I couldn’t remotely sleep.”

“Me neither,” Elphaba said softly. She shuffled back and forth a little on the bed, leg just touching Galinda’s.

Galinda thought back to the sleepovers she’d had a girl: dolls lined up in a row, clad in pink, a tribunal of stuffed animals. Boarding school sleepovers had consisted of hushed gossip and passing around a bottle of watered-down wine, mainly so they could have slight hangovers in class on the next day and revel in experiencing the same pain. Galinda had tended to fall asleep early, at those. She’d be known for that. Now this, on the other hand…

Elphaba was looking at her with such soft sincerity that it made Galinda want to scream. How could all of the girl’s bite just disappear like that?

“I have an idea,” Galinda burst out. Unnerved by her own energy, she leapt up and turned around, clasping her hands on her chest. “Let’s tell each other something we’ve never told anyone before.”

Elphaba blinked.

“I’ll go first,” Galinda said, tongue faster than her brain. “I—”

When I see you do Sorcery, I want it so badly that I would tear myself apart to find that talent in me. I just don’t think it’d do anything.

I was mean to you because I couldn’t bear that you’re better than me. I hope I will be able to bear it.

I don’t think I’m a good person.

Galinda coughed. Now where had those thoughts come from? She turned away from Elphaba to hide her frown. These were topics for absolutely no one, not even for Galinda’s irregularly-kept journal. There was no telling what would happen if Galinda said any of that. Although Galinda was no stranger to pouting or crying in front of other people, generally, she knew just how long a person could bear to comfort her before she had to turn the waterworks off. But Elphaba, somehow, was good at bringing her out of her element. And if Galinda cried uncontrollably, it would probably make them both uncomfortable, and that just wouldn’t do. That is not the point of this exercise, Galinda scolded herself. The point was bonding and friendship.

She’d have to say something joyous, then. Something that wouldn’t make Elphaba feel bad.

Oz, she had something! Finally, a secret worth telling. Heart racing, Galinda flipped over to face Elphaba. “Fiyero and I are going to get married.”

Elphaba raised an eyebrow. “He already asked you?”

“He doesn’t know yet,” Galinda said in a loud whisper. Poor Fiyero. Galinda was bad at organization, but she did have a plan for Fiyero. Perhaps he would be overwhelmed, though. Galinda nodded to herself sagely. It would be better to ease him into it.

Galinda waited expectantly, but Elphaba just shifted on the bed.

“Now you tell me a secret,” Galinda prompted her.

Elphaba raised her eyebrows.

Galinda nodded, motioning at Elphaba to begin. She knew from Pfannee and ShenShen that secrets were important in a group, to foster a sense of togetherness and camaraderie. Or something like that.

Elphaba tilted her head. “What do you think counts as a secret?”.

“Hm.” Galinda knit her eyebrows together, unsure. A secret was just a secret. Sometimes it was made-up. Sometimes it wasn’t. “Like…” her eyes roamed around the room. “Oh! I know. Like…” She lifted up Elphaba’s pillow. “Why do you sleep with this funny green bottle under your pillow every night?” She fished the bottle out from under the pillow. It wasn’t large, not really. It fit snugly in Galinda’s palm. Perhaps it was a secret tincture, to strengthen her sorcery skill. Or maybe it was from a lover. Oh, that was scandalocious. Who could it possibly be? That would truly be a good secret, and Galinda would hear all about it! She felt her stomach flip in anticipation.

Instead, Elphaba’s face changed again, turning desperate. “Give that back.” Elphaba made a frenzied grab for the bottle. Galinda’s face fell. At least there was the bite again. It was good to know it hadn’t gone completely. Without it, Galinda couldn’t imagine that sparring—both verbally and intellectually— with Elphaba was as entertaining as it was.

It’s bonding time now, Elphaba, Galinda thought, annoyed at Elphaba’s resistance. Galinda was really trying, and the least Elphaba could do was participate, if she didn’t bring any topics of her own. “Come on, tell me! I want to know!”

Elphaba’s deep green eyes were filled with wild panic as she snatched the bottle away from Galinda. Her fingers, clenched, clung to it, holding it close to her chest. With a start, Galinda shrank away, suddenly anxious. Oz, she’d taken it too far now. She thought she’d unlearned these things. While in grade school, Galinda had been a jabberer and a horrific gossip. With any shred of rumor, she had been like a dog with a bone. Her Momsie had instructed her, over and over again, not to do those things. Not to be too much. And though Galinda was still a jabberer, she had always thought it had softened, after her disastrous grade school years turned into upper school. At least then, a good, targeted look from Pfannee or ShenShen could make her shut up quickly.

“It was my mother’s, that’s all.” Elphaba’s voice was subdued.

“Oh,” Galinda said. She hated the way Elphaba was looking at her warily. Joyous bonding, she reminded herself. Oz, they were bad at that, apparently. Either they were at each other’s throats or Galinda was pushing too hard and Elphaba was pulling away. “That’s not fair,” Galinda said, only half-meaning it. “I told you a really good one.”

Sighing, Galinda flounced over to her side of the room and flopped her head down on her bed. After a moment, she cautiously looked up to check if Elphaba was laughing. No dice. Elphaba was a tough crowd. Galinda, who liked a challenge she could win, put her head down carefully again, shaking her hair out for maximum dramatic effect.

Finally, a giggle from behind her! Galinda smirked. They were going to bond, she was sure of it. This would be a lovely evening—night—morning—Galinda had lost track of time, but this would be a lovely, unspecified time of day or night with jokes, and jovial exchanges, and more of that laughter that seemed to make Elphaba unravel into something new entirely—

“My father hates me,” Elphaba said.

All of Galinda’s plotting came screeching to a halt. She wheeled around, aghast. “What?”

Elphaba chuckled. How could she chuckle at that? “That’s not the secret.”

“Oh,” Galinda said. It must be a secret, though, she thought. Just maybe not the secret.

Elphaba came toward her slowly, then sat down on the floor. She moved with a measured grace, her legs knotting themselves together. “The secret is that he has a good reason,” she said matter-of-factly. As if she was reciting a historical figure’s date of birth, or a math equation. There was a glum smile on her face. Galinda found it impossible to look away, or do anything but nod weakly. “It’s my fault.”

“What’s your fault?”

Elphaba just looked so alone, sitting there surrounded by the wooden floor and Galinda’s suitcases. Galinda scooched a little closer, so that their knees were nearly touching. She nodded at Elphaba again, a little stronger this time. That, she could do for her.

“That my sister is the way she is.”

Galinda’s mouth fell open before she could stop herself. What was Elphaba confessing to? Perhaps something had happened with her magic? Her heart sank. What a horrendible thing for a person to go through.

Unfocused, Elphaba’s eyes looked in Galinda’s direction. “When my mother was carrying Nessa, our father began to worry.”

“But you were a child, then,” Galinda interrupted.

“Yes. But he was worried the new baby might come out…”

Elphaba looked down at her hands.

Her green hands.

“Green,” Galinda whispered. Without thinking about it, she reached out and placed a hand on Elphaba’s wrist. Her skin was soft and supple. A ripple of energy passed between them, but she wasn’t afraid. She had made her peace with Sorcery. Elphaba wouldn’t do anything to her.

Elphaba nodded. Her voice was halting, but clear. “So he made our mother chew these… these milk flowers. And then Nessa came too soon. And her little legs were all tangled.”

“Oz.” Galinda’s voice felt like it was stuck in her throat.

“And our mother never woke up,” Elphaba continued. Her eyes were wet with tears that did not fall. “And none of that would have happened if it wasn’t for me, so. It’s my fault.” She sighed sharply.

“That was not your fault,” Galinda said forcefully. Her hand moved forward and found Elphaba’s, gripping her lean fingers. “That was the milk flowers’ fault.”

Elphaba shrugged wordlessly, peering at Galinda with wide eyes. Galinda was struck by how kind her face looked. The curve of the glasses drew Galinda’s eye from the gentle slope of Elphaba’s cheekbones to the smattering of freckles across her cheeks. Her braids spilled over her shoulders like a waterfall, moving fluidly whenever she turned her head.

Shaking her head, Galinda squeezed Elphaba’s hand. How could anyone blame their own child for that? Or any child, for that matter, Galinda thought. Even a terrible one. But particularly a child that was smart and sensitive like Elphaba must have been. What an awful story. Galinda wanted to forget about it, but she knew she never would.

“Well, Elphaba,” Galinda said, drawing herself up to her full seated height and summoning all the authoritative composure she could. “That may be your secret, but that doesn’t make it true.”

Was that the ghost of a smile on Elphaba’s lips?

Galinda stretched out her arms, still not tired. The day’s first ray of sunshine spilled through their balcony door, illuminating the room in a pink haze. “Oh,” Galinda said, clambering back up and towards the balcony. “Look, it’s tomorrow.”

“It’s today,” Elphaba said mildly, getting up too. She followed Galinda towards the balcony.

Galinda spun around on her heel as Elphaba came up behind her, so quickly Galinda nearly lost her balance. “Careful,” Elphaba warned, catching Galinda by the elbow.

“I’m very careful,” Galinda said, more out of indignation than anything else.

They were so close that Galinda could see the individual freckles on Elphaba’s nose. Elphaba’s face hovered mere inches away. Her hand was warm on Galinda’s elbow, steadying her. Galinda, overcome with another burst of energy, cleared her throat and blazed past Elphaba, motioning wildly. “Oh, I have the best idea. Since it’s tomorrow—”

“Today.”

“Since it’s today, and today is just starting—”

“We have to sleep today, Galinda.” Elphaba crossed her arms.

“We will sleep,” Galinda protested. “Later, or tomorrow, or something.” She grabbed Elphaba’s arm and pulled her down onto the pink cushions of her bed. Galinda blinked softly at Elphaba in the sunlight. “You look scared,” Galinda whispered.

“I am,” Elphaba whispered back sarcastically. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t be,” Galinda said, loudly. “I am harmless.” She gestured to herself vaguely, rolling around on the bed for emphasis. “I just thought—how can we make it easier for you, here, at Shiz?”

Elphaba just raised an eyebrow.

“Because now that we’re friends, Elphie—” Galinda gasped and covered her mouth. “Can I call you Elphie?”

“It’s a little perky,” Elphaba protested weakly. But the tips of her ears were a darker green, and Galinda thought she remembered that they only did that when she was blushing.

“Oh, I know.” Galinda booped the tip of Elphaba’s nose. Just because she was so close. Elphaba looked at her dubiously, but the darker green was spreading to her cheeks, now. “And you can call me Galinda.”

“That is your name.”

Galinda rolled her eyes. Such a pedant! “Let’s not quarrel. Anyway, Elphie”—triumphantly, she saw Elphaba bite back a smile—“you’ll soon come to find that everything is a lot easier when people like you. It’s so recommendable.”

“Well, you’re missing important context. You are easily liked. I am not.”

Galinda smacked Elphaba on the arm lightly. Such negativation! There was no time for moping now. “They don’t like you because they don’t know you.”

Elphaba sighed. “Everyone knows me.”

“Only that you’re green,” Galinda argued. “And that you raise your hand in class, like, a lot. You could give the rest of us a chance, every once in a while. But they don’t know you.” She was especially sure most of her fellow students hadn’t ever seen Elphaba really laugh; it would practically be impossible not to like her afterwards. Elphaba’s laugh really brought an entirely new quality to her face, Galinda mused. Something tender.

Elphaba looked away. “I mean, neither do you, really.”

There was a peculiar heaviness in Galinda’s stomach. “I suppose you’re right.”

Staring blankly, Elphaba shrugged. 

Galinda imagined being able to translate the smallest changes in Elphaba’s fine facial expressions, so she could know exactly what was going through her roommate’s mind at any moment. They would be able to laugh easier, with familiarity. Galinda’s heart kicked into higher gear. “I want to know you, though.”

After a long moment, Elphaba shrugged. “Fine, Galinda. What’s the plan?”

“Yes!” Galinda squealed, heart still in overdrive. “Elphie, this is going to be amazing.” She jumped up and ran over to her closet, yanking out a never-used pair of inline skates and a wayward hockey stick. They fell onto the floor with a clatter. Pulling out nearly a dozen blouses and skirts and dresses, she tossed them in Elphaba’s general direction. “I am going to make you popular.” Dizzy, Galinda turned back around, stumbling slightly. “It’s fate, now. Can’t fight fate.” 

Elphaba turned onto her back, lacing her fingers together on her stomach. “I think fate has better things to do.”

“Not right now,” Galinda snapped. “Fate is bored. Fate wants to help.”

“With this?”

“Elphie,” Galinda groaned. Oz, she was a stubborn one, wasn’t she? “Come on, get up.”

“Clothes are not going to make me popular,” Elphaba grumbled. “And I don’t think pink—”

“Shh,” Galinda said. “It’s not just clothes, of course! It’s everything else, too.” Galinda drummed her fingers on the dresser. “But clothes are a good way to start. Come on, stand here. I want to look at you.” She dusted off her hands. “Just let me see what I’m working with.”

She mustered her roommate in the mirror from all angles, touching Elphaba’s shoulders lightly to turn her this way or that. It was comforting to remind herself that this was really happening, that Elphaba was here. Galinda had received a second chance. She was not going to mess this up. And Elphaba did have a strange elegance about her, nearly otherworldly. Galinda pushed those thoughts away. She had things to do.

The next moments—whether they consisted of twenty minutes or an hour or five, Galinda couldn’t say—passed in a frenzy. Elphaba tried on new sunglasses—“I won’t be able to see,” Elphaba whined, but Galinda shushed her with a rushed hand motion—, a dress with a neckline dipped scandolociously low, revealing angular but delicate collarbones—“that’s nice,” Galinda said politely, but the sight of Elphaba in a fancy dress was so unfamiliar that she blushed, feeling rude—, and then, finally, a dizzying array of hats until Galinda collapsed onto the chair in front of her vanity, breathing heavily from dashing back and forth for the past Oz-knew-how-long.

“This is never going to work,” Elphaba said dully. “Don’t even try.” She took the last hat off her head and tossed it onto the ground. She sank onto the bed. Something about the sad curve of Elphaba’s slumped shoulders made Galinda’s heart ache. She thought of a green girl—Elphaba as a child, though Galinda could only approximate the image of a small, sweet face with an impish smile—standing alone in a crowd, head down. Shoulders slumped, just like now. Surprised, Galinda found that her eyes were prickling with tears.

“Elphie, you mustn’t think that way!” She shook her head, trying to push through the sorrow that had rudely inserted itself into her attempted makeover. She leapt up from the chair, unsteady on her feet. “Your whole life is about to change, and it’s all because of me.” Oz, maybe she was a bit drunker than she thought. Why was the room spinning? Galinda let herself fall back onto the bed, nearly hitting Elphaba with her elbow. Blearily, she looked at the ceiling.

Elphaba’s frown came into view, hovering over her. “Your clothes are nice, Galinda, but I don’t think they’ll change my life.”

“Well, I know that,” Galinda said. “But being popular—oh, Elphie! You’ll love it. You want to be Sorceress, right?”

“Well, I—”

Glinda motioned vaguely with her hands. “Or a historifician?”

“I—”

“Being popular will help with anything your heart desires,” Galinda continued, spreading her arms until they hit Elphaba. “Oops. Sorry.”

Elphaba waved her hand. “How about studying?”

Galinda, having somehow managed to shift so inelegantly on the bed that her head was now nestled against Elphaba’s thigh, felt a trill in her stomach. “Being popular certainly won’t hurt.”

Elphaba’s gaze was seeking something far away, something that apparently only Elphaba could see.

“I mean it,” Galinda said, heart pounding with sincerity. She pushed herself back into a sitting position. “If you think about all those…those historifical figures. Archduke Winkifred—”

Were Elphaba’s ears perking up? Of course she’d be interested in history. Oz, Galinda should have been talking about the Vinko-Munchkin War or the Thirty-Thousandeth Ozma this whole time.

Clearing her throat, she pressed on. “Well, he wasn’t the smartest. But the people of Munchkinland adored him! And when he was assassified, they went to war. For him! Isn’t that wonderful?” Galinda sighed dreamily.

Elphaba turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. “Is it?”

Galinda furrowed her brow. “I mean, I think so.” It seemed like a very big compliment, to have one’s country go to war after one’s death. Galinda imagined it would be quite the ego boost. Though the person in question would be dead, with no more ego to speak of. That was something she hadn’t previously considered. But it was about the principle of it, for Oz’s sake. She shook her head. “I’m just saying that smarts, or being someone who’s right all the time”— in spite of herself, she motioned to Elphaba, who blushed— “aren’t always the qualities that decide who people choose to listen to. And it is easier if you’re popular.”

“I thought this was about clothes,” Elphaba said. Her voice was light, joking even.

“Oh, it is,” Galinda said, leaning back on her hands. “Archduke Winkifred was famous for his fashion sense. He always looked magnificent.”  Being this close, she could see that Elphaba’s eyes were a brilliant green, with specks of brown and gold scattered in their depths. Like someone had taken all the shades of a forest and rolled them up into one.

Elphaba looked down. “I guess that’s not in the cards for me, then.”

“We’ll find something.” Galinda elbowed Elphaba’s arm, in a way that was surely encouraging. “Something really nice.”

“I can’t wear anything like that, anyway,” Elphaba protested.

“Of course you can,” Galinda said indignantly. “If you can pull off that hat, you can wear anything you want.”

Elphaba laughed at that, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Let’s start with something smaller,” Galinda burst out, suddenly struck by an idea. She took Elphaba by the hand and led her back to the vanity. “Here, sit.”

Without protest, Elphaba sat.

Carefully, making sure not to crush the petals, Galinda took the flower Fiyero had given her out of her hair. It had a delicate smell, sweet and full but light. Oz, her hands were shaking. Probably from exhaustion. Galinda kneeled down across from Elphaba, steadying Elphaba’s warm face with her hand, which finally ceased trembling. Slowly, she threaded the flower into Elphaba’s hair.

Galinda cleared her throat. “I guess pink goes good with green.”

“Goes well with green,” Elphaba corrected instantly.

Galinda, unable to summon any annoyance, merely smiled. “It so does.”

Together, they surveyed her handiwork in the mirror. The flower made Elphaba’s face… brighter, somehow. There was a glowing softness to it that seemed to fill the room. Though Galinda somehow also missed Elphaba’s furrowed brow, the quirk of her eyebrow as she pounced onto a question. Undoubtedly, Elphaba looked exquisite both ways. Galinda found Elphaba’s face not pretty in the sense of being merely well-constructed, but beautiful in the sense of its construction feeling like the fulfillment of a law of nature. Of course there is a face like this, Galinda found herself thinking, eyes tracing over Elphaba’s nose, the bow of her lips. There could never not be a face like this.

All the air seemed to rush out of her at once. Galinda’s hand moved to Elphaba’s shoulder, met by Elphaba reaching up to grab it. Her head reeled. “Why, Miss Elphaba,” she whispered. Elphaba’s hand was warm in hers. They held each other loosely. They could fall apart at any moment. Unable to bear the thought, Galinda tightened her grip. “You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Were those tears in Elphaba’s eyes? She turned to look at Galinda directly without letting go of her hand. “Never thought I’d hear you say anything like that.”

“I contain multitudes.” Galinda, intending to make it sound like a joke, found that her voice had been reduced to a whisper. “I may surprise you yet.”

They looked at each other helplessly, no more than a few inches apart.

“I have to go,” Elphaba said.

Then she was gone, as quickly as Galinda could blink.

Dumbly, she sat down on the chair that had been inhabited by Elphaba just moments before. I’m still pretty, she thought, staring at herself in the mirror. She tilted her face this way and that, found her familiar best angle. Her nose still had the charming shape it always did. Her hair was surprisingly vibrant after the rather tumultuous night, curls bouncing, as they should.

She’s just not used to it, Galinda told herself. She’ll enjoy it. All the attention. And she liked you. She likes you.

--

Lady Glinda sat across from me like on any other day, her hands neatly folded in her lap. And it really was like any other day: the afternoon was well on its way into evening; I could go upstairs, thumb through a novel and have a warm meal for dinner. The sun would set. I’d have a sleepless night.

And Glinda Upland of the Arduennas, former propaganda mouthpiece for the Wizard, protegee of Madame Morrible, and archnemesis of the Wicked Witch of the West, had managed to throw just about everything I knew for this book out of the window.

Again.

Even if I had been expecting some strange twist or other, it hadn’t been anything like this. My cheeks burned. “Can I have a moment?” I asked, careful to keep my tone perfectly polite. “I just need to run to the washroom.”

Lady Glinda nodded graciously—so graciously, as always. Perfect Lady Glinda in her perfect house ruining my life. My brain was bitter when it got overwhelmed. I knew that about myself, and still I mentally threw insults at her all the way to the bathroom.

Splashing cold water on my face helped. My thoughts of Glinda being a washed-up hypocrite faded, leaving only an instinctual certainty that I had been wrong about all this from the start. I waited for the grip of frustration to crush me. I’d focused on all the wrongs things, been obsessed with being brilliant and finding just the right thread to pick on so that the story would lift me up into legitimacy. But what I’d gotten from Glinda and what I’d known…Oz. None of it made sense with each other.

So what did I have, then? I steadied myself against the washbasin, mirror reflecting tired eyes in a hollow face. I had Galinda and the Prince, doomed before they had even truly begun. That was a familiar playing field to me, something I knew where to place. But then I also had Galinda and Elphaba and the creeping suspicion that I’d wildly misjudged them. They were fast friends, yes, but already they seemed so formed to one another that it was hard to conceive how that much closeness could be established in such a short time. And their back-and-forth, words ducking and weaving against each other, had seemed… well. Nearly flirtatious. And there was that spark between them, at least on Glinda’s side—Sorcery, or something else?

Narratively, I wanted to pounce on it. Other than that, I was filled with a spiked panic. I could not go down this route. Glinda, fiancée of the deceased Prince Fiyero, wife of Lord Chuffrey, would sue me. She would sue for the little I was worth and snatch the project away. I could only imagine the public’s reaction if I even insinuated that Glinda the Good Witch and the Wicked Witch of the West had had anything but a schoolgirl friendship. And what of Prince Fiyero? I knew what the criticism would entail: disrespectful to his memory! How dare you imply that the great love of his life was ever involved with his murderer! I saw the headlines when I closed my eyes.

I probably wouldn’t even be able to get it published. And if I did, who would hire me?

Breathing heavily, I sat down on the toilet and put my face in my hands. When I was a child, I lied so easily that I didn’t even realize I was doing it. About obvious things, too. Who my parents were or where I was from. What had happened at school, who was responsible for leaving the back door open… My first foster parents, finding it charming for a few weeks, used to say that the stories I told had neither rhyme nor reason. It was a story most people found funny, when I told it. The origin of my name. A later foster family, less amused, took to asking me whether I was lying after nearly everything I said. Now, I heard their voices in my head again, sympathetic but detached: Nor, are you lying again?

On my first day of Journalism class, my professor stood in front of us and said that a journalist’s first burden was finding all the truths. The second was making a good story out of them. And so there was the constant give-and-take between “truth” and “story”. Where did one end, and the other begin? Who got to decide? If multiple truths came together to become a story, then journalism was about taking parts and making something whole out of them. At the time, the thought comforted me: even though I was unfamiliar to myself, maybe there was someone out there for whom I was part of something bigger.

I had come here for the truth. The “whole truth”, if I recalled the invitation correctly. If I couldn’t find mine, there was at least someone else’s. Whether Galinda had known or not. Whether Glinda knew or not.

And what kind of a journalist would I be if I didn’t at least ask?

The frustration had arrived by that point, churning through my body. Layered under it—and when I realized this, I smiled easily for the first time in days—was a tender curiosity. Yes, they were Glinda the Good and the Wicked Witch of the West, but I also wanted to know what happened to those girls, who had danced together in a crowd as if they were alone.

I splashed my face with water again. Numbly, I walked down the hall. When I sat back down again across from Glinda, I felt hot and cold at once. Desperately praying that she wouldn’t see my entire body shaking, I cleared my throat.

“Glinda…what was the nature of your relationship with Elphaba?”

Chapter Text

picture source: https://twitter.com/illictaffirs/status/1867153176929173987

To her credit, Glinda didn’t fall to the ground or pull a horrified face. She just closed her eyes, like she had expected this. A vein in her forehead throbbed. I felt like I was about to vomit on the carpet.

“Our relationship was life-changing, in many ways. And it’s fitting you say the nature of it, because she was a force. Uncontrollable, but beautiful. I was completely at her mercy.”

She opened her eyes again and waited, probably for me to interrupt. I barely dared to breathe. I could only nod in what I hoped came off as encouragement, ready to transcribe whatever came out of Glinda’s mouth next, verbatim.

Her next breath shuddered through her body.

“She was the love of my life.”

She sounded like she was reading the weather report, but her gaze seemed like a challenge. To do what, I didn’t know.

“The love of your—” I stopped. I felt like I had been playing tug-of-war and my opponent had just decided to let go out of nowhere. Sure, I had won by default. But now all that fight and the tension in my shoulders was for nothing and I had to catch myself. Caught in that moment of freefall, it felt like a dream: Glinda looking blankly at me from across the room as if nothing had happened…after casually declaring the Wicked Witch of the West to be the love of her life. I had expected her to elegantly wave her hand and make my question disappear, or to offer up another non-committal platitude. I had expected her face to turn red and a staunch refusal to answer the question, followed by her serving me court papers for slander. I had been prepared to never receive a straightforward answer.

Lady Glinda took a sip of tea.

“What about Fiyero,” I said blankly. “Or…or Lord Chuffrey?” I regretted the question the instant it left my mouth.

She wrinkled her forehead. “What about them?”

“I mean, you married one and almost married the other.” What are you doing, I screamed at myself. Ask about Elphaba. Ask about anything else! “Never mind. I’m just wondering—”

Glinda’s laugh was shrill. She moved towards the back of the couch, crossing her legs. “Nor, come on.”

My entire face felt hot. I knew I was blushing. Inadvertently, I raised my hands to my cheeks, feeling them burn against my palms. “What?”

Glinda rolled her eyes like a teenager. “I just told you the love of my life is the Wi—” Her voice faltered.

“The Witch,” I completed for her.

Glinda waved her hand impatiently. “I tell you this… and your first thought is to ask about Fiyero and Lord Chuffrey?”

“You give me one question a day, of course my interview skills have atrophied,” I spat back, shocked at my own bluntness. I’d have to apologize eventually. Right now, I was enjoying the incredulous look on Glinda’s face too much, especially because she normally looked so unfazed. “What do you want me to ask, then?”

“Anything else,” Glinda pointed out, like it was obvious. “And that’s four questions already, Nor. Don’t think I’m not keeping count.”

I gritted my teeth.

“This is a wonderful opportunity for you,” Glinda continued softly. “I don’t—”

“Glinda.” I shot her a look. “I came here to write about your life. And you give it to me—” I floundered, searching for a word. What a writer I was. Glinda regretted hiring me. Why wouldn’t she? I couldn’t even tell why I was reacting this way. I was embarrassed even as I couldn’t stop talking, spiraling further and further. “You give it to me piecemeal, so I don’t know what to do with it, and I just sit here and try to do my best but I want to know what happens, so I can write it, and” –drawing a sharp breath, I counted to three—“I just wish you’d mentioned it earlier.”

“It wasn’t part of the story at the time.” Glinda crossed her arms.

“Then stop telling a story and just tell me the truth,” I begged, looking at Glinda for what felt like the millionth time. I could have drawn her face in my restless sleep. Dimple, curve of the eyebrow, deep brown eyes. I could look at her face every day for the rest of my or her natural lifespans and never come a single step closer to understanding what went on inside that head.

“I am.” Glinda drew herself together, holding her arms close to her body as if she was going to fall apart. Oz, she was so small on that couch. When she reached for her teacup, her hands were shaking with a fine tremor that made the porcelain sing.

I sighed. “I’m sorry, Glinda.”

She said nothing.

A rotten guilt rattled around in my chest. She was trying, in her own way. How could I fault her for not being able to talk about this? Perhaps she’d delayed this…revelation in the hope that, once we got to this point, I would understand better than I would have at the beginning. And she was probably right.

“I understand why you didn’t tell me at first,” I said finally. “It must be very difficult to speak about it.”

“Yes.”

“I’m trying my best.” I found myself unable to look at Glinda’s eyes, boring into me. My feet scuffed her plush carpet. “It’s just a different way of working than how I’m used to. I usually know at least how it ends.”

“But you do,” Glinda said. “She’s gone, and I’m alone.”

“And that’s the end of it?”

Glinda nodded.

“Okay.” I breathed in sharply, through my teeth, and forced my voice softer. “Then get me there. In one piece, if possible. Please.”

The familiar spark came back to Glinda’s eye. At least I hadn’t irrevocably damaged her. I assumed Glinda had seen some things, over the course of her long and glamorous life, and a mouthy journalist certainly wasn’t the worst of them. Finally, she cracked a small smile. “I will, Nor.” She stood up gracefully. “But it is rather late, I’m afraid. Good night.”

--

I fell into bed without glancing at my notes once and slept through the entire night, out of exhaustion or just the desperate need to not think so much all the time. As soon as I awoke, my brain started up again, churning out ideas but mainly questions upon questions. Most of them were about Glinda, but some were about Elphaba. I’d have to get used to using her name, at least for a while. I had to understand her well enough to write about her from the perspective of someone who had loved her—and that thought was so ridiculous that it nearly made me laugh out loud, now that I wasn’t sitting across from Glinda. Perhaps this whole thing really was just a great Ozmic joke. Send Nor to Pertha Hills to write a story about Glinda the Good. Then she can go to the Vinkus and finally fulfill her dreams. She just has to write something to make Glinda, who is famously good, look good. Surprise! Glinda was in love with the Wicked Witch of the West. Have fun making that book sell well for Mother’s Day.

A greater uncertainty—the fact that was even possible!—had also begun to nag at me: it made absolutely no sense why Glinda had picked me to write this. I’d assumed this was supposed to be a fluff biography. Her decision had made more sense then, because at least I’d published similar things—all of them short and most of them bad—in semi-widely read magazines, and maybe Glinda had picked one of them up and liked how I’d expressed something. This confession elevated the complexity to a whole other level. Perhaps she’d read the Vinkus piece? But that had just been an excerpt…and, as much as I thought it was good, I wasn’t going to kid myself. It wasn’t that good.

I continued thinking in circles when I went downstairs at the usual time. Breakfast with Miss Billie and Miss Daisy was uneventful. Maybe they know about Glinda and Elphaba, I mused, watching them interact with each other. But probably not. As much as Glinda had pretended otherwise, telling someone had to be a big deal to her. I couldn’t imagine her sitting her employees down for a meeting and announcing that she had been in love with Elphaba. And I couldn’t think of any conversational scenario where that would randomly come up. 

Glinda was already sitting on the couch when I entered the room, legs up on the cushions and reading a book. She looked up at me and smiled, like nothing had ever happened. “Good morning,” she said cheerily, swinging her legs down onto the ground.

“Good morning,” I said, keeping my voice carefully even.

“I think today is going to be a great day,” Glinda announced, striding over to the window. She closed her eyes, letting the sun bask in the glow of her smile.

“I can see that.” What in Oz was happening? There was a different quality to Glinda’s movements today. They seemed smaller, less pronounced, but not unhappy. I felt a nervous breath hitch in my chest. Perhaps she’d finally decided to fire me and get an actual biographer to write her life’s story. Good for her.

Bad for me.

“Well, the weather is lovely,” Glinda said. “And we’ve spent all this time cooped up, and my vegetables need tending to.” She glanced at me expectantly. “Nor, why don’t we talk in the garden today? You can help me with the digging.”

“I have to take notes,” I reminded her.

“Oh.” Glinda’s face fell. “I knew I was forgetting something.” So there were still shades of flighty, self-absorbed Galinda inside her.  In a way, it was comforting. She breathed in deeply, then pressed on. The smile never flickered. “Why don’t you sit, and I garden? There’s a table, and more than enough light to write by…” She gestured towards the sun.

“As long as I can hear you, I guess.” It would probably be better that way. I had barely left the house since arriving here. Sitting outside, warm sun on my face, listening to Glinda ramble about university days? It was better than being inside, at least.

She placed me in an arrangement of wrought iron chairs and a table, carefully turned to face the raised beds she wanted to prepare. The chair clanged whenever I moved around on it. It wasn’t ideal, but Glinda had wanted to garden. And though I’d only known her briefly, I had the feeling Glinda tended to get what she wanted.

--

It was time.

Galinda stood in front of Madame Morrible’s door, twirling her training wand through her fingers. She was fifteen minutes early to class, having skipped the seminar immediately prior. And the lecture before that. Fine, she hadn’t gone to any other classes today, but she had also only had four hours of sleep after finally crashing after the party and by the time she’d woken up, she had already missed two classes, and she did still have to get ready and tend to her pounding head. Then she had been so wired with nervous energy that she hadn’t been able to focus on anything else, so she painted her nails—a proper calming, centering activity—and waited for Sorcery class to roll around. At least the dorm room had been thankfully empty. There was no need for Elphie to see her so disheveled, even if they were friends now.

She’d been too excited to prepare anything. Galinda had always imagined that she would triumphantly stride into her first Sorcery seminar with a thick stack of books that she had already read and perfectly understood. But today had passed in too much of a flurry; she hadn’t even properly spoken to Fiyero yet, only to make a date for 6:30 in the cafeteria to eat dinner and maybe go for a walk.

There were heavy footsteps behind her and Galinda spun around, a wave of excitement rushing through her. Elphaba! Finally. “Elphie,” she squealed, running over. “Oh, I’m so excited. Feel my hands, they’re shaking.” She grasped one of Elphaba’s hands in hers and swung it up and down to demonstrate her point. “I don’t know anything about Sorcery,” she said breathlessly. “And Madame Morrible—”

Elphaba cleared her throat. Galinda, acutely aware that they were still holding hands, loosened her grip. Their hands fell separately at their sides.

“I’m surprised you’re here.” Elphaba pushed her glasses up with her index finger. “Considering you slept through all of our other classes.”

“Only the first two,” Galinda explained. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and lowered her voice. “Then the time just got away from me.” It simply wouldn’t have done to show up to her first Sorcery seminar looking anything less than impeccable. And try that after a sleepless night! Elphaba, somehow, didn’t look tired at all. Galinda frowned a little to herself. That seemed unfair. “Did I miss anything?”

Elphaba blinked rapidly. “What?”

“In the other classes.”

“Oh.” Elphaba straightened her shoulders. “There was an electrifying discussion in History today. About how the abandonment of Animal-led farming practices led to the Great Drought.”

Galinda nodded. “You’ll have to tell me about it later,” she said, turning back towards the closed door of Madame Morrible’s study. “I just can’t think about anything else than this right now.” She sighed. Then she turned on her heel, back towards Elphaba. “And where were you off to, this morning?”

“I just wanted to clear my mind.” Elphaba shifted her stack of books to the other side of her body. “We did have class, you know.”

Fair enough. “Well, I thought more about how to make you popular, and—”

“Galinda.” Elphaba took a deep breath. “It’s very admirable of you.”

Galinda nodded sagely.

“But you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Galinda interrupted, placing a hand on Elphaba’s arm. “I really do.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Elphaba said swiftly. Galinda saw her jaw clench, and for a moment was plunged into a terrible uncertainty. What was she doing here? Madame Morrible certainly wasn’t teaching her willingly. Did Elphaba even want her here? She had said so the night before, but perhaps in the morning, after the buzz had worn off and the reality of the hat and the humiliation had sunken in, she had changed her mind, simple as that. Leaving Galinda in the lurch again, now having lost not only Sorcery but also the lightheartedness that came from not hating Elphaba.

Galinda’s smile felt frozen. But we danced together, she thought hopelessly. It seemed like a vivid dream now, all colors and rushed sensations. But it had been real. An indescribable grief settled around Galinda’s heart. Without knowing why, she placed the back of her hand on her forehead, palm towards Elphaba, fingers wiggling. Remember, Elphie? She wanted to say. Instead, she held her tongue.

Elphaba’s eyes flickered over Galinda’s face. Galinda smiled sadly. She pulled her hand back, closer to her chest. Hesitantly, Elphaba mirrored the gesture, long fingers fluttering nimbly.

Galinda laughed, flooded with dizzying relief. Elphaba did, too. Her smile was like sunlight breaking through clouds. When the door swung open, and Madame Morrible’s sonorous voice summoned them in, out of the depths of her study—a legendary room, by all accounts, the birthplace of all thaumaturgical theories that had originated at Shiz—Galinda felt bile creeping up her throat, despite all her earlier excitement.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” she whispered to Elphaba. “I’m going to—”

“Don’t be scared,” Elphaba whispered back. She hooked her arm through Galinda’s tightly, so Galinda really couldn’t get away. Galinda’s heart fluttered. She felt sick, and thrillified, and alive, body teeming with that strange electricity. But not scared, she reflected as they entered the room together, gripping Elphaba’s arm with her free hand. Not scared at all.

--

“Deep breath, Miss Elphaba. Imagine the stone moving, just as you want it to. What forces must you challenge?”

“Friction,” Elphaba muttered quietly. “Inertia.”  

Galinda watched Madame Morrible nod approvingly, her hands on Elphaba’s shoulders. The feather Galinda was supposed to float lay motionless on the table. She had managed to get it to twitch once, right at the beginning of the seminar—maybe because of a particularly large gust of wind coming in from the open window, but that was neither here nor there—but, after that, had found it much more compelling to observe Elphaba with her assignment. Madame Morrible wasn’t paying attention to Galinda, anyway. So they both watched Elphaba lean over a textbook, face scrunched together in thought and mouthing the words of an incantation to herself silently. She then mapped out the planned arc of the stone on the floor with determined movements. Galinda’s heart jumped at the thought of being so close to Elphaba, practicing magic on purpose.

By the time Elphaba had made minor adjustments to the stone’s trajectory so that it curved perfectly along the edges of the room without touching any of the furniture, Madame Morrible was beaming and Galinda was simultaneously the most jealous and the most in awe of someone than she’d ever been before.

As it rattled towards her, Elphaba stopped the stone gently with the toe of her boot. She’s astoundifying, Galinda thought. If she had managed that, she would have thrown a book in the air and whooped. Instead, Elphaba ducked her head as she closed her fist in triumph. No, that simply wouldn’t do. Surging with energy, Galinda leapt to her feet and clapped enthusiastically. “Elphie, that was wonderous!”

“Thank you.” Elphaba nodded at Galinda neatly. “I’ve been working on that for a while.”

They stood for a moment, smiling at each other.

“Miss Galinda, please focus on your feather,” Madame Morrible called from the other side of the room. “It certainly won’t levitate itself.” She pitched her voice lower, but not so low that Galinda couldn’t hear. “And neither will you, most likely.”

Oz, not this again. Galinda sat down, deflated. She generally tended to pick things up quickly—if she didn’t find them borific, at least—but Sorcery seemed to be an unfortunate exception. Even though she had read stories of legendary Sorcerers and Sorceresses before she had even started school. That had to count for something, right? Galinda tried to direct her attention back to the feather, but found her thoughts straying to Fiyero, then Elphaba, then back to Fiyero—they had said 6:30 for dinner, hadn’t they? She wondered if Elphaba expected to get dinner with them, but probably not. Normally, she ate with her nose stuck in a book, shoveling her food into her mouth with one hand. Concentrate, Galinda instructed herself. She murmured the incantation Madame Morrible had demonstrated for her earlier, enjoying the way her mouth formed the words. Waving her training wand, she imagined a gust of wind coming to carry the feather up, towards the ceiling. That was close to reality, wasn’t it? Hadn’t Elphaba said this would be easy? But the feather, stubborn, refused to move. 

Galinda groaned in frustration. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Sighing, Madame Morrible strode towards Galinda’s desk. Her heels clacked on the floor. “Miss Galinda, what seems to be the problem?”

“It’s not working.” Galinda motioned forlornly. “I’m using the incantation you gave me, and I think I’m moving the wand correctly—”

“Magic is more about magical talent”—she motioned to Elphaba, who sat writing across the room— “than simply following instructions.”

The feather looked fuzzy through Galinda’s tears. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, commanding herself to pull it together. When she opened them again, the tears were gone.

Elphaba looked up at them and smiled.

Galinda cleared her throat. “Madame Morrible, thank you so much for your time today. I’m sure this is simply the result of my inclusion in the seminar being so unexpected. Do you have any recommendations for exercises I can do before our next lesson, so that I’ll be better prepared?”

She tilted her head and shot Madame Morrible her most innocent smile.

“I can help her,” Elphaba offered, wide eyes flicking between Galinda and Madame Morrible. Galinda, trying not to smile, bit her lip and straightened her chin resolutely, towards Madame Morrible. Yes, we’re friends now, she thought, still not completely sure that Morrible wasn’t a mind-reader. So even if you have no faith in me, it seems like someone does.

Madame Morrible’s lips thinned. With heavy footsteps, she walked over to the bookshelf, hands running over ancient spines. Galinda’s mouth nearly watered. All that knowledge, just a few feet way…but now wasn’t the time. She blinked expectantly as Madame Morrible placed a tome on her desk, brushing off the dust so vigorously that it swirled up into Galinda’s nose and nearly made her sneeze. “Try the exercises from the first chapter,” she said monotonously, turning to the relevant page and prodding at a wall of text with her finger. “Miss Elphaba, don’t get too distracted. You’re not here to educate Miss Galinda.”

“I don’t mind,” Elphaba said, getting out of her chair to look at the book. She bent down, braids spilling forward, wrinkling her nose. Then she nodded to herself. “We should be able to figure this out.”

Galinda’s body filled with a hazy warmth.

“Wonderful,” Madame Morrible said flatly. “Well, girls, that’s all for today. Miss Galinda, I hope your talent will soon reveal itself.”

“I’m sure it will,” Galinda said, but a sickening doubt had taken its hold on her, and she found it hard to shake even as Elphaba waited for her to pack up her bag and they strode out of the classroom together into the cool evening air.

“Morrible is just hard on us because she wants us to be good,” Elphaba said hesitantly. “We can get dinner and I can show you the incantation again after. It’s about enuncifying most of the time, anyway.”

“Thank you, Elphie.” She shook herself, trying to banish all uncertainty. It would just take time. Sometimes, things didn’t work out the first time around. Or the second. But they would eventually, right? If one was willing to work at it? Stopping suddenly, Galinda smacked her forehead. “Oz, Elphie. I’m getting dinner with Fiyero already, it completely slipped my mind.”

“Oh.” Elphaba cleared her throat. “Of course. Well, have a good time.” She smiled without showing her teeth.

“We can get breakfast tomorrow,” Galinda suggested. There was a strange sting behind her breastbone. She coughed slightly, hoping it would go away.

Elphaba fixed her with a look. “Galinda, it’s really fine. We don’t have to get breakfast. We don’t have to be friends; we can just have Sorcery class together—”

“Elphie.” Galinda crossed her arms, which was surprisingly difficult with the large Sorcery book tucked close to her chest. Ugh, it still smelled dusty. Her nose twitched. “None of that. We’re getting breakfast.”

Elphaba sighed, her gaze wary.

“Or come with us to dinner, you have to eat, too.”

“With you and Fiyero?” Elphaba looked so comically horrified that Galinda nearly burst out laughing. “Together?”

“We’re just meeting in the cafeteria,” Galinda said. “It’ll be fun.” Decisively, she grabbed Elphaba’s free hand with her own. Elphaba stumbled forward with a yelp. Pulling Elphaba behind her, Galinda strode forward, steadfast in her resolve. Fiyero wouldn’t mind. He’d clearly enjoyed talking to Elphaba the night before, just as Galinda had. And if he did mind—well. Then he needed an attitude adjustment. It was only right to encourage friendships between roommates and classmates.

As they reached the cafeteria and Fiyero’s sturdy form came into view—Galinda nearly swooned—Elphaba stopped, green fingers nearly escaping Galinda’s grasp.

“I don’t want to third-wheel—”

“Three-wheeled vehicles are remarkably sturdy,” Galinda said. “Especially conversationally.”

Elphaba let go of her hand, but she followed Galinda towards him, trailing a few steps behind.

“Fiyero, dear!”

Did a look of confusion rush across his face as he looked up at her? If so, it was gone in a split-second, replaced with the warm grin that could occupy Galinda’s thoughts for the rest of her days, probably. “Hello, Galinda. And Elphaba?”

“Hi, Fiyero,” Elphaba sighed.

“It’s good to see you,” Fiyero said, and at least Elphaba brightened a bit at that. Galinda shot hers a thumbs-up. I told you so! As Fiyero went inside, Elphaba rolled her eyes in Galinda’s direction. Galinda, inhabited by a welcome giddiness, found herself grinning.

Galinda’s exhaustion and disappointment at the Sorcery seminar—you just need time, she told herself again—faded into the background as she sat between Elphaba and Fiyero, conversation flitting between the three of them effortlessly. Elphaba, in particular, seemed remarkably at ease—face free of creases save for the crinkle of her eyes as she smiled, hands gesticulating wildly through the air to prove a point without so much as a cautious backwards glance.

In the years to come—many years after she had seen them last—Glinda pictured exactly those moments whenever she thought of them: Fiyero in his Shiz blazer with his hair gelled in the style of that year, youthful smile on his face, looking dashing, looking kind; Elphaba, in her swooping glasses with her hair half-open, swung over her shoulder, laughing uproariously at something Galinda or Fiyero had said.

--

“If I could preserve them in that moment, I would,” Glinda said, brushing dirt off her hands.

“I can imagine,” I said, my chest threaded with a simple sadness that surprised me with its intensity.

“Of course that’s impossible.” Her voice still had the same exuberant bounciness as earlier, although the sun had climbed in the sky and her clothes were smudged with dirt. She straightened her back, shielding her eyes from the sun. “So, Nor. What do you want to ask me today?”

“Well, I’m a bit scared,” I ventured cautiously. Glinda snorted out an abrupt laugh in response. “But I do have a question.”

Graciously, generously—inwardly, I rolled my eyes—Glinda motioned for me to speak.

“Why did Madame Morrible dislike you so much?”

Glinda laughed, actually that time, throwing her head back. “That is an excellent question. One I have no satisfying answer to. Maybe my essay submission was horrendible.” She paused, looping her hands into the handle of a shovel. “Though it did win an award, so it can’t have been that bad, right?”

I shrugged. “So she never told you?”

“Oz, no.” Glinda pushed the tip of the shovel deep into the earth. “I don’t think she even wanted me to know. That would have given me the chance to change it.” She shrugged. “But that was what she was like. If you had no proper talent in Sorcery—no real power, in that sense—she was uninterested in you.”

No proper talent in Sorcery. I didn’t peg Glinda for a person with a lot of humility. But perhaps Sorcery brought that out in her, a real respect for the craft.

“Not a very efficient teaching philosophy,” I said neutrally, looking at Glinda’s face for a sign that she was still attached to her old mentor. In the tumultuous phase after the Wizard’s disappearance—in which the people of Oz were confronted again and again by awakened knowledge about his incompetence and disdain for a just ruling strategy, guided only by the gentle reassurance of Glinda the Good—Morrible had been tried in a highly secretive affair and eventually imprisoned. Conspiracy theories abounded: she had corrupted the Wizard; she had secretly helped the Witch; she had been personally responsible for the Great Drought. After that, though, the historical record lost track of her, probably out of disinterest. Did Glinda know what had happened to her, or what she had truly done? Her face gave no sign of it. Instead, she looked at me thoughtfully and pulled her gardening gloves off in a fluid motion. 

“She wasn’t, in that sense, a teacher,” Glinda said, mouth twisting. “She taught, yes, but not to have us learn. It was to... to test us. To observe us.”

I shivered, although the day was still warm.

“Elphaba adored her, of course.” Glinda turned towards the setting sun. It illuminated her hair from behind, spinning it into gold. Although I knew there was a hint of grey at its roots, it was lost in the vanishing sunlight. I wondered if Glinda dyed it herself, or if she had someone come to the house. I wondered if that was a secret, or if she didn’t care.

“You were jealous.”

“Obviously,” Glinda said, turning back towards me. “To me, she had everything—the power, Madame Morrible’s adoration.” There was a ferocious grief on her face that left me momentarily breathless from the shift.

“Everything you could only dream of.” I cleared my throat. Feeling brave, I pushed. Just a bit. “But you had Fiyero and your friends. Seems like a fair trade to me.”

Glinda scoffed. “Sure. If that’s what you want.”

Chapter Text

And so they were friends.

It seemed so natural that, looking back, it was hard to imagine it had ever been any different. They laughed easily together, or studied in silence until Galinda grew impatient and threw wads of paper at Elphaba from across the room. When they left for class, Galinda nearly always had to rush back for a forgotten pen or notebook or hairpin, and Elphaba walked so torturously slow, so they took to running down the hallways together to make it on time, hands intertwined to keep from falling.

Sometimes, when she caught Elphaba’s eye unexpectedly, Galinda felt an unfamiliar shiver and the rise of heat behind her ears. And when she laughed, she glanced in Elphaba’s direction, just to see if she was laughing at the same things Galinda was. Galinda attributed it to physical proximity: sharing a room, Sorcery class. Her other friends had never occupied so much space in her mind. While she liked them—and she was still friends with Pfannee and ShenShen and the rest, they had just faded into the background, less vibrantly present than Elphaba—it had never been like this. Occasionally, when her and Elphaba fell asleep studying on Galinda’s bed, they would wake up sprawled across each other, and, in their sleep-drunkenness, move closer together instead of further apart.

Overall, Galinda felt…settled. While her life at boarding school had been occupied with finding or avoiding boys to date, petty pranks, and gossip, her life at university finally reflected the person she knew she could be. She had Elphaba—an unconventional friend, by any means, but a true one—and Fiyero, a proper man with a good brain in his head and a good head on his shoulders. After class, or on weekends, they had picnics or simply strolled up and down along the water with Biq and Nessarose, or just the two or three of them. She had Pfannee and ShenShen and all their other friends, who had accepted Elphaba or at least knew how to pretend to. She had some sort of routine with studying and papers, and had even managed to get Dr. Dillamond to nod approvingly at the odd comment or two she made in class.

Somehow, though, she wasn’t done wanting. She slept badly and had restless dreams she never remembered. She woke from them gasping, clutching a clammy hand to her chest as if something had been torn out of her. Whatever it was always dissipated with waking. And so Galinda lay awake, staring at the ceiling in the dark, with an unanswerable question echoing in her mind: what was missing from her spoiled, spoiled heart?

Sorcery? She spent most of her mornings with Elphaba reviewing material from the day before, and an hour on most evenings in Madame Morrible’s study trying to make something, anything happen. So far, she hadn’t had any luck. If she really concentrated, she thought she could conjure up that rush, but it always fizzled before it became anything real. Yes, it was a disappointment that she had a complete lack of thaumaturgical talent. It sat squarely in her stomach and turned her mood foul, but it was, all in all, a disappointment she found easy to grasp.

No, this was something else.

She tried not to think about it too much.

On a particularly dismal Monday, clouds brimming with rain, she took a walk with Fiyero and Elphaba after Sorcery. They were debating something, like they nearly always did. Galinda, originally content to lose herself in thought, grew more and more annoyed as their tones sharpened and their voices echoed in the deserted forest.

“Enough,” Galinda said after several minutes of venomous back-and-forth. “You just have different opinions.” She stepped over a twig carefully, foot extended in a ballerina pose. “Must you quarrel so?”

They both stopped in their tracks and stared at her wordlessly.

Oz, now she’d said something wrong again. “What?” Galinda said weakly. Her cheeks felt warm. She had been so caught up in the forest, smelling the rainy air and touching her fingers to the moss growing on the trees, that the conversation had barely been more than a background murmur to her. More vivid was Elphaba’s arm, steadying her, and the heady scent of Fiyero’s cologne.

Suddenly, she felt greatly out of her depth between the two of them, so knowledgeable and smart and analytical. “Anyway, does anyone else want to come to the—”

“It’s more than an opinion,” Elphaba said.

Fiyero nodded vigorously.

Galinda threw her hands up in the air. “I thought you disagreed with each other.”

“We do,” Elphaba said. “Fiyero is—is—”

“I’m a realist,” Fiyero interrupted. “There’s just no point, Elphaba.”

“Point in what?” Galinda asked softly.

“Needless action to make oneself feel better.” Fiyero sounded tired.

“Speaking out,” Elphaba said at the same time.

“It doesn’t do anything,” Fiyero said. “And you will get exhausted, and you will—”

Elphaba’s tone was biting. “It just sounds like you don’t care that much.”

Care about what, Galinda wanted to scream. But this didn’t seem like the right moment. There were just too many things she knew too little about—the Animals and the Vinkans and the Quadlings and everything that she didn’t even know she was unaware of. At this point, it felt nearly impossible to know where to begin. She could only imagine Elphaba’s face if she admitted she had little to no idea of what they were talking about, most of the time. At the mere thought, embarrassment rushed into her. No, it was better to stay quiet. At least for now. And then, at the right moment—when she was ready—she could ask Elphaba to explain.

Fiyero sighed. “Are you the arbiter of that, Elphaba?”

Elphaba blinked. “What?”

Fiyero stuck his hands into his pockets and kicked a stone in front of him, watching it clatter off the path into the undergrowth. “You heard what I said. Do you get to decide how much I care?”

Galinda had never seen Elphaba speechless before, at least not like this. She looked between them, blood rushing in her ears, desperately wishing she could find the right words to soothe them both.

After a long pause, Elphaba’s shoulders dropped. “I suppose not.”

“Thank you,” Fiyero said, visibly relaxing. “It wasn’t easy for me to step away. But I—”

“I mean, you could step away.” Elphaba’s words didn’t bite like before. They were more like a gentle nudge. “Others can’t.”

Galinda watched Fiyero’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. All the air seemed to go out of him at once. Instinctively, she patted his arm as uncertainty brewed in her stomach. Whatever was going on, she was clearly out of her depth. Although the girl from Pertha Hills who didn’t know any better had receded from her, she clearly still existed. How she would have liked to leave her behind. But these things need time, she said to herself, with less confidence than she would have liked.

“I’m just saying,” Elphaba said softly. “I understand why you did.” She reached out a hand and placed it on Fiyero’s shoulder, so that the three of them stood linked on the dusty path. Galinda felt the nearly insuppressable urge to take Elphaba’s hand—just to close the circle—but, afraid of drawing attention to herself, grasped the edge of her own coat instead.

After a moment, Elphaba cleared her throat. “We should get back. I forgot to hand in my assignment after class.”

Although it was almost certainly a lie, to Galinda, it was a welcome one. The conversation lightened as they got closer to campus until she found herself giggling again. She clutched onto Elphaba’s arm for balance as they scrambled up the hillside, neglecting the well-beaten path for no reason except the challenge. They emerged onto Shiz campus with dirty stockings, Elphaba’s fingers gently winding themselves into Galinda’s hair to remove a wayward leaf.

“See you later,” Elphaba called. Galinda watched her go, a strange lump in her throat. Although she knew Elphaba now—better than she could have ever dreamed—she was still an enigma sometimes.

Perhaps Fiyero was thinking the same thing, because he, too, stared after Elphaba’s departing form, head tilted.

A sweet rush of affection for him came over Galinda, because he looked so dismayed, or maybe because she just had those feelings for him and they had to come out sometimes. “Do you want to talk about it?” She sat down on a bench primly and patted the spot next to her.

Fiyero wordlessly dropped onto the bench.

“She doesn’t mean it like that.” Galinda took Fiyero’s hand in her own, marveling at how large it looked compared to hers. It made her hand look dainty. Precious. “You’re doing your best.”

“She’s right,” Fiyero said flatly.

Galinda swallowed, running her thumb back and forth over the ridges of his hand. “About what?”

Fiyero sat back, extending his legs like a Crow’s. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Comfort me, even though you don’t even know if I’m in the right or not.”

“What do you mean?” The bench was suddenly uncomfortable. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I know,” Fiyero said, squeezing her hand. “But you don’t even know what we were talking about.”

Galinda stiffened. “Why is it wrong to comfort you when you’re sad?” The words came out more harshly than intended.

“It’s not wrong, Galinda,” Fiyero said. His eyes were so big, like a puppy’s. How many nights had Galinda stared at those eyes on a poster, or on the cover of a magazine? And now they were here, gazing into her own with genuine hurt in them. Despite Galinda’s discomfort, a smug vein of satisfaction ran through her. Galinda from Pertha Hills. With Prince Fiyero. Genuinely, totally in love. Fiyero let go of her hand to rub his forehead. “Elphaba just... she reminds me of things. Things I’d rather not think about. But I think I have to.”

“I just want you to be alright,” Galinda said plainly. Although Fiyero might have been objectively in the wrong—Galinda felt no need to position herself in that regard at that moment—he was sad now, and sad people needed comfort.

Fiyero kissed the side of her head. “And I appreciate that, I’m just not always right.”

“Oh, I know.” Galinda rolled her eyes, back in her element as she tossed her hair over her shoulder. “You’re horrendibly unreliable when it comes to fashion advice. I still haven’t forgiven you for saying those shoes looked good.”

She waited for him to laugh at that, but he could only offer her a tired grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

Lightly, she knocked against him with her elbow. “What is it, then? What she reminds you of?”

“Principles I had, once,” Fiyero said, laughing at that now, though it sounded bitter and grating. He gazed past Galinda, into the darkness of the clouds swelling with rain. “Can you imagine that I used to actually argue with my father about strifeless politics?”

“Fiyero.” Galinda closed her eyes for a second, embarrassed. “What is that?”

“Strifeless politics?”

Galinda nodded.

“My father’s strategy at keeping the Vinkus out of trouble.” Fiyero sat back and crossed his arms. “Submersifying yourself if people want to use you, then pretending like it was your idea all along. I hated him for it. I thought he was weak.”

Not like you, Galinda thought, placing her arm around Fiyero’s dejected shoulders. But he wouldn’t want to hear that, now. “So… what happened?”

Something flashed across his face that Galinda had never seen on him before. To her, Fiyero was always happy. Or if not happy, at least full of life, gushing out of him with every movement and every easy laugh. She couldn’t imagine anything further removed from that now. This was dark and uncanny. A desolation.

Then it was gone, just as the rain began. Fiyero laughed the way Galinda knew it, with his shoulders shaking. The water pattered onto Fiyero’s unlined, untroubled face. He jumped up from the bench and held both hands out towards her. Giggling, Galinda let him draw her up and spin her. Dancing in the rain. No one at home would believe this.

Pulling her towards him—Galinda laughed, breathlessly—he smiled. “To answer your question, that was before I went to jail.” He spun her out effortlessly, then back in. “And you know that changes a person,” he said theatrically and sent her a sideways look.

“Jail?” Galinda asked, stopping.

“Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t read the tabloids,” Fiyero said.

Right. His infamous one-day stint in a Quoxian jail, for partying or public consumption of alcohol or something or other. Her mind struggled to put it together, to make all of the versions of him make sense. But here he was—happy as always. Wasn’t that most important? Where people ended up, and not the missteps they had taken along the way? “Well, we all make mistakes—”

“Let’s get inside, shall we?” Fiyero interrupted her as the water began to really come down and a low roll of thunder reverberated through the air. Laughing, they ran together to the loggia, and he spun her once again for emphasis, and Galinda tripped and nearly—only nearly!—fell but he caught her, and what else was there left to do but kiss him?

--

A few days later, she took Elphaba into town.

Getting her to agree was a struggle at first. “It’s midterms,” Elphaba whined, and nearly stomped her feet in a way that was charming yet completely uncharacteristic. Galinda smirked. Though Elphaba had refused most of Galinda’s styling tips, they were rubbing off on each other. “I have to—”

“You do not have to study,” Galinda said decisively. “And I need your help.”

 “You do not need my help,” Elphaba said, mimicking Galinda’s tone with surprising accuracy.

Galinda inhaled sharply. “Your company, then.”

Elphaba narrowed her eyes, but Galinda knew she nearly had her. Realizing this, she felt an indeterminable thrill. What a novelty it was, to know Elphaba so well. Galinda, pleased, raised her eyebrows and tried to make her gaze as pleading as she could.

“Fine,” Elphaba said finally. “You’re buying lunch.”

“Deal,” Galinda said, breaking out into a grin so large it nearly hurt. “Elphie, we’re going to have an amazing time. I need shoes, you can get shoes—”

“I like my shoes.” 

Galinda looked down at Elphaba’s clunky boots and tried to imagine her in delicate slippers or heels, then discarded the thought immediately. Elphaba walked with determined step, and if her shoes didn’t have the necessary weight—no, Elphie was right. “No new shoes for you, then,” she conceded. “But a scarf. Or new gloves?” Something to keep her fingers warm, so they wouldn’t be so cold whenever they brushed against Galinda’s arm during Sorcery practice. Though she sometimes liked the rush of the unexpected chill.

They barely made the midday coach and had to sit squashed together next to the window, surrounded by a horde of other Shiz students looking to escape campus. “Seems like everyone’s really prioritizing midterms,” Galinda whispered into Elphaba’s ear. Elphaba flashed a smile at her. Galinda felt her face light up in turn. Although it was now a regular occurrence in her life, she never tired of Elphaba’s smile. And now that she knew what Elphaba thought was funny—how could she withhold it from herself? So she told jokes about their classmates and Sorcery class until Elphaba was giggling and the coach spit them out onto Shiz’s shopping street.

“What now?” Elphaba asked, out of place between the arched passages and elegant window displays. Mere months ago, Galinda would have snickered with Pfannee and ShenShen about how it was the dress, the boots—now, she realized, Elphaba mainly just looked uncomfortable, jerking her head around like she was being hunted. And perhaps she was. In the seconds they stood there, getting their bearings, Galinda noticed at least a dozen curious stares.

“Don’t mind them,” Galinda said, voice low.

Elphaba shrugged, then shook out her shoulders. “They just don’t stare at university anymore. I’m used to it.”

“Well, that doesn’t make it better.” Galinda pursed her lips. “But to answer your question...” She offered her arm for Elphaba to take. “We stroll.” Knitted together by their elbows, they moved lightly down the street. “Now we can look at this atrociably dressed mannequin...”

They stopped in front of the mannequin, dressed in an array of clothing that clashed discordantly. Elphaba dutifully glanced over it, then frowned. “Is this it?”

“Until you find a store you want to go into, yes.” Galinda tilted her head. “Have you never gone shopping before?” They had shops in Munchkinland, right? She was at least fairly sure of that. Though Pertha Hills wasn’t renowned for its shopping, either. At least her boarding school had been in an acceptable location. The first few months, Galinda had still worn her hand-tailored clothes, before Pfannee and ShenShen had taken her under their wing.

“I’ve been shopping,” Elphaba said flatly. “I used to go to the market with Dulcibear once a week. But we ordered our clothes in a catalogue.” Her shoulders tensed. “Nothing else good enough for the Governor of Munchkinland.”

Hm. That would explain the dresses. “But no shopping just to shop? No… browsing?”

“No.” Elphaba’s face remained carefully neutral. “My father didn’t want me to do that. Because of the...the audience.” Subtly, she gestured towards the street, at the crowds bubbled up around most display windows.

“Your father sounds supportive,” Galinda said, voice dripping with sarcasm. She just couldn’t resist it. Oz, he seemed awful. Every time she thought about that horrendible milk flowers story, her stomach turned over. “What about Nessa?”

“He didn’t want her to get lost, or stuck somewhere.” Elphaba rolled her eyes. “When we were old enough, we were allowed to take walks together, into the town center. Always under strict instructions not to be an embarrassment. Me, that is. Not Nessa.”

Galinda tightened her arm, pulling Elphaba closer. “The only thing I find embarrassing about you is those shoes,” she said jokingly.

Elphaba rolled her eyes again.

“You roll your eyes so much,” Galinda remarked. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“How do you know it’s not you?” Elphaba asked, eyebrow quirking. “Maybe I never roll my eyes, usually.” 

“I resent that,” Galinda sniffed and fell into a steady step, Elphaba bumping against her side every now and then. Why did her heart jolt back and forth so? She was just shopping with Elphaba. A normal activity. Inadvertently, she thought back to her uneasy sleep and shapeless dreams. Well. One didn’t have to understand everything about oneself. Galinda shook her head to clear her thoughts. “There!” She pointed to a shop she’d visited with her Popsicle once, during a winter break. “I haven’t gotten a new dress in ages.”

“I thought you wanted to buy shoes,” Elphaba said, confusified.

“Amongst other things.” Galinda pulled her arm out of Elphaba’s and grabbed her hand, for better grip. “Come on!”

“Fine,” Elphaba grumbled, letting Galinda pull her into the shop. “But I’m not—”

“Oh, Elphie, this is perfect for you,” Galinda gasped, rushing over to a dignified black overcoat draped over a hapless mannequin. She ran her hands over a sleeve, with a neat row of buttons traveling up the side. Patting it, she nodded serenely. “Good fabric.”

Slowly, Elphaba approached the mannequin, like she was afraid it would bite. Galinda held her breath, strangely nervous. Elphaba was concerned with more intellectual things than clothing. And just because she humored Galinda didn’t mean that she enjoyed any of this. After a long moment, she ran her hands over the shoulders of the coat. “It’s nice.”

Galinda watched Elphaba’s face in profile, the edge of her chin curving smoothly downwards. When she turned her head to check the price tag, Galinda followed the muscle, suspended tautly from her collarbone, up to where it disappeared behind her ear. Idly, she wondered what would happen if she reached over to touch it…if Elphaba would turn her head towards her.

Galinda swallowed. “I knew you’d like it.”  

“Maybe a little too nice for me.” Elphaba let the tag drop.

“Try it on,” Galinda said. “It won’t hurt.”

Elphaba glanced at her doubtfully.

“It’s going to get cold eventually,” Galinda pointed out. “And it is your color.”

Sighing, Elphaba moved her fingers over the fabric.

Oz, what an obstinate person. Elphaba, you clearly like it, Galinda wanted to shriek. But that would scare her off. Clearing her throat, Galinda tried again. “It goes well with the hat?”

Elphaba laughed at that, blushing, and Galinda knew she had won.

At Elphaba’s stubborn insistence, Galinda turned around as Elphaba shrugged the coat on, wiggling her arms into the sleeves. “Is this necessary?” Galinda asked.

“I don’t want you to see it if it looks stupid,” Elphaba said.

“It’s not going to look stupid.” So Elphaba really didn’t trust her recommendations. Although who could blame her, after the hat… Galinda shook her head. That was the past. “Elphie, let me see!”

“Alright,” Elphaba sighed.

Galinda wheeled around. The first thing she saw was the knot between Elphaba’s eyebrows, and an overall look of displeasure firmly planted on her face, nearly making Galinda laugh with its sincerity. The second thing she saw was the coat, curving snugly against Elphaba’s waist. The sleeves flared out in a style Galinda would have considered garish on other people, but, like the hat, it suited Elphaba, so decisively Galinda didn’t question it. Then she frowned: the lapel was folded over on one side, disrupting the continuity of the buttons.

Instinctively, Galinda reached out to correct it. Sorcery, she was useless at—the thought still stung, but at least she could move lightly over it in her mind—but if anything, Galinda knew clothing. Methodically, she smoothed down the one side, then the other, pulling Elphaba a bit closer. Brushing her hands over the sides of the shoulders, she nodded approvingly, a bit breathless. A well-conceived item of clothing just got to her that way. “It looks good, Elphie. What’s that face for?”

“I don’t own anything like this.” Elphaba looked down, pointedly away from the mirror. “My father—”

“Isn’t here,” Galinda reminded her.

“It’s his money.”

“If it’s about that, I’ll buy it for you,” Galinda said, lifting her chin. “But I think he can afford it.”

Elphaba sighed, face still tilted towards the ground. “He can,” she said softly. “But—”

Galinda took a step towards her, hands still on Elphaba’s shoulders. “You look really nice, Elphie. Look.” When Elphaba didn’t move, Galinda moved an unsteady hand towards her face, brushing her palm against Elphaba’s jawline to tip her face up. “There,” Galinda whispered. She took a step back and pointed at the mirror.

Blushing, Elphaba touched her face where Galinda’s hand had been just a moment earlier. She stared past the clothing racks and neatly dressed mannequins at her own reflection, then walked towards it timidly, with quiet steps.

“What do you think?” Galinda asked, stomach fluttering.

Elphaba put her hands in the coat’s pockets and turned, smiling, back towards Galinda. “It is nice,” she said, a bit sheepishly. “And I do need a new coat.”

“Yes, you do,” Galinda said triumphantly. “And what better time like the present?”

Elphaba nodded to herself, slowly, then with a quiet sureness that left a cozy warmth in Galinda’s chest. “Well, we still have to get you some new shoes. And then lunch?”

Galinda thought about the last time she bought shoes, and the grumble of hunger that already occupied her stomach. “Maybe lunch first.”

They settled in a small café at the outer edge of the shopping district, a tiny table between them. Once Galinda was done eating—patience had never been her forte, and her hunger had been nearly overwhelming by the time they finally got their food—she sat back and daintily dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. Elphaba systematically speared salad leaves on her fork with meticulous orderliness. Galinda frowned slightly, watching Elphaba eat. Next to Elphaba, she looked messy and uninhibited. Soup on her face, her tongue slightly burnt from being too hungry to wait for the food to cool down. 

Enough, Galinda commanded herself. Elphaba’s docility had clearly been imposed on her. When she laughed, when she did Sorcery, when she corrected Galinda in class—that was how she really was. Not shy or unassuming. Methodical and precise, yes, but with ferocious purpose. What a truly terrible father Governor Thropp must have been, to subdue his daughter like that.

“Elphie?” Galinda asked, before she could stop herself.

Elphaba waited until she was done chewing to speak. “Yes?”

Galinda pulled a thin breath in through her teeth. “Is it hard for you to talk about your father?”

Elphaba was silent for a moment. She did that when she was thinking. “No. I mean, I don’t often. Just with you.”

Galinda smiled, gratificated.

“It’s difficult with him, sometimes,” Elphaba continued, taking another bite of salad. Chewed. Swallowed. With her fork, she motioned vaguely towards Galinda. “At least I’m not the only one.”

“I like my Popsicle,” Galinda said. Then she felt bad. Did it sound like she was gloating? “Not that my father’s perfect,” she added quickly, fidgeting in her chair.

“I didn’t mean that,” Elphaba said. “I just—you know, Fiyero.”

Galinda nodded in relief. “He told me about that.”

“At least my father’s never threatened to disown me.” Elphaba shrugged, taking a sip of water.

Galinda’s mouth dropped. “What?”

“Like Fiyero’s did. After he bailed him out of jail,” Elphaba said, wrinkling her forehead. “If he got caught at another protest.”

“Right,” Galinda said, thoughts swirling. Protest? Jail? Hadn’t it been drinking, or drunken vandalism, or something…she had read something about a protest in Quox, last year or so. At the time, she’d been taking her university entrance exams, spending every free minute fine-tuning her Sorcery essay. Fat load of good that did, she thought bitterly. “I remember,” she lied fluidly.

“Shoes?” Elphaba asked, once she’d finished her salad.

“Shoes,” Galinda agreed.

That night, as she lay in bed knowing she’d just wake up tired, she thought of Fiyero—arguing with his father, jailed for a protest. Oz, she had asked him about it, and he’d distracted her, with—with what, even? A dance in the rain? Kissing in the loggia, where everyone could see them? You don’t even know what we were talking about. The fact that it was true stung more than anything. She turned towards Elphaba’s side of the room. The coat they’d bought earlier that day hung on a hook near the door, a shadow in the dark.

“Elphie?” Galinda called out. Stupid. Elphaba was probably asleep already.

Miraculously, there was a shifting sound across the room. “Galinda?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

A quiet sigh came from Elphaba’s bed. “I have to study—”

“Early tomorrow,” Galinda finished for her. “I know.”

“What’s going on?”

Galinda closed her eyes, feeling ridiculous. At least there was a tenderness in Elphaba’s voice, rather than annoyance. Though annoyance would have been justified. “When did Fiyero tell you about jail?”

“I don’t remember,” Elphaba said quietly. “A few weeks ago, I think.”

“I asked him about it the other day,” Galinda said, hating how desperate she sounded. She grabbed a pillow and clutched it to her chest. “He didn’t say much.”

“Maybe he just didn’t want to talk about it.” Elphaba’s voice was gentle.

“I want him to trust me.” That was what one said, in a situation like that. She flipped around, onto her back, so that she could stare up at the ceiling.

“I’m sure he does.”

“He trusts you,” Galinda said without bitterness.

“Maybe it’s just easier for him to talk to me, because he doesn’t care that much,” Elphaba said. Galinda closed her eyes, listening to the lilt of her voice. There was a wonderful depth to it. It was remarkable how easy it was to listen to her.

“He cares about you,” Galinda said after a moment. “Of course he does.”

“Not like he cares for you.” Elphaba exhaled into the quiet room. “It’s just different for me, Galinda. It always will be.”

“What do you mean?” Galinda turned back onto her side. How did Elphaba seem so far away, when she could see the girl’s eyes staring at her through the darkness? “It doesn’t have to be.”

“I’m just not that kind of girl, I guess.”

Oz, the negativation again. Galinda declined to roll her eyes. It would be too dark for Elphaba to see, anyway. Though the situation would have called for it. “Well, I certainly don’t know what you mean by that. Or what ‘that kind of girl’ would be.”

“A girl like you,” Elphaba said neutrally.

Galinda’s throat tightened. “Me?”

“Yes,” Elphaba said. Galinda heard rustling from Elphaba’s bed, and for a brief moment had the wild thought that Elphaba was about to storm over to her, to strike her or to—to do something. Then Elphaba just turned around. “You have everything,” she said to the wall.

“I don’t have everything,” Galinda said, with such certainty that her heartbeat quickened and tears shot to her eyes. Angrily, she brushed them away. Where was this coming from? This was an entirely new reaction she didn’t enjoy in the least.

“What don’t you have?” Elphaba asked, sounding skeptical.

Galinda, frustrated, found that the tears did not go away. It was a good question: what didn’t she have? She did have that ache in her, quiet and undefinable but persistent. Like a knuckle pressing in the middle of her chest constantly. Maybe it was a curse.  “I don’t know what it is,” Galinda said stiffly.

Elphaba sighed then, and Galinda felt hot tears slide down her cheeks and fall onto her pillow. So Elphaba wouldn’t see—not that Elphaba was looking anyway—she turned, too, away from her.

“Let me know if you ever figure it out,” Elphaba whispered, not unkindly, but so quiet that Galinda barely heard it and, in fact, pretended not to, because she had nothing to say.

--

“In case you’re wondering, it was that I had feelings for Elphaba,” Glinda said breezily.

Oz, how long was her jubilatious mood to last? I found her easiest to grasp when she held me at arm’s length, fully in control of herself. But when her tone turned flippant and jovial, or her eyes glazed over like she had retreated fully into memory, I was firmly out of my element.

Realizing that she expected an answer, I cleared my throat. “I got that.”

“Just because you didn’t, earlier.” Glinda shrugged.

Inadvertently, I sighed.

“How about your question?”

So we were still doing this. She could poke fun as much as she wanted, but Oz forbid I had more than one question. I felt a sting of annoyance, then a soft push forward.

“I have two questions today,” I said, hoping my confidence would make the approval of my request indisputable. “One is short.”

Glinda considered this by shoving her glasses down her nose and inspecting my face thoroughly, eyes sweeping up and down as I grew more and more uneasy. Right when I was about to take it back, she relaxed and nodded. “Go on.”

Clearing my throat, I straightened my pen. “What is a loggia?”

“It’s an architectural term,” Glinda explained. “A covered corridor. With arches, and columns. Shiz University is known for them.”

“Right. Thank you.” I took a deep breath to gather my courage. It still felt strange to prod into these parts of Glinda’s life, after reading half a dozen interviews in which her refusal to answer questions about it had such vehemence it oozed off the page. “Why were you with Fiyero, if you had feelings for Elphaba?”

“I loved Fiyero,” Glinda said matter-of-factly. “But I didn’t understand that how I loved him was different. Our relationship was based on us lying to ourselves. But he was my best friend.”

They hadn’t just been lying to themselves—they’d been lying to all of Oz. Perfect engagement photos, her “grieving fiancée” act. Though if they’d been best friends, perhaps the grief hadn’t been an act, at least. She certainly looked distressified enough in all the photos. Had he known about her and Elphaba? Or the Wizard? I felt dizzy at the layers of lies, folded up against each other like linens in a drawer. Glinda must have seen me frown, because she reached over with just a hint of hesitation and patted my knee twice, brusquely but amicably.

“I just don’t understand how you hadn’t realized you were in love with Elphaba,” I said. Oz, even I’d realized it, and I was burdened with roughly 40 years of political foresight. 

“I thought I finally had a real friend,” Glinda said, shifting back on the couch and crossing her legs. She tilted her head, staring out the window. What is she looking at out there? I wondered vaguely. “And we were friends, all of us. That was the confusifying part. But I was supposed to be in love with Fiyero. I had two friends and one of them I felt fated to be with.”

“And the other was Elphaba,” I said, before I could stop myself.

Galinda nodded, agreeable as always. “Precisely.”

Chapter Text

As fall stretched on into a mild winter, Galinda found her unease growing dull. It was still there, just hidden, somewhere she didn’t care to check on.

Everything was fine. It was fine. Fiyero was lovely and compassionate and very attentive. There was no shortage of positive words she could have used to describe him. They took long walks together, sometimes with Elphaba but also without her, and Galinda found herself not bored but actually interested in what he had to say. He could only be the love of her life. What else? The way she felt for him was such a departure from her previous boyfriends that they seemed like a different species entirely. And he liked her, too—he had to. He laughed at the things she said. He promised to take her to the Vinkus. When they sat, as they often did, with Elphaba, Nessa and Biq around a crackling fire, he perched solidly next to her on a log, with his warm leg brushed up against hers and his nose stuck in a thick book.

“What are you reading?” Galinda asked him, careful to lean close enough so that her breath rushed lightly over his earlobe.

Fiyero coughed, closing the book.

Galinda frowned. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

“I’m not,” Fiyero said, tucking it under his arm. “It’s a loan from Elphaba. About how Animals have been systemically excluded from the workforce.”

“That sounds complicated.” Galinda peeked over, trying to see the cover. “Is it good?”

“Yes, it’s very interesting.” He placed the book down by his feet and looked at Galinda, smiling cheekily. “I’ve had enough for now, though.”

Elphaba, glancing over at them, smiled. “You’re reading it!”

Galinda felt heat rise in the space between her collarbones.

“It’s excellent,” Fiyero said smartly.

Galinda swallowed. It was good that they got along. And though Galinda and Elphaba talked about university, they did mainly focus on Sorcery, and Galinda was, admittedly, terrible at History, so it made sense why Elphaba would talk to Fiyero about it and loan him books—I would read every book recommended by Elphaba, Galinda thought, inner voice edging on a whine—and yet she felt the crush of rejection so keenly it made her breathless. 

“I’d love to read it when he’s done,” Galinda blurted. Oz, way to play it cool. She considered actually, physically kicking herself. No, that wouldn’t do anything. She’d probably just fall off the log.

“I always thought you’d make a great History professor,” Nessa interjected. She smiled at her sister with genuine fondness. “Everyone’s fighting over your books.”

Was Elphaba blushing? It was hard to tell by the firelight. With every flicker, it illuminated Elphaba’s face differently, casting parts of it in shadow.

“We’re not fighting,” Galinda and Fiyero said at the same time.

Nessa raised an eyebrow.

“I’m just excited to read it,” Galinda continued, and she really was blushing now, or was it the fire warming her cheeks? “Reading is so broadening.” She patted Fiyero’s knee sharply.

“I want in, too,” Biq said, poking a large stick into the fire so that it roared for a moment, making Fiyero flinch. “Maybe we can have a book club.”

“See?” Nessa said, motioning towards them.

“They’re just trying to be nice,” Elphaba mumbled towards the ground. But when she raised her head, there was a pleased grin on her face. “Now if only we could get some of this enthusiasm for the paper due next week—”

Collectively, the four of them groaned.

Elphaba cackled to herself, taking a sip of water from her bottle.

“It makes me happy to see you like this,” Galinda overheard Nessa saying to Elphaba as they made their way back to the dorms. “The other Munchkins at school—”

“They just never got it,” Elphaba said quietly. “It seems so… strange that it’s different, now.”

“That’s what university is for.” Nessa stopped and grabbed Elphaba’s hand. “A new start. For both of us.”

--

Galinda was, for her standards, remarkably well-prepared for History class.

She had done the reading. She had highlighted all relevant passages with her favorite pink highlighter. She felt reasonably confident that she could participate with at least some success in a discussion on the De-Headification of Ozma the Two-Faced. Or, as Galinda preferred to refer to it—despite the eyerolls she reaped from Elphie—“How Ozma the Two-Faced became Ozma the No-Faced”.

So she walked into class with an exceedingly light heart, humming loudly as she approached her seat. “Elphie,” she sang, swinging Elphaba’s hand back and forth. “Today is a wonderful day.”

Elphaba glanced at her dubiously.

“You are going to be so proud of me later,” Galinda said as she sat down and unpacked her notebook. “Dr. Dilly—”

“Galinda, you cannot call him that.”

“It’s cute,” Galinda protested, but her mood was so good that she didn’t genuinely mind. “Alright, fine. But Dr. Dillamond is going to be thrillified at my analysis. He is going to fall over—” She turned towards Elphaba, expecting another interruption, but found that she had rushed to the front of the classroom again.

Fiyero slid into the seat next to her and greeted Galinda with a grin and a peck on the cheek. “I’m very well prepared today,” she said salaciously. “I did the entire reading.”

“Impressive.” Fiyero nodded in admiration. “So you’re a History buff, now?”

“I dabble,” Galinda said humbly, standing up to let Elphaba into the row. “Though Elphie’s still the expert.”

Normally, Elphaba would have smiled at that. Instead, she chewed on the back of her pencil as she watched Dr. Dillamond trotting around the front of the classroom. There was something tense in his furry shoulders, how his eyes flickered around the room. He seemed almost…helpless. Galinda felt her mouth go dry, unsure if this had to do with the reading or maybe something else. Though the De-Headification of Ozma was a very complex and important topic.

“Students,” he said, bleating slightly, “I have something to say and very little time to say it.”

The room was instantly covered in a blanket of silence.

“My dear students.” Dr. Dillamond closed his eyes. “This is my last day here at Shiz. You see, Animals are—are no longer permitted to teach. So I must—”

“What?” Elphaba asked. Galinda, unable to think of anything to say, simply placed a hand on Elphaba’s knee. She knew about the De-Headification of Ozma. She had even read part of that book on Animals in professional industries—forced into agriculture and domestic work, excluded from more intellectual pursuits—and had the fierce intention to finish it once she got done with the next load of schoolwork. But she wasn’t prepared for this. In a year, perhaps, or two, she would have known what words to use, how to make that look on Elphaba’s face go away.

“It’ll be alright, Miss Elphaba,” Dr. Dillamond said, but if anyone believed him, Galinda certainly did not.

The classroom doors banged open. Galinda heard herself shriek in shock, gripping Elphaba’s knee. A trio of soldiers in well-cut uniforms entered the room—Gale Force? Galinda had never seen them in person before. They made her stomach turn with their severe expressions. Whatever was happening, they meant business. Oz, she could just close her eyes and it would be over. It would have to be over, eventually. But she just stared in frozen horror as Madame Coddle hurried into the room after them, hands punctuating nervous words.

“Students,” she said, “please remain calm. This will all be over in a moment, and class will resume shortly.”

“What is this?” Elphaba stood up, a teeming mass of nerves and anger, and Galinda felt the air begin to hum with thaumaturgical energy. “What’s happening?”

A soldier looked up at her, fixating his eyes on her lovely, distraught face with an expression that could only be categorized somewhere between outright disdain and overt hatred. Galinda saw his hand tighten around his club. A sharp fear shot into her throat. “Elphie,” she said, getting up too, anything to stop her from leaping over the rows and attacking them and getting beaten, or worse— “be careful,” she whispered.

Elphaba didn’t even look at her. Galinda glanced helplessly at Fiyero, who stood and extended an arm around Galinda’s waist in a feeble show of protection. Or not feeble, just—just useless, in the end.

A loud bleat came from the front of the classroom. Before Galinda could stop her, Elphaba pushed past them and ran towards the Goat, forced into a screeching halt as a guard extended an arm across her chest.

“Hey!” Fiyero shouted.

“Elphie!” Galinda’s hands flew to her mouth. Just leave them alone, she wanted to wail. At home, at boarding school, in most situations in her meaningless life, she could have stomped her foot and made it all go away. But what good would it do, here? She had never felt so powerless before, not even in Sorcery class.

Elphaba, recovering quickly, ducked under the soldier’s arm. “You can’t let them do this,” she spat towards Madame Coddle, with such force that the walls rattled. She leapt—and there really was no other way to describe it, as there seemed to be no contact between her feet and the floor—towards Dr. Dillamond, who at this point had been neatly restrained by his horns.

“It’s out of my hands, Miss Elphaba,” Madame Coddle cried. She stood tamely next to the soldiers as they picked Dr. Dillamond up and dragged him, bleating and thrashing, out of the classroom. They were gone faster than Elphaba could reach them. Galinda’s stomach roiled.

Elphaba, breathing heavily, stood with Dr. Dillamond’s cracked glasses in her hand. “Are we all just going to sit here in silence?” She asked, looking up at Galinda and Fiyero with such dismay on her face that Galinda felt weak with fear and self-disgust.

No one said anything. The students, murmuring amongst themselves, sat down again, returning to their notebooks or their books. Galinda, ears hot and full of the sound of her pounding heartbeat, was unable to move. Elphaba returned to her seat, hands shaking. “Are you okay?” Galinda whispered.

Elphaba shrank back, away from her, and wordlessly shook her head.

Galinda watched numbly as a somber-looking man with a horrendible moustache wheeled a cloth-covered package into the center of the classroom. His words rushed in her ears, swift and unintelligible. She just noticed Elphaba tense more and more, until he pulled the cloth off with a flourish.

Leaning forward over a multitude of curious heads in the row in front of her, Galinda could not place what he had brought to see them for a moment. Idly, she cycled through all manners of improbable things—a pillow? A stuffed animal? Then the thing—whatever it was—stirred and yawned, and the classroom erupted into a soft “Aww.”

“What you see here,” the man said, and Galinda noticed then that someone had written Professor Nikidik on the board, “is a lion cub. He’s been so kind as to join us today, for our class.”

Was it a lion cub, or a Lion cub? He seemed too small to speak, and if he had been large enough and could speak, he would have probably been too afraid. Galinda, used to coaxing laughter and speech out of shy younger cousins, knew what a scared child looked like, and this cub most definitely was one. He pressed himself against the barred wall of his box, shaking, his tail folded in like he was trying to make himself disappear.

“This is called a cage,” Professor Nikidik said in a nasal, unpleasant voice. Galinda winced. Elphaba, who normally took notes so fervently, simply gripped the far edge of the desk. Her knuckles were pale from the pressure. “It’s for the Animal’s own good.”

“If it’s so good, why is he trembling?” Elphaba said loudly.

Galinda felt her stomach flip. Madame Coddle stood next to the door, watching them with a sour expression.

“He’s just excited to be here,” Professor Nikidik said smoothly.

Elphaba’s eyes flickered to Galinda, who could do nothing but hopelessly shrug.

“The cages ensure that Animals never learn to speak,” Professor Nikidik said. “This makes life less distressful for them, since they don’t have to fulfill the expectations of society.” He cleared his throat. “Just think of all the Animal protestors.”

“They’re not protesting because they speak,” Elphaba said. There was a flush on her cheeks and a set determination on her face. “They’re protesting because they’re being oppressed.”

“And just imagine how satisfied they’ll be, when they don’t complain anymore.” Professor Nikidik turned to the blackboard, snapping his heels together. “Now, the dimension of a cage can vary—”

“He’s so scared,” Elphaba said, drawing her hands back to wring them together roughly.

“Elphie,” Galinda whispered, reaching over to grab Elphaba’s hand so she wouldn’t hurt herself. Elphaba drew her hands away from Galinda, shaking her head.

“Don’t,” Fiyero said softly to her.

Galinda dismissed him with a wave. What did he know? She had never seen Elphaba like this: face contorted in anguish, gnawing at her bottom lip until it bled.

“What are we going to do?” Elphaba asked, desperately looking between Galinda and Fiyero. 

Fiyero cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. We?”

What happened next, Galinda couldn’t quite say. A current of air whooshed over her head, tickling the top of her hair. Despite herself, she shivered with a strange pleasure, electric energy murmuring over her skin. Sorcery. Of course. She saw everyone’s heads drop, falling gently to their desks or lolling over shoulders, and Elphaba stand and move towards the front of the room. “Wait, please,” Galinda shouted, but voice sounded small and far away. Her eyelids grew heavy—don’t sleep, she commanded her body, for once, I’m telling you not to sleep—and Elphaba was leaving, with Fiyero—was that Fiyero? She couldn’t tell. She looked again, but the room was blurry. As she tried to summon the last of her willpower, her body dragged her, merciless, into a bottomless sleep, so she was far away when—or if—Elphaba returned.

--

The evening stretched on and on, and still no sign of Elphaba. It’s nothing, Galinda thought, sitting on her bed. She went to the balcony to see if she could spot Elphaba’s lithe form returning over the courtyard. It’s nothing, nothing, nothing. Fiyero had assured her Elphaba was fine. When she’d finally found him, her head heavy from sleep, he had picked Galinda up, spun her, and apologized for leaving her behind. “No worries, dear, I was asleep,” Galinda had said, kissing him on the cheek. And then she had gone to wait for Elphaba, because the exhaustion triggered by the poppy dust had settled deep into her bones.

She was dozing when Elphaba finally came into the room. Without a greeting, Elphaba threw her coat onto a chair—not your nice coat, Galinda almost said, though she was smart enough to hold her tongue—and collapsed face-down onto her bed, breathing heavily.

“Elphie!” Galinda ran over to Elphaba on light feet. “Are you alright?”

“Why would I be alright, Galinda.” Elphaba’s voice was muffled through her pillow.

Galinda took a step back, rocking back and forth in her slippers. “Where have you been?”

“I took a walk.”

She looked so defeated, lying like that on the bed. Galinda felt a strangled sadness rise up in her, mixed with a desperate, impossible need to turn back the time to make Elphaba happy again. Cautiously, she sat down next to her and ran her hand over Elphaba’s back, feeling the bumps of her spine under the thin fabric of her blouse. “Must have been a long walk.”

“I know.” Elphaba turned onto her back, tears leaking out behind closed eyelids.

“Oh, Elphie.” Galinda reached out to wipe her tears away. “I’m sorry. You must be so worried.”

For a moment, Elphaba turned her cheek, trembling into the touch. Then her eyes snapped open. “It doesn’t matter how I feel,” she said harshly. She got up in a swift movement, grabbed a book off her nightstand, and marched over to her desk. “I just need to study more.”

“Why?” Galinda turned around in confusification. “What’s going on?”

“I need to help him, Galinda,” Elphaba said, voice breaking, and then she was crying silently. She sat down and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “I need to study and work harder so I can get to the Wizard and I can—”

“Elphie,” Galinda breathed. Her heart broke a dozen times over as Elphaba opened the book and began to take notes through her tears, hand moving so swiftly over the page that Galinda couldn’t imagine anything she was writing was legible. “Elphie, that isn’t going to do anything right now. You need to sleep.”

“If I had had better control”—Elphaba flipped the page, the scrape of paper against paper snapping through the air— “I could have—”

“This was not your fault,” Galinda said. Elphaba turned the page again and pressed her pen into her notebook. The ink bled through the page. “Elphie!”

Elphaba finally looked up at that, face tear-streaked.

“This was not your fault,” Galinda said again. Gingerly, she padded over to Elphaba’s desk and kneeled in front of her, taking her shaking hand. “Stop. Please. Go to bed.”

“I can’t.” Elphaba tapped her foot impatiently, hand tense in Galinda’s. “I can’t stop. My head is too full.”

Elphaba’s bookshelf and the coat rack began to rattle shrilly, making the hair on Galinda’s neck stand upright.

“I need to calm down,” Elphaba whispered, pressing a hand against her forehead. “I can’t do it on my own.”

“Can I try something?” Galinda murmured, and even though her words had been quiet Elphaba nodded forlornly and closed her eyes, wincing.

Galinda raised an eyebrow. “Elphaba, I’m not going to slap you!”

“Oh.” Elphaba opened her eyes. “Then—”

“I paint my nails to calm myself down,” Galinda said carefully, sidling around Elphaba to reach her own vanity. “Here,” she said, placing an assortment of colors on Elphaba’s desk. “Pick a color.”

“Why painting nails?” Elphaba asked, but the furniture stopped shaking as she warily pointed towards a rose pink.

“Good choice.” Galinda took it and sat down on her bed. At least if she spilled the polish, it wouldn’t show on her sheets. She feigned an unaffected smile. “It’s slow. You have to be patient. You can’t move around too much.”

“I don’t know how to paint nails.”

“I do,” Galinda pointed out, fluttering her perfect nails in Elphaba’s direction. “And I’m happy to help you. That’s what makes me so nice.”

Elphaba cracked the smallest smile at that.

“Come here,” Galinda instructed her, and Elphaba, to her credit, stood up, closed the book, and let herself fall onto Galinda’s bed with a defeated thump. Humming softly, Galinda took Elphaba’s hand in her own. “Deep breaths, Elphie. And don’t move, or you’ll smudge my art.”

“Can’t have that,” Elphaba said dryly.

“Hm.” Galinda narrowed her eyes in frustration. Why was it so hard to unscrew the top of this stupid bottle of polish? “Come on,” she muttered, rolling it back and forth on the mattress.

Elphaba cleared her throat. “Do you maybe need two hands for that?”

“Right.” Galinda coughed and let go of Elphaba’s hand. “There we go.” She had done this a thousand times, for Pfannee, for ShenShen, for her mother and grandmother…she fell back into practiced movements, tucking the bottle between her thighs, draping Elphaba’s hands into the right position—just over Galinda’s knee, where Galinda could feel the heat radiating from Elphaba’s palm through the thick fabric of her nightgown. As she worked, Elphaba’s breathing became calmer, until it had slowed to a gentle rhythm.

“I’m so sorry about Dr. Dillamond,” Galinda said softly. She looked up to see Elphaba staring at her and a blush spreading across her face. “You did everything you could.”

“Not everything.” Elphaba’s voice was thick. “If I had control of my magic, I could’ve done good—”

“You did do good,” Galinda said, finishing another finger. “You saved the cub.”

“With Fiyero.”

Galinda shrugged. “I don’t know how far Fiyero would’ve gotten without your magic.” But why didn’t you pick me? She thought, hoping against hope that Elphaba would say something comforting without Galinda having to ask, or to ensure her that it hadn’t been her choice to take Fiyero and leave Galinda behind. I could have helped you. I want to help you. The words were on the tip of her tongue. She was overcome with such a strong impulse to say them that her hand wavered, painting the side of Elphaba’s finger pink.  She sighed and tried to still her hand. What in Oz could Elphaba say that would make her feel better? She had just recognized—correctly, Galinda had to admit—that Galinda wasn’t brave enough, or strong enough, or—

Galinda, finding tears creeping into her eyes, cleared her throat. “All done, Elphie.” She lifted Elphaba’s hands. It wasn’t her best work. There was that smudge of nail polish on the side of her finger, the layers were uneven…Oz, she couldn’t even get this right.  Without quite knowing why—perhaps to absolve herself—she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to Elphaba’s knuckle, skin burning under her lips. “There,” she said, straightening herself. “Now we just…wait.”

Elphaba cleared her throat, and for a moment Galinda was seized with a clammy unease that she had done something wrong, or that everything she had done had been wrong. Then Elphaba sighed and closed her eyes. “I’m so tired.”

Galinda placed a soft hand on her back, rubbing the spot between her shoulder blades. “Then go to sleep.”

“My nails aren’t dry,” Elphaba said, barking out a hoarse laugh. Her eyelids fluttered closed. “How long is this going to take?”

“Ten minutes?” Galinda bit her lip. Her hand moved up to the back of Elphaba’s neck, to the base of her skull. “No magic for that, Miss Elphaba?”

“That would be your specialty,” Elphaba grumbled.

--

Her head was still swimming from the poppy dust when she went for a walk with Fiyero the next day. He greeted her with their customary peck on the cheek and placed his arm around her waist with his usual confidence. He even complimented her fluffy pink earmuffs with the grin she had come to expect from him. All in all, it all seemed like before. He was Fiyero and she was Galinda, and so they would stay, until their hair changed color and they looked over the flowing Vinkan grasslands together and died in the same moment in each other’s arms. Or maybe Fiyero would die a few short minutes before Galinda, so that she could drape herself aesthetically over his corpse before the mourners arrived.

So it came, Galinda had to admit, as a bit of shock when they sat together on a bench facing the canal and Fiyero said, “Galinda, I’m not sure we have a future.”

Galinda swallowed, hard.  “What?”

“I’m not breaking up with you,” Fiyero said rapidly. He took her hand in his. Warm. Familiar. “I want to talk about us.”

“What is there to talk about?” It’s about yesterday, a nagging voice in the back of her mind whispered. While you dropped off to sleep, he helped Elphaba save the cub, and he knows you don’t care enough, and that you don’t understand, and that you’ll never be enough, not for him, not for Elphaba. “But I like you,” she said weakly. “I don’t even think you’re perfect anymore, and I still like you.”

Fiyero smiled a little, and Galinda felt her heartbeat slow. They could get through this, whatever it was. It was only a bump on their long, common road to happiness. It had nothing to do with the day before. Perhaps it had just put things into perspective for him, and now he wanted to have a serious conversation, like serious adults. “I like you too, Galinda.”

“So what’s the problem?” Galinda asked, shifting uneasily in her seat. The canal, which usually delighted Galinda through the way it reflected the sunlight, now seemed like a painted backdrop. “I like you, you like me?”

Fiyero sighed. “How do you like me, though?”

“I like you more than anyone I’ve ever dated,” Galinda said. “More than anyone I’ve ever even considered dating. I like doing everything with you.”

He nodded at her to go on.

“I like taking walks with you, Fiyero,” she said, squeezing his hand for emphasis. “That’s unheard of! I’ve never liked walks with any of my other boyfriends because they were always horrendibly borific. But not you.”

He nodded again, less confidently that time.

“And you look—great,” Galinda added. What more did he want her to say? What more could she say? She had to have messed something up. Mentally, she went through everything from the past few days, but it had all seemed fine. Probably it was because she just wasn’t good enough, and that thought was so gloomifying that tears flooded her vision.

Fiyero rubbed his forehead. “I sometimes wonder if we’d be better off as friends.”

Oz, she really was going to start crying here, on this bench in public right by the canal. Galinda leaned her head back, willing the tears to go back into the—the wherever they came from, before she turned her least-favorite shade of mottled pink. “I don’t understand,” she said helplessly, too focused on stopping the tears from coming down to think about anything else.

“For instance,” Fiyero said gently, “I like kissing you, but I’m not sure if you like kissing me.”

She decided to let the tears fall then, and once they did, it wasn’t as bad or as many as expected. “Because I forget to, sometimes?” She let go of his hand to wipe her face. She did like kissing him—vaguely, at least—but it slipped her mind constantly, to the point that she normally had to rush back whenever they parted to give him a kiss goodbye. But he smelled good and his hand around her waist made her feel safe. And while they kissed, she could spin stories about them in her mind, about all the things they would do and see together and how much they adored each other. “I don’t mind kissing you.”

“That’s what I mean, Galinda.”

She wiped her face again, relieved that the tears had stopped, and considered what he was saying—really saying—for the first time. Oz, it was all muddled up in her head. Was it supposed to be that way? It had never been any different for her. Whenever they kissed for longer—stealing moments in the woods, or in Fiyero’s private coach on their way to a restaurant—she did feel a slight thrill whenever his hand brushed up against her waist or chest. Though now that she was thinking about it, she had absolutely no urge to touch him on those occasions, content to lean back and keep her hands tamely on his upper back.

“Fine,” she conceded dully. “I think I know what you mean.”

If that devastated Fiyero, he didn’t show it. Instead, he stared out across the canal, letting the sunlight catch the lighter strands of his hair. He’s very pretty, Galinda thought, and in that moment did want to touch him, so she affectionately raked her hand through his hair and ruffled it a bit, enjoying his surprised yelp.

“There’s gel in it, Galinda,” he said.

“It’s cute when it sticks up like that.”

Fiyero grumbled something indiscernible.

“Trust me, I read fashion magazines,” Galinda said, turning away from him with a flourish. She swung her feet back and forth. That was a benefit to having short legs and sitting on a tall bench.

“What do you think?” Fiyero said after a short pause.

Right. They were having this conversation. “I love spending time with you,” Galinda said softly. More tears came, so naturally that she had no chance of preventing them. “And not having that—”

“We can be friends, Galinda.” He took her hand again. She grasped it tightly, holding onto him for balance despite being sat securely on the bench. “I want us to be friends.”

“I wanted to see the Vinkus,” she said.

“I’ll still take you there,” Fiyero said gently. “We’ve got to get you out of Gillikin somehow.”

“Well.” Galinda sniffed. “You’ve never been to Pertha Hills, so who are you to talk?”

“Miss Galinda, there’s nothing I’d like more than to visit Pertha Hills. The town that produced you must have been an extraordinary one.”

“Oh, not the stuffy honorific.” Galinda crossed her legs indignantly. “What, are you going to make me call you Prince Fiyero, now?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Fiyero said.

On impulse, she leaned over and hugged him, inhaling his scent. He was solid in her arms, like a pillow. For the last time, the overdramatic part of her brain whispered. Galinda shushed it. They would see each other again, and often. “Can I tell Elphaba, when I get the chance?” she asked as they broke apart. “I just…don’t want her to hear it from anyone else.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Fiyero promised.

“Thank you.” Galinda cleared her throat. “I think I’ll go back.”

“Should I walk with you?” Fiyero asked, getting up immediately. Galinda’s heart panged as she looked at his smile and his wonderful big eyes.

“I think I want to go alone,” she said, daintily brushing invisible dust off her skirt. She reached out a cold hand and touched his face, briefly, just before his cheekbone met his ear. “Goodbye, Fiyero.”

She took the long way back to the dorm room, feeling bruised and lonely, but also, strangely, free.

--

She did not get a chance to tell Elphaba. Yes, they saw each other in class, and at meals, but there were always other people there, flurrying around them. Galinda didn’t find it fitting to lean over to Elphaba in the middle of Ozian Literature and whisper “Fiyero and I broke up.” And it seemed so inconsequential after the situation with Dr. Dillamond. In the evening, she had preexisting dinner plans with Pfannee and ShenShen, and when she returned, Elphaba was bundled up in bed already.

“Did you have a good day?” Elphaba asked, yawning and placing a bookmark in her book. She looked enviously warm and cozy.

“It was fine.” Galinda removed her scarf, cheeks red from the cold. Then she took a deep breath. Fiyero and I have decided to part ways. It was time to rip off the band-aid. But the words, stubborn, refused to leave her mouth. Why in Oz was this so hard? Galinda could have stomped her foot in frustration, but she wanted to seem quietly composed as she told Elphaba the news, so she wouldn’t alarm her roommate or cause a ruckus. To calm herself, she ducked behind the partition and changed into her nightgown, emerging with goosebumps still prickling from the outside wind.

Shivering, she weighed her options. Then, casting all doubt aside—she needed comfort, damn it—she strode over to her roommate’s bed and cleared her throat.

“Can I help you?” Elphaba asked.

“I am very cold,” Galinda said pointedly, and rubbed her arms to emphasize her words. “Please share some of your warmth.”

Sighing, as if she’d anticipated this, Elphaba flung the edge of her blanket to the side and motioned at Galinda to get in.

“Thank you,” Galinda sighed, tucking herself in. After a moment’s hesitation, she settled into the groove of Elphaba’s side. It all smelled like Elphaba, slightly intoxicating, but warm. Not unlike poppy dust. She closed her eyes and inhaled, feeling calm for the first time in days.

“Galinda!” Elphaba yelped, shocking her out of her meditation. “You’re freezing.”

“Sharing is caring,” Galinda grumbled. The cold was already receding from her bones. Sighing, she moved her arm across Elphaba’s stomach, against the rough fabric of her nightgown. “This is better.”

“Great,” Elphaba said. She shifted closer to Galinda, fingertips drifting automatically up and down Galinda’s arm. They stayed like that until Galinda felt drowsy, head floating in a sea of Elphaba’s scent and body heat. “So, how was your day?” Elphaba asked, voice soft.

“I told you it was fine,” Galinda murmured, perfectly content to lie there, saturated in, well. Elphaba. For once, she wanted nothing else. It was such an unfamiliar feeling after the past few months that she felt the sharp sting of tears rise up into her nose and had to blink firmly to keep them down. “It was just long.”

Elphaba’s stomach rose and fell under Galinda’s arm. “I’m glad you had a good day.”

Fiyero and I broke up. Why couldn’t she say it? What was she so afraid of? She knew what Elphaba’s reaction would be: appropriate sympathy, a few encouraging words, and then they would fall asleep in separate beds and everything would remain the same. Nothing fearsome about that. And yet Galinda’s sleep-drunk mind swayed indecisively back and forth.

“I have to tell you something,” she said instead.

Elphaba’s fingertips stopped moving. “What is it?”

Oz, she still couldn’t say it. Maybe it was about the pity she anticipated in Elphaba’s face, or the rumor mill she would inevitably ignite. Fiyero had… contained her. Telling Elphaba would give all that up, and leave Galinda teetering on the brink of—of what, exactly? Oz. Frustrated, then doubly frustrated due to her lack of restraint, Galinda began to cry, burying her face into Elphaba’s side to hide the tears.

“What is it?” Elphaba asked again, voice colored with worry.

Say it, Galinda commanded herself. Say it! It was like pushing a door that had pull neatly labeled on the handle. “I’m just so happy,” she said, nearly wailing. The situation was so ridiculous she had to laugh. “I just—with you, and Fiyero, and our friends.”

“Galinda.”

Elphaba sounded so serious that Galinda stopped laughing immediately and hiccupped, once, out of surprise.

“Elphie,” Galinda said, in an approximation of Elphaba’s tone. There was no way around it. She would have to tell her. She raised her head to look Elphaba in the eye. Oh, but she hated seeing Elphaba like that: full lips downturned, a singular fold between her eyebrows. Galinda felt her resolve falter, then disappear entirely. Instinctually, she reached up carefully to touch Elphaba’s face, first the crinkle in her forehead, then the soft curve of her lower lip. “I’m fine,” she whispered, feeling faint, and was surprised at how much it was true. She settled with her hand over Elphaba’s jaw, thumb arcing lightly over her cheekbone.

“Are you?” Elphaba’s eyelids flickered as she closed her eyes.

“Yes,” Galinda said. Her heart tripped in an unnatural rhythm. Face flooding with heat, she studied Elphaba’s face, the freckles scattered over the bridge of her nose, the slight quirk in her mouth betraying a persisting concern. She was, somehow, entirely familiar and entirely new. Galinda thought, for some reason, about Fiyero, his head tilted: I’m not sure if you like kissing me. It had been a fair point, in retrospect, she mused. Had she ever liked kissing him? As a pasttime, maybe, or the same way she liked twirling in a dress with a wide skirt or the click of a particularly high pair of heels on the ground. Absentmindedly, she thought about kissing Elphaba and was suddenly inundated with the piercing urge to touch her—to feel her skin without obstacle—to breathe in the same air as she tipped Elphaba’s head back, pleading lips—

Oh.

Oh, Oz.

Galinda, coming back to herself, found that she had begun to lean in and froze, blood draining out of her face.

“It’s late,” she squeaked, pulling her mutinous hand back and extricating herself from Elphaba’s warm grasp. “We have class tomorrow.”

Ears ringing, shivering again, she fled to her own bed.

--

It was dark when Glinda stopped talking, finally, the third pot of tea empty and a loose hunger in my stomach. My hand stung from gripping my pen in the same cramped position over hours.

“It’s funny,” Galinda—no, Glinda—said, getting that glazed over, faraway look in her eyes. “How the most important thing that happened was, undoubtedly, Dr. Dillamond’s arrest, and yet I remember that day—much more clearly.”

I nodded, too tired to comment.

“I had the privilege of seeing him often, in the years before his death,” Glinda said, raising her chin. “He was brilliant, as always. Have you read his last book?”

A question for me, for once. “Once, in school.” I didn’t remember much. But Dr. Dillamond’s works were known for being concise, easy to understand… with a razor-sharp analysis, unafraid of telling the truth. His harrowing personal account of speechlessness was considered one of the seminal works of Ozian Nonfiction. “I should reread it.”

“I have a copy,” Glinda said brightly, walking over to a crowded bookshelf. “Here. Just don’t lose it, it’s signed.”

“Signed?” My hands shook as I accepted it. I opened it to the front page—

For my favorite student, Glinda, he had written. Thank you for helping me speak out again. Then he’d signed it with a hoofprint.

“My favorite student?” I read out loud, unable to stop myself. What about the bratty undergraduate who’d insistently corrected his speech, then sat by and watched as he’d been forced from his place of work? Oz, Glinda was adept at avoiding accountability.

“He was very forgiving,” Glinda said, but there was a shade of pink on the top of her ears that betrayed an embarrassment I found humanizing. “You’ll find that things change, when you look back at them.” Glinda drew in a tight breath and sat down again. The lightness in her eyes I had gotten accustomed to during the past few days was nowhere to be seen. “I was lucky. I had the gift of spending my days worrying about Fiyero, pining after Elphaba. Trivialities, in the end.”

What did she want me to do? Reassure her that it hadn’t been that bad? Agree? I settled for a slight nod. Go on.

“And I knew,” Glinda continued. “Or if I didn’t, I could have known and chose not to. Elphaba knew. Even Fiyero knew, despite his eternal posturing and disaffectedness.”

“But you must have found a way back to him,” I said, stammering slightly. Oz, I was doing the same thing as Galinda, harping on the interpersonal drama while a political tragedy played out in front of me. “You were engaged.”

“We were.” Glinda threaded her fingers together on her thigh and looked at me with an expression so full of loss I had to look away. “It’s not over yet, Nor.”

“What would you have done differently, looking back?”

“Everything?” Glinda looked at me questioningly.

I raised an eyebrow.

“I know.” Glinda sighed. “That’s not a good answer. I don’t know how much I could have done—I had no powers, no real knowledge of the issue. I think to do something different I would have had to be a different person. More like Elphaba.” Glinda shook her head. “I should have supported her more.”

“Would that have changed anything?” It was a second question, but I felt quietly daring. A bit like Elphaba. Without the eventual extremism, hopefully.

“Maybe.” Glinda smiled bitterly. “Maybe not. But I’ll never stop thinking about it.”

Chapter Text

I got halfway through the first chapter of Dr. Dillamond’s book before falling into a dreamless sleep. When I woke up, it had fallen inelegantly to the floor, still open to the last page I’d read. At least I hadn’t drooled on it, thank Oz. I imagined trying to explain that to Glinda and shuddered, instantly so awake I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again.

Padding downstairs after finishing the chapter, I heard Miss Billie and Miss Daisy laughing softly in the kitchen. I wondered, not for the first time, what it was like to work for Glinda, what they’d say to all of this. I could have asked, probably. They were both friendly enough. Oz knew I didn’t have anyone else to talk to. Vaguely, I entertained the thought of writing my last ex a letter with Lady Glinda’s scandalocious gossip, but that was a horrible idea. And I wouldn’t get a reply, anyway.

No, if I wanted to talk to someone other than Glinda, it’d have to be Miss Billie or Miss Daisy. It would be good material for my book, and perhaps it’d make things easier if I ingratiated myself to them—Galinda’s voice in my head, talking about the benefits of being popular, agreed wholeheartedly—but my head was always spinning when I left the sitting room and any attempt at conversation would likely be stilted and distant. Another time, I thought. I ate breakfast with them anyway, exchanging light remarks about the weather and the local flower fields, which would apparently soon be in magnificent bloom.

Glinda fluttered into the room a few minutes later than usual, clearing her throat as she sat down. “Good morning,” she said, fastidiously draping her skirt so that it fell over her knees with perfect symmetry.

“Good morning.”

“So for this next part.” She cleared her throat again. “Please remember it was a long time ago, and I was very young.”

“Okay.”

“I was in love for the first time in my life,” Glinda continued, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on her skirt, “and you can imagine it couldn’t have been easy—”

“Of course it wasn’t easy,” I interrupted, suddenly itching to get to whatever was so awkward she felt the need to preface it with a warning. “She was your best friend, you were still figuring things out…”

She sat back a bit and gave me a tiny nod.

“I’m just here to listen,” I finished weakly.

“Are you?”

Oz, I’d been too eager. “Here to listen and ask questions.” And to get paid and to make a name out of myself. Hopefully. But the damage had been done.

Glinda looked at me with clarity, nearly triumphantly. Then she nodded, briskly this time. “Right. I was young and immature, and so on and so forth.” She paused.

“It’s really okay, Glinda,” I said.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled brightly. “Let’s get on with it, then, shall we?”

--

Galinda crept silently out of bed before Elphaba woke up, trying very hard not to look over at her sleeping roommate and the steady rise and fall of her chest under her thin nightgown, her face, soft and unlined in sleep, lips falling slightly open…

She took a deep breath and grasped her shower caddy tighter, stomping down the hall. It was a fluke. She’d caught a cold. She’d been feeling vulnerable after Fiyero had broken up with her or they had broken up with each other or whatever—certainly a situation in which one was allowed to feel vulnerable!—and Elphaba had been there and had smelled good and that was always something Galinda could appreciate, so why wouldn’t her mind have gone there? That could have happened to anyone. Anyone with that sort of proximity to Elphaba in that situation would have thought about kissing her and been flooded with the warmth of ten thousand overachieving suns. Yes, that was certainly it. Galinda shook her head as she turned the shower on, enveloping herself in the routine of lathering, shampoo, letting the conditioner absorb properly. This was the part she hated the most, because it was boring: nothing to do, just staring at the steam rising in the air, as she counted down the seconds before she could put her head back under the gloriously warm water.

Naturally—because it was so boring—her thoughts turned back to Elphaba. These things happened. They happened when one had friends one was close to. Her brain had just gotten confusified, as it so often did. No, her body had gotten confusified. Confusified by the euphorisizing smell of Elphaba’s perfume and the rush of her soft fingertips on her arm. As was normal and to be expected. She frowned. Idly, her mind imagined a green hand snaking its way around the closed shower curtain, Elphaba emerging from behind it… letting Galinda press her against the wall, skin slick from steam, hand drifting up her thigh—

Who’d even decided conditioner needed to absorb? That sounded like a myth. Not caring about the shine of her hair for the first time in her life, Galinda shoved her head back under the steady stream of warm water and let it run over her face until her mind was, thankfully, empty of the thought of Elphaba in the shower, especially with her.

--

“Glinda?”

“Yes. Hello.” Her eyes refocused onto me. “What was the last thing I said?”

I looked down at my notes. “You were talking about how you hate conditioning your hair because it’s boring?”

“Right.” Glinda shook her head violently. “The things we do for beauty. Anyway.”

--

Oh, what in Oz was happening? She managed not to think of Elphaba at all while she dried off, wrapped herself tightly in her towel, blow-dried her hair, and toddled back to their room, hoping against all hope that Elphaba would still be asleep. But of course Elphaba was hunched over her desk already, braids swinging back and forth as she moved her head. Galinda felt her stomach flip upwards as she slinked past.

“Good morning,” Elphaba said smoothly, not looking up.

“Morning!” Galinda chirped, feeling more on edge with every scratch of Elphaba’s ancient pen on parchment. She was suddenly agonizingly aware of how low the towel dipped over her chest, the rough fabric against her thighs. As quickly as she could, she grabbed an outfit out of the closet—any outfit—and ducked behind the partition, changing quicker than she ever had before.

“Are you alright?” Elphaba asked, a horrendibly amused note in her voice, as Galinda stepped out fully dressed.

“Of course,” Galinda squeaked. Was she that obvious? “Wh—Why do you ask?”

“I mean, you usually take a lot longer to pick your outfit.” Elphaba’s eyebrow arched upwards. “And I didn’t even get to tell you what I think.”

“Well, the last few times you just said I look great.” Galinda swallowed.

Elphaba tipped her head, conceding the point to Galinda, and went back to the rhythm of her scratches on paper, gently turning page after page.

Galinda’s entire stomach seemed to be bursting with nerves, intestines snarled together. She pressed her skirt down with damp palms. “I mean, do I?”

“What?” Elphaba didn’t look up.

“Look great.” Galinda willed her hands to stop sweating. Nothing was happening.

Then Elphaba slowly swept her eyes up and down her body and Galinda felt her stomach erupt into thousands of fluttering wings. “You do,” she said nonchalantly, going back to her book.

“Thank you.” Galinda smiled with too many teeth. Oz, that was never good. That made people suspicious. As her father lovingly admonished her during family pictures, it made her look fake. So she did what she always did in those situations—consciously relaxed her mouth into a more natural-looking smile, took a deep breath, and dropped it after three seconds. But Elphaba was staring at her book anyway.

She breathed in deeply, evenly, willing herself to slow down. This was fine. She finished doing her makeup without so much as a tremble in her fingers, and when she turned to ask Elphaba if she was coming to breakfast—a useless question, really, because they always had breakfast together—her voice didn’t sound too shrill.

As they walked downstairs, Elphaba’s hand burned a loose circle into her wrist.

Galinda straightened her shoulders.

This was fine.

It continued to be fine during class. She sat between Elphaba and Fiyero, as always. No reason to change that. Though Elphaba was painfully close, so that Galinda could feel the heat radiating off her body and smell the occasional burst of her perfume. And it was a fine perfume, with light notes of citrus and a type of wood Galinda couldn’t place, that somehow carried on the faintest breeze or flick of Elphaba’s hair. It was just enough to remind her how close Elphaba was really sitting, like a promise that she could drown herself in it if she leaned in and inhaled…

And how many times had Galinda seen Elphaba casually adjust the collar of her shirt or her glasses? It must have been often. The movements seemed worn into her memory: the flex of Elphaba’s fingers around the cloth or the edge of her glasses with a gentle sureness, how her wrist bent, tendons showing. But now Galinda’s breath clenched in the middle of her stomach as she watched, which was decidedly suboptimal when Elphaba spent nearly all of class fidgeting.

Her notes looked terrible. Galinda couldn’t care less.

“You seem distracted,” Elphaba commented as they packed up their things, in that dreadfully observant way of hers. She reached over and laced her fingers through Galinda’s, offering a gentle squeeze for encouragement.

Fiyero was packing up his things, avoiding eye contact with them. Good. This was clearly the result of being unceremonioushly dumped.

“I mean, it was a lot.” Galinda racked her brain for anything that had been said during the entire class. “The whole part about the—the people doing the thing. Ozid is just so gripping. It’s so difficult to tear one’s mind away from his writings.” She blinked innocently and handed her bag to Fiyero, who took it obediently, perhaps out of guilt.

Graciously, Galinda chose to ignore Elphaba’s raised eyebrow. “Thank Oz it’s lunchtime,” she said, breezing forward. “I’m positively famished.”

“Elphaba,” Fiyero said, “do you mind if I speak to Galinda for a moment?”

“Of course.” Elphaba let go of Galinda’s hand to adjust her glasses. “I’ll just go catch up with Nessa.” She flashed them a quick smile and disappeared out the door, leaving Galinda and Fiyero alone in the classroom.

“You’re not going to break up with me again, are you,” Galinda said flatly.

Fiyero rolled his eyes. “Galinda.”

“Fiyero.”

He sighed, leaning against a desk. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” At his questioning look, she smiled at him, as believably as she could. “Really. And how are you?”

“Also fine.” Fiyero looked at her with his head cocked to one side.

“Great,” Galinda said. “So, lunch?” She started towards the door.

“Galinda,” Fiyero said again, straightening himself up and taking a half-step towards her. He looked… concerned, at least. Galinda wondered, for the briefest of moments, what he would say if she told him about Elphaba and the effect she seemed to have on Galinda. How would she even explain it? But his confusified face in her imagination put that idea to rest with definitive swiftness.

Fiyero was speaking again. “Even if you didn’t—if we weren’t—you’re still allowed to be sad.”

“I know.” Galinda patted his arm to make up for not having heard half of his sentence. “I appreciate it, Fiyero, I really do.”

Fiyero placed a warm hand on her elbow. “I meant it when I said we should be friends.” There was only sincerity in his eyes, and a wrinkle on his forehead that further betrayed a genuine concern.

A gentle melancholy wove itself into Galinda’s heart, pushing her to lean forward. Out of habit, she nearly placed a hand on his face. Would that be strange, now? Probably. “I meant it too, Fiyero.” Her hand hovered awkwardly above his cheek. Then she tapped his nose with a finger. “Boop,” she said. “Can we get lunch now? Please?” She missed Elphaba, she realized. Missed knowing that she could hear Elphaba’s laugh at any moment, filling her with that irresistible warmth.

Fiyero nodded, seeming pleased. “As you wish, Miss Galinda.”

They walked together, Fiyero carrying her bag as was right and proper. “What did Elphaba say, by the way?” Fiyero asked casually as they approached the cafeteria.

“I haven’t told her yet,” Galinda said lightly. Spotting Elphaba from across the room—at their usual table, lifting a cup to her mouth—she grinned and dashed forward, away from Fiyero, without looking back to see his face.

--

She didn’t tell her the next day. Or the day after that. It still seemed impossible every time she wanted to get the words out. Instead, Galinda thought of a lot of excuses. It would disrupt the delicate balance of their friend group. It would cause unnecessary drama to announce it so officially, and people would feel the need to take sides and such—it was better phase it out slowly, her relationship with Fiyero, so it wouldn’t be too abrupt a transition.

Besides, there was the unfortunate situation of… well. Whatever was going on with her when she was around Elphaba. She shivered at even the most tender touch and found that her ears burned in Elphaba’s presence more often than they did not. It was like a coil wound itself tightly into Galinda’s stomach, threatening to spring every time Elphaba looked at her with the intensity that seemed to be inherent in her gaze.

And then there were the thoughts.

Galinda was used to having thoughts. There was scarcely a moment in which something wasn’t running through her head. She had thoughts all the time! And she had always thought about Elphaba a lot, because they were best friends, and who else did one think about if not their best friend? But it didn’t explain the flood of them that came to her now, all of them about Elphaba, whirling around in her brain as she tried to sleep, eat, breathe. Thinking about Elphaba smiling—that had always been a common occurrence, and one Galinda found perfectly adequate and normal. Elphaba tilting Galinda’s chin up with a steady hand, then closing the gap with a gentle assuredness—increasingly more common, and increasingly more frustrating. The more she thought—the tighter the whirlwind got—the further Elphaba seemed to move away from her in reality, until Galinda felt like she was on the other side of a maelstrom she was too weak to cross.

But Elphaba was there, as always. She sat next to Galinda in their classes, their legs barely touching. Sometimes when Galinda got distracted and started doodling, Elphaba tapped her lightly with her foot. Sometimes Elphaba joined, too, brushing her arms against Galinda’s as she filled the page with bespectacled smileys or various plants, all anatomically correct. Galinda, suspended between thousands of casual touches and the wishes she could not name, found her nerves fraying perpetually, so that her movements were fretful and unpracticed.

There were moments of blissful thoughtlessness, few and far between. They quizzed each other on Fliaan vocabulary sitting cross-legged on Galinda’s bed.

“So that’s another one you’ll have to review,” Galinda said sweetly, dropping the notecard onto the “repeat” pile, which was surprisifyingly large for Elphaba’s standards. Dimly, she noted that most of Elphaba’s studying these days centered around Sorcery or making scratchy notes to herself about how to best advocate for Dr. Dillamond in front of the Wizard. But in that moment Elphaba just looked lightly annoyed, so Galinda allowed herself the smallest, self-satisfied smile.

“You’re not pronouncifying it right.” Elphaba crossed her arms. “Let me see the card.”

“You didn’t know it!”

“How am I supposed to know what word you mean if you don’t say it correctly?”

“My pronounicification is fine.” Galinda had to giggle at just how annoyed Elphaba looked.

The corners of Elphaba’s mouth twitched.

“It’s alright not to know everything, Elphie,” she continued smugly as Elphaba rolled her eyes. “After all, that’s why we’re at university. To broaden our horizons, pursue new scholarly pursuits—that is cheating, Elphaba!” She snatched the “repeat” pile away as Elphaba lunged towards it haphazardly. Leave it to Elphaba to try to use the distraction to gain an unfair advantage. She made another attempt, landing with Galinda trapped neatly between her arms. The air between them stood still as Elphaba’s eyes narrowed, looking down at Galinda, mouth twisting to avoid smiling.

At that moment all thoughts ran out of Galinda’s brain. Their noses were nearly touching. Elphaba could have easily stolen the notecards. Oz, she could have robbed Galinda blind. She was so close—exquisitely so, breathing in the air that now came hot and fast out of Galinda’s mouth, torn between a laugh and a gasp. Move away, Galinda thought, inner voice echoing in what was otherwise a stark white void. But she stayed—if anything, shifting just a bit closer—

“Thank you,” Elphaba said, grinning and flouncing back to sit on her heels with the notecard tucked firmly in her hand.

“Cheater,” Galinda huffed, not knowing what else to say.

“Hm.” Elphaba looked at the notecard, wrinkling her forehead. “I don’t know that word.”

“That’s what I told you,” Galinda exclaimed, wheeling forward to snatch the card back. Making eye contact, they erupted into laughter. She settled into her usual position—a safe, adequate distance from Elphaba—and shook her head, trying to pull herself together.

That was what made it dangerous, when the thoughts stopped. Her body took over, following that incessant ache for Elphaba.

Whatever that meant.

--

The next evening, Elphaba sat with her legs knotted on the couch, glasses perched at the end of her nose as she perused a large diagram of wind patterns or something-or-other. “Wasn’t tonight your date night?” She asked abruptly.

Galinda, who had already finished her bedtime routine and was comfortably situated in a nest of pillows, was so startled she dropped her book. 

“Oh, that,” she said, recovering. “Fiyero has a thing tonight. Sports of some kind, I believe. Or perhaps it was the choir. He wants to be more active on campus.” Oz, that sounded ridiculous. Galinda’s ears hurt when she heard it. Could she have come up with a less believable excuse? “And I wanted to finish reading this,” she added unhelpfully, holding up the book so Elphaba would see that it was, in fact, one of her loans.

Elphaba nodded hesitantly.

“Why, did you want to get rid of me?” Meant as a joke, Galinda hated how her heart pounded as she waited for Elphaba to answer.

“Of course not,” Elphaba replied quickly. “I was just wondering.”

“Well, good.” Galinda tried to laugh convincingly.

Elphaba’s eyes flickered back to her book. “So things are going well between you?”

Oz, of course Elphaba knew when she was lying. “They’re great,” Galinda burst out. Really? She asked herself. You’re not even going to consider telling the truth? Oz, it was magnificently stupid to continue to dig herself into this ridiculous lying hole. All it would take to make her avoidant bubble pop was Fiyero making an errant comment to someone, and then it would flit around campus so quickly she’d have Pfannee and ShenShen knocking on the door within minutes, if not seconds. And she’d have to see Elphaba’s face crumpled in disappointment, that Galinda had lied to her. But still she went on: “he’s just so thoughtful, you know. And I love that he’s trying to get more involved.”

“That’s nice,” Elphaba said absentmindedly. She half-closed her book and tucked her legs up behind her on the couch. “So you’re still getting married?”

A noise escaped Galinda that could perhaps have passed for an excited squeal if Elphaba was feeling particularly generous. Galinda chose to believe she was. “Oh yes. It’s just—so soon to be thinking about these things.” She coughed. “I’m young. So much of my life ahead of me.”

“Hm,” Elphaba said, opening her book again.

“Not that I don’t want to spend it with Fiyero,” Galinda continued, hands working themselves into a frenzy. “There’ll just be so much to organize.”

Elphaba nodded briefly, not looking up.

Galinda felt a pang of sour regret. “Can I tell you another secret?” she asked, sliding off her bed. She hovered at the foot of the couch, waiting.

Elphaba closed her book—properly that time, not just with her slim hands between the pages to mark her spot. Her expression was full of concern. Or some version of concern, twisted into something that made Galinda’s stomach churn. “Of course.”

Helplessly, Galinda let herself fall onto the couch next to Elphaba, heart skipping over itself from the soft proximity. Maybe it’s something medical, Galinda thought wildly. She discarded the thought in favor of folding her legs up so that her stockinged feet pressed into the cushion. Then, without thinking about it, she seized Elphaba’s hand desperately, wanting to ground herself, to remind herself that Elphaba was real. “It’s hard to say,” she said, inhaling shakily. Turning Elphaba’s hand over, she looked at her palm. Wasn’t that a part of Sorcery, telling the future from the lines of a hand? Her eyes followed them back and forth, but they revealed no truths, no sign of what was to come. She was on her own. “I—”

She looked back up to find Elphaba staring at her. The blissful, treacherous emptiness spread in her again, and before she could take hold of herself she had already leaned forward to rest her head into the crook of Elphaba’s neck.

Elphaba exhaled softly into the touch. Galinda felt a pulse of blood underneath the skin, rushing, alive. Or maybe that was just her own nerves while Elphaba felt nothing but calm.

“I have a secret, too,” Elphaba said lightly.

There was a jab of nerves in Galinda’s throat that briefly squeezed out all the air. “Tell me.” Her voice was hoarse. She leaned back, leaving Elphaba’s warmth behind.

“You first,” Elphaba whispered.

They looked at each other, lips slightly parted. At an impasse, as one could say. One half of Galinda’s mind drowned in thoughts, competing against each other for attention. Tell her about Fiyero. What’s the worst thing that could happen? You owe her this, you do. Oh, but she wouldn’t understand. What is there to understand? The other was caught in a blissful emptiness, and it was this half that made Galinda place her hand where her head had just been, on the side of Elphaba’s neck, and gently trace a finger up to the prominent bone behind her ear. “I don’t know if Fiyero and I are going to get married,” she confessed, closer to the truth than she had been in days.

“Oh,” Elphaba said. “But you’re still—” Her voice died in her throat.

It was at that moment that the cacophony of thoughts that had flooded Galinda’s brain over the past few days neatly dispersed, while the emptiness sharpened, gaining an inexplicable shape and form.

Conspiring, they delivered her two truths:

One. She was in love with Elphaba. Oz, but she had known that. Some part of her, at least. And so it was not so much a world-changing revelation but more a gentle shift of pieces that had previously been clashing at the wrong angle. A shift, and a turn, and then the click of an absolute truth finally making sense. But really, she was beyond metaphors: coils and storms and pieces and whatever other figures of speech she had used to describe something that was, inherently, simple: she was in love with Elphaba. It could have been a relief.

It should have been a relief.

If not for truth number two. She had been foolish regarding Elphaba, from the moment they had met. Tormented the girl, purposefully excluded her from social activities, stolen all of her left socks, sent her to a ball with an ugly hat for her own personal amusement. She had felt horror and sadness at what happened to the Goat—Dr. Dillamond—but it had not spurned her into action. While Elphaba had spent the past few days poring over theories and facts to help him, Galinda had spent the past few days thinking about Elphaba, in a manner that could only reflect her inherent selfishness, as much as it pained her to admit. So in what world, then, would it have been justified for Elphaba to love her?

So, for Elphaba—she’d just have to control herself. Never start thinking that Elphaba—the best person Galinda knew, whose friendship Galinda only barely deserved—would ever, ever—

Elphaba was staring at her, eyes wide, teeth barely showing through the gap between her lips. Galinda tilted her head just a bit, wondering furiously—heart trying its best to rabbit-kick itself out of her chest—if Elphaba would kiss her back, or if she would pull away and make a face, too confusified to ever speak about it again—

“Galinda?”

What good could possibly come of this? She didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve the warmth, Elphaba looking at her with such distressing openness. Like she was a wound, and Galinda could just reach in and tear her open.

“Yes,” Galinda said, words sounding artificial and tinny. “We’re still very happy. It’s just not set in stone, to marry your college boyfriend. We’d prefer to take it day by day.” She laughed, and it sounded glittering, crystalline. All shine and unrelenting edge.

Elphaba’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. So she still didn’t believe Galinda. That made two of them.

“Don’t you worry,” Galinda said. She looked at Elphaba, heartbreakingly beautiful and uselessly close. Then she moved her head back and closed her eyes, trying to steady herself. “What about your secret, then?”

Elphaba cleared her throat, gaze sliding down to her pink fingernails, now with the polish slightly chipped. “Madame Morrible says I’ll meet the Wizard soon.”

“Oh, Elphie, that’s amazing.” Galinda’s heart thudded dully. “Do—do you know when?”

The fragility in Elphaba’s gaze had retreated behind her wild green eyes, to a place where Galinda could no longer reach or know her. She simply shook her head, swallowed visibly, and got up, draping a cardigan across her narrow green shoulders. “I have to go to bed.”

“Good night,” Galinda called weakly.

She did not turn. “Good night.”

--

“But she clearly also—”

“I know, Nor.” Glinda sighed. “I know that now.”

“You were very young.”

Glinda snorted. “She was, too.”

She seemed disarmed. Visibly tired, sunken into the corner of the couch with her feet tucked up behind her. And yet there was an easy looseness in her movements as she brought her hands to her head and rubbed her temples in circles. That and an almost child-like self-consciousness. I thought of her teasing me, her annoyed face when I asked a question she didn’t approve of. I was still a bit apprehensive of her, this dual creature. Galinda melded into Glinda. And at the same time… though I was more or less a captive audience, she wanted to tell this story. She needed to. And unless she wanted to start over again, I was it.

“I thought about something you could have done differently,” I said hesitantly.

She looked at me, eyebrows quirked.

“Those mixed signals.” I grimaced. “I mean, yikes—”

“For Oz’s sake.” Glinda’s nostrils flared with amusement. “It haunts me enough already; I don’t need you joining in.”

“I’m just saying,” I said, holding my hands up.

“Sure you are, Miss ‘I’m just here to listen,’” Glinda said under her breath. It was a fair impression of me. She got the cadence of my voice right, the almost painful earnestness.

“Well.” I inhaled. “Not quite.”

Glinda frowned slightly. “Right.”

I crossed my legs. “What does it feel like for you, to talk about Elphaba like this?”

Inhaling through her nose, Glinda pressed her lips together. “Unfamiliar, mostly. You can imagine I don’t, often. Not for years, at least. I did with Fiyero, when he was still around. But then” –she shook her head. “I just wonder… ”

“What?”

“I wonder what you think of her.”

“What am I supposed to think?”

She gestured roughly towards me. “Nothing in particular. But what do you think?”

What an odd question. What did she want me to say? It felt like a trap. I could agree with her—Gee, Glinda, she sounds great—and risk Glinda sitting back triumphantly at how I had bought into what she said. I could say she’s nice enough, but the kidnappings sort of ruin it, don’t you think? but then I’d risk offending her, or worse. “She’s different than I expected,” I said neutrally.

Glinda stretched her legs out, feet scuffing the carpet. Then she shook her head emphatically. “I need to—to tell it correctly. I keep thinking… what if you don’t understand her? People talk about her so much, but—”

“But you’re the only one who could tell it correctly,” I said softly. It was meant to be a comfort, but I knew instantly that I’d said the exact wrong thing as Glinda’s face fell. “What I mean to say,” I continued, hoping to correct my obvious misstep, “is that it’s probably best to get to know her through you. Someone who loved her.”

“That’s the problem, I fear.” She exhaled shakily. “No one will ever know her any differently, now.”

She nodded at me once. A dismissal. I got up, leaving her alone with her thoughts and her Elphie.

Chapter Text

The next morning, I sat on the edge of my bed and watched the sunrise glow on the horizon.

My brain was full of ghosts: the Witch from my nightmares, the bane of Oz’s existence for those turbulent, fear-filled years. Elphaba, resolutely principled, beautiful, kind. And Fiyero—I almost dreaded finding out more about him. He could have stayed untouched, in my mind. Full of promise. But now, every time his name passed Glinda’s lips, I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if he could have saved me, or if he would have even wanted to.

And Glinda…

Was she trying to redeem Elphaba? If she hoped the people of Oz would forgive the Witch's experimentations or terrorism because of a book, she was unreasonably confident in my writing and her storytelling abilities. Perhaps she was staring at the ceiling in some wing of the house unfamiliar to me, thinking of how to spin the next events so that she got something out of it, something I didn’t understand yet… I found myself pacing, floorboards creaking under my bare feet. Maybe she thought she would come off more virtuously tragic if it was publicly known that she had abandoned or betrayed the woman she loved for the sake of goodness?

I needed more about their relationship for any of it to make sense, but I had to resist the temptation to just give in and adopt her narrative. As endearing as 18 or 19-year-old Galinda sometimes seemed—in a hopeless, spoiled sort of way—Glinda was a consummate professional, a public figure with 40 years of experience in getting what she wanted.  She’d lie for herself. She’d probably even lie for Elphaba.

And she certainly wanted something from me or she would’ve picked someone else. My footsteps slowed, stopping at the desk where I kept my notes. I had to remember that. Maybe it was my relative obscurity as a journalist: I was expendable, or she thought I was easy to manipulate. Or that I was technically Vinkan, which could help soften the blow of losing the illusion of Prince Fiyero and Glinda the Good, still ranked one of Oz’s most tragic romances by The Emerald’s readership. Lose a folk hero, gain a renowned author. In theory. If I didn't mess it up or get chased out of Oz with pitchforks first.

I didn’t like feeling used, but it wouldn’t be the first time. My professor had only pushed me—fascinated by my fractured childhood, my tenacity at managing a university acceptance despite foster care—until he found the next, better student. And whatever he promised me promptly went up in smoke. At least there was a guarantee, with Glinda the Good, that I’d get something out of it. That was the clear line I had to follow to my truth, waiting for me at the end. I had to promise that to myself, because who else would? And I had to go to bed earlier, and stop worrying so much, and take more walks, and—

Enough, I told myself. These things were all much easier said than done. What I had originally assumed would be an article that would take a few days to write, shacked up in a boarding house in the Emerald City, would take weeks or months. So I couldn’t count on that money for my trip. I’d have to go back to the last newspaper I’d written for and pitch something inane and sensationalist. Scrabble together the money, get on a train, get to the Vinkus. And then… who knew. I’d be there, even if I was working an odd job and sleeping in dormitory-style housing. I wouldn’t be able to push it off, year after year, until I never did it.

A few hours later, Glinda settled onto the couch with her usual tidiness, sweater sleeves tucked up behind her elbows. She wore her glasses again. They distracted only slightly from the deep rings under her eyes.

As I sat down, she cleared her throat. “You’re being extraordinarily patient, Nor. I know that.”

“It’ll be worth it,” I said mildly. Hopefully. I took a deep breath. “How long is this going to take, though?”

The question hung in the air. No, she wasn’t just telling me her life’s story out of the goodness of her heart. I wasn’t listening just because I cared. I might as well have asked what percentage of the royalties she wanted. Though these were normal things to discuss, I reminded myself in an effort to assuage my panic. It was Glinda, blurring the lines.

To my surprise, she just laughed. I laughed too, relieved I hadn’t offended her, annoyed she’d deflected the question. Now don’t apologize, I thought, grinding my teeth behind my smile. I’d just have to ask again, later. Until she gave me an answer.

“The next time was one of the happiest in my life,” Glinda started, pulling at loose fluff on the couch.

Good for you, Glinda, I thought. “Tell me,” I said.

--

“Float!”

Nothing.

“Come on, give me a sign!”

How stubborn could a coin be? I could melt you down into your base elements, Galinda thought, glaring at it, willing it at least to twitch. “I’m trying my best here,” she said pointedly.

No reaction. If anything, the coin just gleamed a little bit brighter.

Elphaba’s light footsteps entering the room did nothing to help her concentrate. Annoyed, Galinda prodded the coin with the tip of her wand and sent it careening off the desk. “Ugh.”

“How’s it going?” Elphaba asked, voice impossibly soft behind her.

“Great,” Galinda said, affecting a forced cheeriness that made her wince. Then she shook herself, picked up the coin, and tried to relax. It wasn’t Elphaba’s fault that Galinda was both oblivious and hopeless. “I just didn’t think this would be so hard.”

Understatement. She didn’t think she’d be so useless at magic, and she’d certainly never thought she’d have such a strong longing for another person that it felt impossible to be in the same room and not be able to touch her. It had been easier with the boys, Galinda realized in that moment, because she hadn’t cared. She would have smacked her forehead in numb realization if Elphaba hadn’t been looking directly in her direction.

Elphaba raised an eyebrow. “Maybe magic is hard for you because everything else is easy,” she said, not unkindly. “So you don’t need it.”

Galinda, who would have normally at least accepted the gentle criticism with a smile, found that she was unable to do anything but turn away, so Elphaba wouldn’t see the sour expression on her face.

“Since, as you’ve often said” –Elphaba stepped forward, a slight edge layered into her voice—“you’re so happy.”  

“I am.” Galinda swallowed, proud of herself for sounding composed despite every cell in her body wanting to run away or towards Elphaba. She brushed a lock of hair out of her face and looked up.

Elphaba crossed her arms. “So you’ve figured out what you’re missing?”

She couldn’t stop herself from tittering sarcastically. What she was missing. You, Elphaba, she thought. “Well, wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would,” Elphaba said.

“Well.” Galinda drew herself up to her full height and tossed her hair defiantly. So Elphaba clearly wasn’t a mind-reader. “I’m working on my Sorcery right now.” Turning back to the coin, she poked it again—Oz, she was clumsy, wasn’t she—and sent it flying. It spun in a perfect circle, dancing across the floor.

Elphaba’s jaw tightened. “I’m serious, Galinda,” she said, stepping onto the coin without even looking down, so that it lay flat and helpless under her boot. “What could you possibly not have? You’re—perfect. Fiyero’s perfect.”

Galinda stiffened. Nausea roiling through her, she took a deep breath. You. I don’t have you.

“Except Sorcery,” Elphaba said.

Galinda exhaled shakily.

Elphaba folded her hands behind her back, waiting with an infuriatingly neutral expression.

“If you think Fiyero is so perfect, you can have him,” Galinda spat, voice unfamiliar to herself. He was perfect. Better than Galinda, at least. More understanding, more aware. She grasped the far end of the desk and stood, face warm. Probably blushing, but she didn’t care anymore. “And as for the rest—” I am in love with you, and I will never deserve you. Isn’t that enough?

Pulling herself back from the brink, she let go. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” Recover. Compose yourself. Fix it later. Get out of the situation with your dignity intact. It was advice she’d gotten over and over again.

Elphaba just laughed and shook her head, like Galinda was a petulant child having a particularly amusing tantrum.

Galinda’s entire head felt hot. She stalked over to Elphaba, crossing her arms emphatically. “Well, Elphie. If you’re going to be like that, you don’t have to be surprisified if I’m not very inclined to tell you anything.”

An unmistakable hurt flashed across Elphaba’s face. “I just don’t know what there would be to tell, if you’re so happy.”

Galinda felt tears brimming in her eyes. Oz, she was really crying a lot these days, wasn’t she? “You’re acting ridiculous.”

“I’m ridiculous?” Elphaba laughed incredulously, pointing at herself for emphasis. “Me? What was I supposed to think last night—”

“Yes, you,” Galinda said, jutting her chin out. “And what about last night? I didn’t do anything, and now you’re interrogating me—”

“I know it’s hard for that blissful blonde brain of yours to comprehend,” Elphaba said, and Galinda’s mouth dropped open in shock, “but—”

The chasm slashed into the ground between them was deep, and though Galinda wanted nothing more than to cross it—to reach Elphaba, to truly know her—she was Galinda and Elphaba was Elphaba, and perhaps that was all they would ever be, constrained by their natural forms. Trapped here, for eternity, arguing back and forth. The words—I’m in love with you, Elphaba—forever on Galinda’s tongue, perpetually just unspoken.

But it was Elphaba, Galinda thought, looking at her roommate—her best friend. And if she didn’t deserve for Elphaba to love her—hadn’t Elphaba deserved the truth? For Galinda to be brave, or at least to try?

“Fine.” Galinda took a step back from Elphaba and extended her hands in mock whimsy. “Fiyero dumped me last week.”

The tension in Elphaba’s face dropped. “Oh, Galinda, I’m so—”

“I’m not even sad about that,” Galinda said, pacing around the room. She stared resolutely at the floor ahead of her. Elphaba’s face was occupied with an expression of sympathy or pity—of friendship. The thought was unbearable. “Which is good, because that would probably be too easy for you, wouldn’t it?”

“Galinda—”

“Because despite my life looking perfect,” Galinda continued, speaking without even actively registering the words leaving her mouth, “and in many ways being perfect—I’m not completely insensitive, you know—”

“I didn’t—”

“Elphie.” Galinda ran her hands through her hair desperately. “Please, just let me finish. Then you can say whatever you want. Just—let me talk.”

“Okay,” Elphaba said, taking a step away from her. Galinda’s heart shriveled. She would have to get used to that, now. Oz, and it was too late to turn back. She had said too much. She was in this spiral and now she would have to see it through.

“My life is not perfect, Elphaba.” Galinda sat down weakly on one of Madame Morrible’s horrendible plush chairs, burying her face in her hands. “Because I am in love with you, and you will never be in love with me, because I am too blissful or too blonde or too—something—and you’re going to go off and save Lion cubs with Fiyero, as many as you want, which is good! I don’t want to stop you. Oz knows someone’s got to do it, but—”

She looked up and saw Elphaba in front of her, eyes wide, the expression on her face truly indecipherable. Galinda stood, heart galloping unsteadily against her ribcage, desperate for an escape. “I’m so sorry, Elphie,” she breathed. Despite her better judgement—just to say goodbye, she promised herself—she reached out to touch the warm skin on Elphaba’s face, to feel the spark that might’ve been a bit of Sorcery but had probably mainly been Elphaba. “Accept it,” she whispered, stroking her thumb across Elphaba’s freckles. “I’m right. You can’t win every argument.” She meant it as a joke. She expected Elphaba to wheel away from her, gather her things, and leave the classroom. She expected Elphaba to keep her at arms’ length for the rest of the semester, to switch rooms, to marry Fiyero for all she knew, to send her a detached card at Lurlinemas every year until Galinda grew old and gray alone.

Instead, she placed a hand neatly on the side of Galinda’s face, drew her in, and kissed her.

Elphaba’s lips were impossibly soft. Her hand on Galinda’s jaw—Oz, there was nothing to say. There was no metaphor to describe it. Galinda moved automatically closer to her, tangling her hand into Elphaba’s braids—

She forced herself to take a step back. “Elphie,” she said breathlessly, feeling her lips with her fingertips, a simple but burning ache billowing out of her chest, “you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Elphaba swallowed, glancing nervously at Galinda. Her voice was low and rough.

So Galinda moved in again—shocked by her own bravery, by how she could give in to herself so completely—opening her mouth on pure instinct, catching Elphaba’s bottom lip lightly with her teeth, letting her tongue slide over it in apology. And Elphaba’s hands were everywhere, suddenly: on Galinda’s back, pulling down her jacket, brushing against her stomach through the fabric. She was overrun with the sensation of wanting Elphaba, needing her—so strong that she searched desperately for something to steady her as they pushed against each other, disrupted only by porcelain shattering on the ground.

Elphaba pulled away to look at the broken vase. “Madame Morrible—”

“Sorcery practice,” Galinda said, desperately missing her already, “it’s very dangerous, completely unpredictable, you know—Oz, who cares.”

She strode forward and kissed Elphaba again, slotting her upper thigh between Elphaba’s legs. She pressed her hand into the side of Elphaba’s waist, pushing her slightly—or was Elphaba shifting up? It truly did not matter—onto the surface of the table, kindly vacated by the vase. Elphaba’s hand was like a blaze on her neck.

Oz, she needed air. Elphaba had taken up so much of her mind that it was a miracle she remembered to breathe at all. When the room began to spin, Galinda pulled away, gasping, leaning her forehead against Elphaba’s. “What’s happening,” she whispered, hand drifting aimlessly down, fiddling with the buttons on Elphaba’s blouse, coming to rest at the front of her stomach, where she could feel Elphaba’s breathing, as heavy as her own.

Elphaba kissed her, slowly but firmly. Then she pulled away, just a hair’s breadth of air between their lips. “I’m winning the argument,” she whispered, grinning, into Galinda’s mouth.

“You’re kissing me just to win an argument?” Galinda’s head was too light to be annoyed.

“No,” Elphaba said, rolling her eyes. Her fingertips curved behind Galinda’s ear. “What do you think of me?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Galinda muttered. Pressing her palm flat against Elphaba’s stomach, she leaned in again, lips wet—

“Miss Elphaba!”

Oz, was that Madame Morrible’s voice? Galinda’s thoughts were so stuck in the haze of kissing Elphaba that she reacted with nearly half-a-minute’s delay, after which Elphaba had already taken her hand and run with her halfway across the room. “Elphie, your shirt,” she cried at the last moment, before Elphaba pushed through the double doors. Stumbling, Elphaba blushed a truly magnificent green and buttoned her blouse back up unevenly. They burst onto the balcony together, hands tightly interwound.

“Miss Elphaba, look!” Down in the courtyard, a tiny-looking Madame Morrible was pointing up at a flying balloon.

“What is that?” Elphaba whispered.

Galinda watched the balloon descend languidly from the sky, a chill settling on her shoulders as it shifted through the air, as if it was searching for them and knew exactly where to look.

--

“Though, let’s be honest,” Glinda said, “I probably found it adorable at the time. Hindsight is always correct, though, obviously, useless now.”

“What was it?” I asked, stretching out my legs. All this sitting wasn’t good for me.

Glinda’s eyebrows drew closer together. “It was from the Wizard.”

“Oh.”

“Horrible man,” she said, lips flattening. “But we have to talk about him, I suppose.”

“But you’d rather talk about Elphaba.” In that moment, my life sharpened into clear focus and I had to stop myself from bursting out into raucous laughter.  Here I was, wondering how to best get information about an apparent college love affair with the Wicked Witch of the West out of Glinda the Good. If I had proposed that scenario in class, my professor would have probably just walked out of the lecture hall and never returned. But I wanted to know. There was no other way to say it.

Glinda nodded, adjusting her glasses. “Yes, I would.” She tilted her head. “So the Wizard asked Elphaba to go to the Emerald City. And she agreed, of course. Because why wouldn’t she have?”

The events slotted themselves neatly into history as I knew it, sending a chill down my spine. “This is right before the attack on the palace, right?”

Glinda sighed. My shoulders sagged. “We’ll be there soon enough,” she said, closing her eyes.

“Tell me more about Elphaba, then,” I said quietly, regretting it until I saw Glinda’s face brighten.

“I will,” she said, settling into the cushions, tucking her feet up.

--

The months that followed—she preferred to think of them as months, though they had really only been a few weeks, caught in an open hand—were bathed in an eternal sunrise, and every morning she woke up in Elphaba’s arms and everyone was happy and it was the last golden days of an era cut far too short.

Realistically, there was Fiyero, strangely glum, Elphaba, studying Sorcery desperately in every free minute she had, and Galinda, existing almost exclusively on the high of her idealized corner of reality in their dorm room with the sloping windows.

She spent most of her time with Elphaba. Generally, Galinda was known for being detached and composed while her interchangeable high school boyfriends lost their bearings and got spit-slobber on her. So it was a sensation that never quite got old: to lose herself so thoroughly to wanting that she moved automatically, without even having to think about how to angle her mouth, where to put her thigh, how to pull Elphaba’s head back with a single hand so she could use the other to trace fluid patterns down her chest and, at the same time, drag her open mouth roughly over the topography of her neck. Galinda, who generally got bored quickly, found it exceedingly easy to be completely occupied by Elphaba.

More than anything, Galinda realized over and over again as she stared, lips slightly open, breathing shallowly, Elphaba was good. She was attentive and orderly—taking off her glasses and placing them carefully on the nightstand so they wouldn’t break, unzipping Galinda’s dresses with excruciating care, folding them as Galinda waited impatiently, breathless. Her touches were methodical, carefully calibrated to make Galinda fall apart, if Elphaba wanted to, while she herself remained perfectly put-together.

Up to a point, at least.

Galinda’s favorite moments were always those just before Elphaba abandoned her breathtaking precision. When Galinda, with a smug smile, ghosted her hands over the soft skin on the inside of Elphaba’s thigh or bit the jutting ridge of her hipbone and Elphaba shuddered into her. Galinda knew, then, that Elphaba was seconds away from kissing Galinda with reckless abandon, begging with a desperation she would have never expected—in short, coming undone.

--

“…Glinda?”

“Sorry,” Glinda said. “Lost myself to the power of memory.”

“It’s fine,” I said, relieved. For a second, I thought she’d had a stroke. “Take your time.”

--

Fiyero found out first.

“Galinda,” he called, jogging up to her in the courtyard a week after she had kissed Elphaba for the first time. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Galinda turned around, nervous without knowing why. It was just Fiyero. “Well, I’ve been busy.” She touched his arm. “Heartbroken, you know. From our breakup. But we can get brunch soon! Elphaba and I—”

“I haven’t seen Elphaba that much, either,” Fiyero said, looking moodified.

“Well, we do spend some time together.” Galinda fiercely hoped he could not see the flush rising on her neck. “So if you haven’t seen me… “ She swallowed, then shrugged brightly.

“You spend quite a lot of time together, actually.” Fiyero cocked his head to the side.

“We live in the same room,” Galinda said, just a bit too quickly to seem casual. “But you know, Popsicle never received the fee back for the private suite. They just offered me a meal voucher. So annoying. And—”

Fiyero cleared his throat. “You didn’t have a fight, did you?”

“With Elphaba?” Galinda blinked. What in Oz? She blinked again, really looking at him for the first time. Fiyero looked… unkempt, for his standards. His hair, while gelled, lacked the flair it usually had. His shirt was tucked rather clumsily into his pants. Though that suited him, because of course it did. “Why would I have fought with Elphaba?” He knows, and he’s trying to get it out of me, she thought wildly, and was filled with apprehension and strange excitement.

Mouth tensing, Fiyero looked around. “Because of me?”

“Because of...”

Galinda watched Fiyero’s face shift between confusion—that was the deep fold between his eyebrows and the wrinkle in his forehead—and something else, something that consisted of him biting his cheek from the inside and a slight backwards lean away from her.

“Hm,” Galinda said, narrowing her eyes.

When he looked away and ducked his head down, she knew what it was.

Guilt.

Before she could stop herself—she was nothing if not rabidly curious—Galinda leaned in close to him. “Fiyero,” she stage-whispered, “do you have feelings for Elphaba?”

Fiyero’s mouth was a thin, straight line.

“You do,” Galinda gasped, ears burning with jealousy. She knew it was irrational even as her stomach churned. She took a deep, shaky breath. “Tell me,” she said, as slowly as she could, “did you break up with me to ask Elphaba out?”

“You also clearly weren’t in love with me,” Fiyero retorted. Then he cleared his throat and honest-to-Oz scuffed the dirt path with his shoe like a schoolboy being reprimanded about daydreaming in class. “But I didn’t—if you phrase it like that—”

“That’s so selfish,” Galinda blurted, feeling giddy, then guilty about the giddiness. She couldn’t even be gracious? Though the thought really did sting, especially as she went through the sequence in montage: Fiyero breaking up with her gently, Elphaba coming into the room with her hands clasped in front of her and a light smile on her face because of Fiyero, Galinda having to sit next to them while they held hands if she still wanted to be near Elphaba.

Fiyero sighed and dropped onto the nearest bench. “Life is short, Galinda,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, putting his hands together like he was praying. And he better be praying, Galinda thought, then squashed the thought down violently. None of this was his fault. Well, some of it maybe. But how could he have known? “I never wanted to harm you, I just... like her.”

“I can’t blame you for that,” Galinda said briskly, before she could stop herself. She sat down next to him and patted his back. “But that is fantastically self-absorbed.”

“Right.” Fiyero rolled his eyes. “That’s usually your thing.” As Galinda scoffed, he laughed. “You do know the man you call ‘Biq’ is really named ‘Boq’?”

“What?” Galinda’s mouth fell open. “Why wouldn’t you just tell me that? Before I called him Biq for months?”

“You could have noticed, eventually,” Fiyero countered, but at that point he sounded so weary that Galinda couldn’t even be properly offended.

“Well, now I know.” Galinda crossed her arms. They looked at each other icily before Galinda turned away.

“I think she’s avoiding me,” Fiyero said suddenly, sounding dejected.

“Why would she be avoiding you?” Tell him, Galinda thought, but her stomach turned in on itself as she opened her mouth and tried to find the right words. What if he stormed off and never spoke to either of them again? She wouldn’t have blamed him, but the thought still made her sad. And Elphaba would lose her debate partner, the only person who could hold his own against her in a conversation about the ethics of a Vinkan railroad system.

“My shallowness, my self-absorption.” He shook his head. “My politics—”

“She’s not avoiding you because of politics,” Galinda said without thinking.

“Did she talk to you about me?” Fiyero sat up and looked at her with a wild hope that made Galinda’s heart thump with regret. Not for being with Elphaba—she would never regret that—but for the three of them in their perplexing knot. “I just thought—after that day with the Lion cub—”

Galinda’s stomach felt like it was full of ice. “Thought what?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Fiyero sighed. “But she’s definitely avoiding me.”

Galinda bit her lip. She wasn’t going to get around this. He’d find out eventually. They’d already nearly been spotted kissing in the woods, by upperclassmen sneaking out to drink who somehow all knew Galinda’s name and greeted her with exuberant friendliness as she turned away to hide her smudged lipstick. The downside to being popular. She thought, briefly, of making Elphaba tell him instead, but she wasn’t that self-absorbed. “Elphaba’s not avoiding you. You haven’t seen her because she’s been with me.”

Fiyero’s eyebrows scrunched together.

Galinda straightened her shoulders nervously. “As in... with me.”

She leaned back, away from him, hands clenching in her lap. Fiyero looked at her wordlessly, blinking.

“At least you know it’s not because you’re shallow.” Galinda forced a laugh. “Or self-absorbed! Because we” –she motioned furiously between her and Fiyero, who had now crumpled against the back of the bench and was staring blankly at the air in front of him—"are equally self-absorbed and shallow. And your politics are much better than mine.”

Fiyero made a strangled, choking sound.

“I’ll go,” Galinda said apologetically.

He made the sound again, a dying gasp out of a flattened throat. Galinda wondered if a person could choke to death on their own spit. Then she wondered if Fiyero would let her touch him, even if it was to save his life. Then she saw Fiyero’s shoulders heave—was he vomiting?—and his hand dash up to cover his mouth, and with a start she realized he was laughing.

“Galinda,” he wheezed, “do you mean to tell me we’ve both been in love with Elphaba?”

“Hey,” Galinda said, whacking Fiyero on the arm. “You broke up with me. And you know Elphaba’s my best friend. So—”

He was laughing so hard that he nearly fell off the bench, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Oz, I’m an idiot. You left me on our first date to dance with her!”

Galinda felt her nostrils flare. “I was making up for the hat.”

“And invited her to our dinner dates—how often?”

“Fine,” Galinda conceded, relieved laughter floating up into her chest. “So we probably deserve each other, in terms of self-absorbedness.”

“Oz.” Fiyero wiped his eyes. Then he cleared his throat. “So you’re—"

“With Elphaba,” Galinda said, biting down a smile, because that would have been gloating. And she did feel bad for Fiyero, truly, just because he deserved to have someone like Galinda had Elphaba. She reached out and placed a cold hand on Fiyero’s knee. “But I’m also still your friend.”

“I don’t know how many people stay friends after something like this,” Fiyero said darkly. Then he scoffed, the sound hollow, and shook his head. “Do you think I can transfer schools again?”

“We could hate each other forever,” Galinda suggested, pulling a shoulder up in the air and letting it drop theatrically, for effect. “Like the self-absorbed, shallow people we are.” Though joking was a familiar and beloved terrain for her and Fiyero, her nerves prickled. Perhaps too much had happened between them, now.

“We could,” Fiyero agreed cautiously, but there was no dislike, much less hatred, in his eyes as he looked at Galinda.

She sighed, studying him, her Fiyero. Trying so hard to be good when Elphaba made it seem effortless, wanting Elphaba so badly—and that was a state she would not have wished on anyone, if it was unrequited—that he seemed like a different person, far removed from the callow man Galinda had danced with at the Ozdust. But then Galinda was also not the immature girl she had been then. Or they were both still those people, but they brought that out in each other, while Elphaba could tease a goodness and a purpose out of them…“I must say, Fiyero,” Galinda said, crossing her legs, “that I rather enjoy the thought of us not being so shallow and self-absorbed anymore.”

“I’m starting to think that’s just who I am.” Fiyero barked out a laugh. “Failed activist, failed boyfriend” –he motioned to Galinda—

“You didn’t fail at being my boyfriend,” Galinda muttered, “if anything, you would’ve been the only man—”

“This always happens when I try,” Fiyero was saying under his breath.

“Fiyero,” Galinda snapped. “Enough. You’re a good guy. Do you think that Lion cub thinks you failed?”

He straightened up and wiped his nose, which was pink from the cold. “That was Elphaba.”

Galinda sighed. “She chose you for a reason,” she said. The words left a bitter taste in her mouth. “So she must trust you. More than me, at least.”

“I don’t deserve it,” Fiyero said flatly. “And she also chose you.”

“Then we both don’t deserve her.” Galinda crossed her arms.

“That we don’t.”

They sat in a heavy but companionable silence.

“What I meant,” Galinda said after a few moments, “is that we don’t have to hate each other. We can just... ”

“You want to try to be better, for Elphaba?” Fiyero asked, his voice teasing.

“The both of us.” Galinda was suddenly moved to grab Fiyero’s hand. Miraculously, he didn’t pull away. “We can both be better for Elphaba.”

He shrugged shallowly.

“Come to brunch,” Galinda said, meaning it. “We’re friends, Fiyero.”

“I really don’t know, Galinda.”

Her heartbeat quickened at the thought of having to explain why Fiyero didn’t want to see them anymore. What if she likes Fiyero, too? A cruel voice inside her whispered. Maybe she just chose you because he wasn’t around. And if she finds out he likes her… and who knows what happened with the Lion cub? “I can’t bear the thought of us not being friends,” she said decisively, brushing past the voice. Fiyero could handle it. And Elphaba would be none the wiser, and they could continue on as they had before, in a way. “So come to brunch.”

Fiyero groaned and let his head fall back against his shoulders.

“You cannot leave me alone with Elphaba to debate which Ozma was the most efficient ruler,” Galinda pleaded. “You know I can only name three of them. Four if you count Ozma the Two-Faced twice.”

“Fine,” Fiyero grumbled. “But don’t tell Elphaba about this. I could never…”

Galinda cut him off with a squeal and hugged him out of happiness, but also out of relief. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, hating herself, just a little.

--

“Fiyero found out,” Galinda whispered to Elphaba in bed that night.

“Oh?” Elphaba turned around to face her. “What did he say?”

Was she too worried about it? Was there a hint of wistfulness on her face? It was too dark to tell. Galinda swallowed. “He’s happy for us,” she said. “So happy.”

“Even though I stole his girlfriend,” Elphaba said, a note of pride in her voice.

“You didn’t steal me,” Galinda protested, giggling, but the unease didn’t quite go away. She leaned in to kiss Elphaba, moving steadily down from her nose to her lips, then the pulsing artery of her neck. “Oh, and we’re getting brunch with him tomorrow,” Galinda said between kisses, sliding her hand between Elphaba’s thighs. “At Brunchtastical’s.”

Elphaba bit back a moan, curving into Galinda with an urgency that made her breath catch. “Tomorrow?”

“He insisted,” Galinda said, shrugging. She turned her attention back to the hollow of Elphaba’s throat. “At 10. I made a reservation.” She likes you, she told herself. She likes you.

“That’s early,” Elphaba said.

“Alright.” Galinda shrugged. “Let’s go to sleep, then.” She pecked Elphaba on the stomach and moved upwards, stopping only when Elphaba’s hands softly pushed against her shoulders.

“Don’t stop,” Elphaba said quietly, a blush crawling up her neck.

Galinda grinned. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Elphaba propped herself up on her elbows, braids spilling out over her shoulder, eyes shining at Galinda in the dark. Galinda swallowed, absentmindedly tracing circles on the side of Elphaba’s ribcage.

“Don’t stop,” Elphaba said again.

“You don’t want me to stop?” Galinda tipped her head to one side. “I thought we had to get up early?”

Elphaba rolled her eyes, but the rise and fall of her chest was quick and shallow as she nodded. Flooded with relief, Galinda swung a leg over to the other side of Elphaba’s waist. “I suppose if you insist,” she said, her heart fluttering, leaning into to kiss Elphaba again, to kiss her own unease away. It was only gone completely when they were done, Galinda shivering slightly under a too-thin blanket, too tired to cover herself more completely.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” Elphaba said, kissing Galinda on the head before turning away to get out of bed. Instantly colder, Galinda sat bolt upright, full of a terrible regret, guilty about Fiyero—for what? she reprimanded herself—but missing Elphaba more than anything.

“Come home with me,” Galinda said, surprising even herself with the request. She crept towards the edge of the bed and watched Elphaba shrug on her robe, the back of her supple shoulders shifting back and forth.

Elphaba’s smile flashed in the moonlight. “We live in the same room.”

“To Pertha Hills.” Galinda’s heart beat feebly.

Elphaba turned around, pulling her braids out of the neck of her robe. “Do you want that?”

“Yes,” Galinda breathed, grabbing Elphaba’s hands loosely. “Before you go to see the Wizard.”

“Your parents are there.” Elphaba took a tentative step closer to Galinda.

“That’s the point.”

“You’ve never brought anyone home before.” Elphaba looked down at the floor, her voice subdued. “Not even Fi—”

“I didn’t want them,” Galinda interrupted her, intertwining her fingers with Elphaba’s, using her hands to pull herself up. She kissed her again, still with that ceaseless hunger. “I want you,” she whispered as they broke apart.

“I will,” Elphaba said, looking slightly bemused. Then she nodded. Galinda felt an inimitable warmth spread from her stomach out into the tips of her fingers and toes. “I’ll come home with you.”

--

“So you were both in love with Elphaba?”

Glinda looked up, returning to the room from—well. Wherever she had been, retreated into herself.

“That was rhetorical,” I said quickly, afraid she’d bill that as my question and clam up for the rest of the evening.

She shifted and ran a veined hand through her hair. “Yes,” she said mildly.

Fiyero, the last Prince of the Vinkus, kidnapped and disappeared by the Wicked Witch of the West. Who had performed—as the story went, though none of it was ever confirmed—unspeakable experiments on him, so that he was changed beyond recognition.

And apparently, he’d been in love with her. Him and Glinda the Good. Did any other historical figures want to get in line? Any more ostensible victims—the Tin Man, perhaps?

It didn’t seem like a joke, but it didn’t not seem like a joke. I searched Glinda’s face for any hint of ridicule or irony, but there was none. There was just that untouchable goodness, shining out of sinless eyes.

Oz. How was I going to write this and have anyone believe it?  I’d probably have to use a pseudonym, to avoid the onslaught of negative commentary. And would Glinda back me up in public? Or would she retreat behind her standard evasiveness, once she’d waltzed the assignment of telling her life story off to me?

I realized she was staring. 

“Sorry.” I cleared my throat. “So you were properly together, then. At Shiz?”

When Glinda nodded, I could tell she was pleased.

I closed my eyes, feeling the beginning of a headache gathering in my forehead. “How in Oz did no one ever talk about that? How did no one—” I sighed.

“How was it never public knowledge, you mean,” Glinda finished for me.

“Yes.”

“It wasn’t very long,” Glinda said, voice tinged with a heaviness that filled the room. “And people tend to… well, they tend to fix their memories to go along with what they know. What they think they know.” She shrugged. “There were rumors, of course. The Wizard put a very quick stop to those. It didn’t fit. Too controversial for me. Too humanizing for her.”

Slowly, I nodded. “So what was it about Elphaba? Was it… magic?”

“It was who she was,” Glinda said. “She was the best of us.”

“You’d think that was Glinda the Good.” I tried to make my tone light and unassuming, just to see how she’d react. A provocation without overdoing it. The idea that Glinda might find me cruel—really, genuinely cruel—cut deep. “Or at least I thought so.”

She laughed—no, cackled—and the sound made the hair on my arms stand up. “And I thought you were paying attention.”

“I am,” I said neutrally. “It seems like you loved her a lot. I just don’t know how to make sense of that with… well. Glinda the Good.”

Glinda’s bottom lip trembled. I felt my heart clench.

“I rather hate that name,” she said, wrenching her hands together. “I’ve done a lot of terrible things.”

I nodded once, to encourage her to go on.

“Some of them I’ll never make up for.” Glinda stared past me, out the window. There was a distinct glint of tears in her eyes. I’ve done a lot of terrible things.

A gaping fear ate its way into me, not just for myself, but for Galinda. For whatever she’d experience until she became the woman in front of me, staring into the setting sun, looking tired, looking haunted. Suddenly I had the urge to leave her alone and stood with a bit too much momentum, catching my foot on the coffee table. I regained my balance in time for Glinda to clear her throat and turn to look at me, face carefully washed clean of any distress. “I have a headache,” I said. It wasn’t a complete lie.

Glinda nodded and motioned graciously towards the door. “Go lie down,” she said. “I’ll have Miss Daisy bring you a cup of tea.”

I nodded in thanks.

“I’m so sorry, Nor,” Glinda said, turning back to the window. She closed her eyes, and the last rays of sun passed over her face.

“What for?” I asked, but she just waved her hand.

I’d find out soon enough.

Chapter Text

Now that I knew we were coming up on the attack on the palace, I dreamed of flames licking against stone walls and frantic screaming and the heavy, acrid smell of smoke. I woke with my heart pounding in my throat, coughing up phantom ash, my blanket an inelegant heap on the ground.

So the Wizard had invited her there himself. He had invited disaster upon himself and all of Oz, by extension. And Galinda, or Glinda, or whoever she was or would be, had stood by as her roommate, best friend, and lover mutilated the Wizard's Monkeys, burned down half of the Emerald Palace, and only failed to butcher half a squad of the Gale Force out of sheer luck, before taking off with one of the most powerful magical artifacts in the known world.

But had she? It felt impossible to reconcile that with Elphaba, the best of them, whom both Glinda and Fiyero had been in love with, who cried desperately after her favorite professor was arrested and devoted herself to saving him.

Though, of course, that could also radicalize a person.

It still didn’t quite sit right.

--

“Are you sure you’ll be fine?” Elphaba looked nervously between her sister, Fiyero, and Boq, one hand clutching a worn suitcase and the other in Galinda’s.

“Yes,” Nessa said, rolling her eyes with impressive panache. Galinda snorted to herself. Thropp girls. “Elphaba, it’s not even a week.”

“She can manage.” Galinda nudged Elphaba with her elbow. “It’s practice, for when you see the Wizard.”

“Listen to Galinda.” Nessa crossed her arms. “I’ve got this.”

Elphaba shook herself. “I know,” she said, stepping forward to hug Nessa tightly. “I’ll just miss you.”

“We should be more worried about Fiyero,” Galinda said drolly, patting him on the back. “Though I’m sure Boq” –she lowered her head, pleased she’d said his name correctly – “can handle both of them.”

“Sure,” Boq said, hugging Galinda tamely, then Elphaba. “Have a good trip.”

They settled onto the train, Elphaba standing on her tippy-toes to maneuver their luggage—it was only two suitcases, which made Galinda nervous, but she’d left some clothes at home, at least, and more than a few pairs of shoes—onto the high shelf in their compartment.

Time to practice your levitation spell, Galinda nearly said, but then she remembered Elphaba’s late nights spent fervently studying. Instead, she leaned against the door and watched Elphaba take in the worn seats and dusty window of their, thankfully, private compartment. She’d let Galinda do her hair that morning, braids twisted up, fastened neatly on the side of her head at half-length. As Elphaba sat, crossing her legs at her ankles, the rest cascaded over her back and shoulders.

“I thought of booking us a coach.” Galinda sat down next to Elphaba, hands fiddling with the train tickets. “They are more stylish. But it takes forever to get anywhere, and you have to stop all the time—” she cleared her throat, trying to stop herself mid-ramble. This was really happening. She was sitting with Elphaba in a creaky train, going to the countryside, going home. Unshielded by the glamor she had adopted at boarding school and university, she was just… Galinda from Pertha Hills. There was no escaping it. “Anyway,” she continued brightly, “since we only have a few days before—”

“I like trains,” Elphaba said. Through the dirty window, the trees rushed past them. She turned back to Galinda and shot her a smile. “And it doesn’t matter, when I’m with you.”

Galinda blushed. “Why, Miss Elphaba, who knew you could be so sentimental?”

Elphaba rolled her eyes.

“And there’s the eyeroll again,” Galinda remarked lightly. “I was starting to get worried.”

Oz, Elphaba was pretty when she laughed. Nose crinkled, smile slightly crooked—her entire face illuminated with her own laughter. Galinda was overcome with the familiar urge to kiss her, and for a moment could think of nothing else. But, apprehensive of losing her composure in public—which, now that she thought back to the prior nights, didn’t seem too far-fetched a worry—she settled for nestling into Elphaba’s side and threading their fingers together. It was so comfortable, despite the creaking and rattling of the probably ancient train, that she found herself drowsy after a few moments.

“Are you falling asleep?”

“No,” Galinda yawned. “I’m wide awake.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“That’s just a reflection of my good nature.” 

“Compelling theory,” Elphaba remarked. Galinda, for a moment, was lost in the sweep of her eyelashes, fluttering up and down as she blinked. “Can I help you?” The corner of her lips teased themselves into a smile.

“I don’t know,” Galinda said, lightheaded. “Can you?”

Elphaba’s hand curled gently around Galinda’s waist. Unable to resist—it was a private compartment, and if anyone disturbed them that would be their own fault—Galinda leaned in, unhurried, and kissed her slowly, with purpose.

“I’m so nervous,” Galinda whispered when they broke apart. Elphie meeting her parents, a scenario continually swathed in hazy light when she imagined it—dusk, the train station in Frottica deserted save for Galinda’s parents in perfect matching outfits, Elphaba getting off the train and her braids streaming off her shoulder in the wind, welcomed into the Upland of the Arduennas family with open arms—would in real life almost certainly not be that romantic. Her parents were certain to be thrillified, as they had been when Galinda wrote to them and told them she was coming, but who knew if they’d behave. Or Elphaba would see them and know instantly the type of person Galinda really was, or—

Her spiraling was interrupted by a ripple of Elphaba’s laughter. “You’re nervous?”

“Well, yes,” Galinda said, a touch of pink creeping into her cheeks. “It’s very personal, you know. Inviting someone home. You learn a lot about a person.”

“Galinda.” Elphaba fixed her with a look.

“Elphie.”

“How do you think I feel?”

“They’ll love you,” Galinda said rapidly. “As I—” she coughed. “As I do.”

“Galinda—”

Galinda pressed on, face burning, wanting to believe Elphaba was going to say Galinda, I love you too. “You’ll probably have Popsicle laughing in minutes. And Momsie is an avid follower of Sorcery Weekly, so you’ll have that to discuss, though I believe she has less natural talent than me, if that’s even possible.”

Elphaba nodded weakly.

“It’s just my parents.” Galinda squeezed Elphaba’s hands, which were slightly clammy.

“Do they know I’m…” Elphaba motioned to herself.

“What?”

“Green.”

“Oh.” Galinda tilted her head. “That’s a good question. I... I don’t recall if I ever specifically mentioned it.”

Elphaba groaned. “You didn’t warn them?”

“There’s nothing to warn them about,” Galinda said, a sour guilt dropping into her stomach. Truth be told, the content of her last letter had mainly been an excited list of things she wanted to see with Elphaba, and strict instructions to not mention certain stories about a certain daughter they had. “You’re amazing.”  

Elphaba looked at her warily.

“Oh, I shouldn’t have made you do this.” Galinda leaned back and fought the urge to smack her head against the seat. “It’s much too stressifying for you, before you see the Wizard. I’m so sorry. We don’t have to talk to anyone, really, and I’m sure my parents will understand—”

Elphaba shook her head. “I want to go.” As if to improve her credibility, she took Galinda’s hand decisively in her own. “It’s just that I can do magic for the Wizard and be acceptable, at least.” She sighed. “But your parents…”

“You’re amazing without magic, Elphie,” Galinda said, running her fingers over the back of Elphaba’s hand.

“Because of my sparkling personality?”

“I mean it, Elphaba.”

There was a faint blush on Elphaba’s cheeks, and Galinda settled back into her seat, pleased. Then Elphaba sat up, letting go of Galinda’s hands with a squeeze, and leaned against the window. “So, your parents.”

“Oh, you’ll love them too.” Galinda grinned, relieved they were—both literally and figuratively—on track. “They can be a bit much, though. And they comment on clothing a lot so don’t be confusified, it’s a business thing. And I’ve told them so much about you already—”

Elphaba raised an eyebrow. “You did forget to tell them that I’m green.”

“I told them you’re beautiful,” Galinda said, crossing her arms.

“You what?”

“It’s important information!”

A laugh sputtered out of Elphaba, incredulous, unrestrained. Galinda, filled with a sweet embarrassment, found herself laughing, too. “I also told them you’re very smart,” she said, shuffling closer to Elphaba so that she was nearly on her lap.

Elphaba tilted her head. “Did you?”

“So I’m not just reducifying you to your looks.” Galinda swallowed, trying to dismiss the lump in her throat. Elphaba’s collarbones were warm beneath her fingertips.

Elphaba’s eyes flickered, first down at Galinda’s hand, then up to her face.

Galinda let her fingers ghost over the contours of Elphaba’s nose, her cheekbones. Absentmindedly, her thumb paused on her bottom lip. Elphaba exhaled, so quietly Galinda could only feel the breath on her skin. Her hand flitted over the front of Galinda’s blouse, pressure barely tickling her stomach.

When Galinda replaced her thumb with her mouth, it was less of a kiss and more of a controlled crash. Elphaba, tugging at her shirt—and though Galinda knew it was an expensive blouse, only the best to visit her parents, she half-wished for it to burst and spill its buttons onto the floor—pulled Galinda squarely onto her thighs. Galinda hummed, body alight, and ducked her head down to leave open-mouthed kisses on Elphaba’s jaw.

Abruptly, Elphaba pushed her back. “Wait.”

She lay breathless on the seat, slightly irritated, as Elphaba strode to the door and pulled the blinds down. Oz, she was proper. Galinda would have found it charming if she hadn’t been so slow about it. Unable to wait—Elphaba should have known that—she stood and kissed Elphaba, their noses bumping together, palms sliding over Elphaba’s waist. Deftly, but so patiently, Elphaba’s hands worked at the buttons on Galinda’s blouse. “Just rip it,” Galinda said, not wanting to sound as whiny as she did.

“It’s a nice—”

“I can change later,” Galinda said, desperate for Elphaba’s slim fingers to touch her, finally, because what was taking so long? Grasping Elphaba’s collar, she kissed her again and pulled her backwards, unbalanced.

“Careful,” Elphaba whispered into Galinda’s mouth.

To prove her point, the train lurched and sent them tumbling onto the ground, limbs clanging into each other.

“Ow,” Galinda said softly, rubbing the spot on her ribs where Elphaba’s elbow had pressed into them. She shuddered, looking at the filthy carpet, and scampered quickly back up onto the seat. Holding her fingers to her chest, she felt her heart pound through the bone.

“Are you okay?” Elphaba asked, getting up from the floor with infuriating grace.

“Yes.” Galinda brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I just—”

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Elphaba said, but she was staring with such a lean hunger on her face that Galinda’s mouth went dry.

“It’s a great idea,” Galinda said quickly.

“It seems like a safety hazard.”

“What’s life without risk?” Galinda, breathing quickly, tried to shoot Elphaba a casual smile.

“Do you want to risk your shirt?”

Galinda groaned and let her head fall back onto her shoulders. The desperation that had overcome her body moments before had subsided only somewhat, leaving a hollow ache in the pit of her stomach. But she imagined her parents’ faces as they stepped off the train, lips swollen, Galinda clearly wearing a blouse not intended for the outfit—this was why backup outfits were important, but no, Elphaba had talked her out of the third suitcase—and nodded dejectedly.

“Don’t get me wrong.” Elphaba touched the side of her neck absentmindedly, and Galinda was overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her there. “This isn’t easy for me, either.”

They made eye contact. Galinda blushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, fanning herself with an open hand. “Do you think we can open the window? You know I love air.”

Elphaba raised her eyebrows.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Galinda whined. “It makes me want to kiss you.”

“Like what?” Elphaba asked, crooked grin spreading across her face.

“Or like that.”

“I really want to make a good impression,” Elphaba said quietly.

Galinda opened her mouth to retort something, but there was an unmistakable air of tension in how Elphaba held her shoulders. So she nodded instead and extended a hand chastely onto Elphaba’s arm. “You will.”

--

The train rattled into the station with a mere fifteen minutes’ delay. This was considered extraordinarily on time for the last stretch of the Great Gillikin Railway, which had for many years been less than great.

Galinda tapped Elphaba’s arm as she spotted two familiar figures standing together, elegantly dressed. “That’s them, Elphie!”

Elphaba pushed her glasses up her nose, swallowing visibly. When the door creaked open, she picked up both of their suitcases and started forward with a grim determination.

“Elphaba,” Galinda whispered, loosely grabbing her wrist.

Elphaba looked back. The terror in her eyes made Galinda’s stomach drop.

“You can do this.”

She was pale, but she still smiled and nodded.

“Momsie!” Galinda called as she jumped out of the train after Elphaba, dashing towards her parents with the exuberation they knew her for. “Oh, Popsicle, you cut your hair!”

“Just for you, darling,” Popsicle said, clapping her on the back, as he always did. He did look very fashionable, though Galinda suspected it had more to do with the trade exhibition coming up next week.

It’s fine, Galinda mouthed at Elphaba, hoping her tight smile would relax.

Then she lost Elphaba out of her line of sight, swept up into a flurry of ruffles and heavy perfume as her mother enveloped her in a hug. “How was the train, dear? Did you find the private compartment? I made such a fuss about it at the travel bureau, but you know the Great Gillikin Railservice.”

“Yes, and we were so grateful for it. Though the state of the seats and the floor” –Galinda made a face, then cleared her throat, suddenly blushing— “positively filthy, can you imagine?” She stepped back from her mother, whipping her head around to look for Elphaba. “But no matter. Horrified as we may be”—she grabbed Elphaba’s arm, gently pulling her closer— “we’ve made it.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Elphaba said, perfectly polite.

Both of her parents took a barely perceptible step back. They were nervous, Galinda thought, almost as nervous as she now was, with a heartbeat that felt like a fist hammering against the back of her breastbone.

“Elphie, these are my parents, in case you can’t tell.” Who will surely remember their manners in the next thirty seconds, or so help me Oz I will smite them where they stand.

Galinda’s father extended a hand, but not far enough that Elphaba wouldn’t have had to take a step forward to shake it. Oz, he knew better than that. He could charm an entire room full of potential business partners. When he walked through the village, he was stopped every few feet to exchange handshakes or greetings, and got caught up in talking to the point that Momsie sometimes had to steer him away. As he stood on the platform, his body language felt clumsy and stilted, like an out-of-season hat.

Alright. Clearly, they needed to be helped along. “Popsicle. Momsie.” Galinda plastered a smile across her face, straightening her shoulders. Her hand moved from Elphaba’s arm to her waist. “This is my girlfriend, Elphaba Thropp. From all the letters.”

“All the letters?” Elphaba muttered under her breath.

Galinda’s parents exchanged a look. Probably of reassurance. We can do this. Our little girl is growing up, but we can do this.

She didn’t realize how tensely she had hiked her shoulders up until they fell downwards, when Popsicle took a step—a real, long step—towards Elphaba and Elphaba set the suitcase down neatly on the platform and shook his hand. Momsie followed, and though her movements were unpracticed and blundering as she half-hugged Elphaba, she was smiling.

“Let me take the suitcases,” Popsicle said gallantly, sliding back into the man Galinda knew he was. Confident, self-assured, with a winning smile she had emulated so often as a child that it became her own. “Galinda, dear, we must discuss your Grammy’s 85^th birthday coming up. Your despicable cousins have some awful idea about a hotel on Lake Chorge I distinctly remember getting food poisification from, and I have no mind to repeat it—”

“Highmuster,” Momsie interrupted him, placing a hand on his shoulder, “she’s just arrived, and I’m certain it doesn’t interest our guest—”

“—I didn’t want to forget,” Popsicle said firmly, “and Elphaba—”

Momsicle twisted her hands together. “Later, dear. Let them settle in first. It’s exhausting to travel by train, you know.”

A silence fell over the four of them on the otherwise deserted platform.

“Well,” Galinda said after a painfully long moment. “They only served us a shriveled sandwich, and I, for one, am famished. And Elphie—though she’s much too well-behaved to say so—is too.” Grabbing Elphaba’s hand, she pulled her past her parents towards their coach. “And as for Lake Chorge” –she glanced sideways at her father, who had fallen into steady step next to them—“I suppose we’ll have to remind cousin Milla who’s to blame for the Lurlinemas fiasco two years ago, and that if she comes crawling over at 3 A.M. to use my bathroom because her borific husband fell asleep on the toilet again after having too much champagne I won’t open the door this time.”

Elphaba sent her a sideways look, half-amused, half-scared.

“Elphie, you’re on our side,” Galinda said crossly.

“Your good side, I hope,” Elphaba mumbled.

Galinda sighed and tossed her hair. “I only have good sides.”

--

“So what happened to Fiyero?” Momsie asked casually after Elphaba had been shown to her room—the guest room! The guest room. Not Galinda’s room, which had a four-poster bed that was certainly big enough to fit them both a dozen times over. Oz, even Fiyero would have fit in with them. Not that she wanted that. No, her loving parents had shunted Elphaba off to the part of the house furthest away from her room, past the hallway with the creaking floorboards and the portraits that she hated. Probably on purpose. As a child, she’d refused to walk through there. Well. If her parents thought portraits were going to keep her from Elphaba, they had been sorely mistaken.

“Galinda?”

“What?” Galinda smiled airily.

“I asked you about Fiyero, dear.” Momsie’s hands idled on Galinda’s bedpost, tracing the whorls in the light wood.

“Oh.” Galinda nodded. “Well, his taste in shoes hasn’t gotten any better. Tragically, I might add. He’s otherwise such a sharp dresser.” She sighed. “Why do you ask?”

Momsie blinked, just a little. It was dusty in Galinda’s room. This was what happened when she didn’t come home often enough. “Hm. I had the impression you rather liked him. And a prince—” She shrugged suggestively. “How exciting.”

She’d always been one for glamor, Momsie. Galinda supposed that was where she herself had gotten it from. Though Popsicle wasn’t necessarily known for being a modest dresser, either. “He’s not exciting once you get to know him,” Galinda said. “But he’s great fun. We have the most marvelous time together, the three of us.”

“So he’s… friends with you and Elphaba?”

Oh, Momsie, Galinda thought. If only you knew. She nodded. “A very dear friend to us both.”

“I suppose I was just surprised,” Momsie said lightly, hovering in the doorframe. “It really seemed like you enjoyed his company.”

“I do,” Galinda said plainly.

Momsie pursed her lips. “I’m glad to hear that.”

--

“And so I was a bit confused why Galinda’s best friend was asking me about my cousin’s supposed affair—before I realized Galinda was hiding behind the door every night, listening to us talk!”

“And I would have stayed hidden, if it hadn’t been for that dastardly floorboard coming loose,” Galinda huffed. How embarrassing. At the same time, the embarrassment calmed her in its familiarity. She was used to it when, at family parties and business dinners, her youthful awkwardness and exuberance were reduced to anecdotal fodder. They always did get a laugh out of people. Her part, of course, consisted of providing exasperated, but respectfully entertaining rebuttals. And so she shook her head forlornly and laid it briefly down on the table. “To think of the information I missed out on!”

“I was very grateful for that misfortune,” Popsicle said to Elphaba as Momsie patted Galinda’s arm, “considering Galinda’s penchant for gossip!” His laugh truly had a booming quality to it. It took Galinda by surprise sometimes, when it echoed in their large dining room. Now, all of them sitting together at one end of the table, it just sounded warm. “It’s probably for the best that you grew out of your eavesdropping phase. Who knows what rumors you would have spread otherwise!”

“Ha, ha,” Galinda said dryly. “It’s not my fault you were having such scandalocious conversations in the sitting room.”

“At least you didn’t tell everyone.” Momsie shook her head. “Unlike the time your entire schoolclass found out your Aunt Helena was pregnant before Uncle Paulus did.”

Elphaba snickered.

“I was a very precocious seven-year-old.”

Elphaba raised her eyebrows. “Seven?”

“Galinda was a gossip from the moment she was born.’” Momsie took a sip of tea, smiling devilishly. “Her first words were ‘Guess what?’”

“That’s not true.” Galinda looked helplessly from Elphaba to her parents, floating in their adoration. “And don’t laugh, Elphie,” she said. Then she laughed with them. 

--

“Your parents are nice,” Elphaba said, tucked up under the covers and looking very cozy and comfortable. “I didn’t expect them to be so… welcoming. But I’m glad.”

“Define ‘nice’,” Galinda grumbled, creeping under the blanket and settling in under Elphaba’s arm. “I don’t understand why they have the urge to tell you all those embarrassing stories.”

“I like hearing about you as a child.” Elphaba kissed the tip of her nose, and despite her best efforts, Galinda couldn’t keep from smiling.

“I was a bit of a handful,” Galinda admitted. “Still am, probably.”

Elphaba stayed silent.

“Elphie!”

“You’re not a handful,” she said hastily, laughing, running a hand up and down Galinda’s back. “Though you are still bad at staying in your own bed—”

“What, was I supposed to let you sleep alone in this giant, lonely room?”

“—and you are still a bit of a gossip—”

“I’m communicative!”

“Yes, yes,” Elphaba conceded. “I’m sorry. You grew out of it.”

“I didn’t,” Galinda said.

“What?”

“I never grew out of eavesdropping.” Galinda stretched out, against Elphaba, and buried her face in her chest. “I got better at it, frankly, and at keeping my mouth shut, which is why they thought I stopped.”

“Were you really that curious?” Elphaba asked lightly. She smelled warm, like home—which, Galinda realized, was a term she now associated more with their dorm room than the long hallways and white walls of her childhood.

“It’s a big house,” Galinda whispered. “And we’re just three people. During the day there’s the staff, but at night—” Her voice broke off. “You know my room’s all the way on the other side of the house. It just got too quiet. So I crept out and sat in the hallway and listened to them talk—not necessarily for information, though that didn’t hurt of course—but just the murmur of their voices…” Like a steady stream, a sign of life through the wall. She shuddered at the memory. “And when I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open, I went back to bed and fell asleep.”

“Oh.”

“Or that’s all a fantastic excuse and a woefully tragic story, but I was really just looking for blackmail material,” Galinda said. “You can pick.”

She expected Elphaba to laugh, but instead her hand just settled between Galinda’s shoulder blades, holding her steady, keeping her warm. “You’re not alone anymore,” she whispered, and Galinda’s chest filled with light.

“I’m glad you like my parents,” she said, to change the subject before she cried. “They adore you; they really do. I can tell.”

--

Really, they had gotten lucky.

Galinda, having spent most of her youth at boarding school, only really perceived her parents as benevolent weekend presences. Maybe they made a comment or two about her grades or her wardrobe, but ultimately, they were unconditional in their support. Proud of their daughter, valedictorian, winner of the Ozian National Board Award for Excellence. Why wouldn’t they have been? They were doting parents. She was a devoted daughter.

So it was with this idealism that she interpreted their tight smiles at the train station, the slight hesitation before Popsicle shook Elphaba’s hand. And the questions they kept asking—about Fiyero, about Elphaba’s family, about their relationship—were simply reflections of their worry and their love, which would surely, in time, extend to Elphaba. And by the time dinner was done, they seemed genuinely comfortable: Popsicle, leaning forwards towards Elphaba when sharing those dreadfully embarrassing anecdotes, Momsie making tea so they could sit after dinner and chat.

That night, with Elphaba beside her, Galinda fell asleep with her worldview neatly fastened in place, and in the next few days there were no further reasons to question it. Momsie and Popsicle had accepted Elphaba for who she was and Galinda had been right in her unquestioning trust in them.

Later, trying to hold onto whatever recollections of Elphaba she could, she went over those moments again and found her memories spoiled, somehow. Had her parents really looked that baffled and uncomfortable, as Galinda and Elphaba approached them on the platform? Had Popsicle really extended his hand so limply towards Elphaba, as if he had been afraid to touch her hand? And Momsie’s questioning about Fiyero, which now seemed less curious and more disappointed...

But they had changed. She clung to that, for a bit. She herself had shrieked the first time she saw Elphaba, which horrified her to no end but could not be undone. So how could she blame them for their initial trepidation, at this green girl who had completely captivated their daughter?

What nagged at her for years until it finally made sense was the look her parents had exchanged, after she introduced Elphaba to them. The moment when the first layer of ice seemed to melt away.

This is my girlfriend, Elphaba Thropp. From all the letters.

Elphaba Thropp.

Her father—who considered Galinda and Upland Textiles equal sources of both pride and joy—had, for several months, wanted to expand his production of linen. Sadly, he was unable to find a good source of flax fibers in Gillikin.  He had written about this in his letters, but Galinda had always found discussions of the business a little boring and preferred to skim over them in favor of family gossip.

Munchkinland was Oz’s biggest producer of flax. They’d learned that in class. Galinda did know that—she paid some attention to the topics relevant to her parents, after all—but she never thought it would more than tangentially impact her life.

So, Glinda realized, months if not years later, when she introduced Elphaba as Elphaba Thropp, the look that passed between her parents had not been of subtle encouragement or to exchange comfort about their baby girl growing up.

Instead, it was to confirm what they had heard.

And later, when Galinda explained the magnificence of Elphaba’s talent and spoke about her upcoming trip to meet the Wizard, potentially to discuss a future position with him, because she was simply that talented and brilliant, and who even knew it was possible to learn so much in so short a time?

At that point, the Uplands were sold.

After this revelation, Glinda tried very hard not to let it color her opinion of them. She visited them dutifully, first with Fiyero, then with Lord Chuffrey, and the conversation was always pleasant but dallied around minutiae: the parties here, the ballgowns there.

They were good parents. They had raised Galinda telling her she was smart and beautiful and good until the traits were unquestionable and unshakeable parts of her presumed character, regardless of whether they actually applied or not. Unlike Frexspar Thropp, they never degraded her. Unlike Marilott Tigelaar, they never attempted to jerk her around as one would a puppet. She was lucky in that regard. They were flawed, but all parents were.

And really, who would she have had to blame but herself, had that visit gone terribly wrong? She had led Elphaba to Highmuster and Larena Upland promising acceptance. Then again, these were the people who had told their weeping twelve-year-old daughter that boarding school was non-negotiable and expected in families of a certain class and station, and that she would surely be able to adapt, as smart and resourceful as she was. She could have anticipated that their reaction to Elphaba, brilliant and kind as she was, would be less than thrillified.

So, in retrospect, the Uplands’ meeting with Elphaba was saved by their opportunism. It could have been much worse. So, really, nothing had gone wrong. There was nothing to forgive them for.

Still—though she tried for years, Glinda never really could.

--

Galinda wanted to stay in.

The house was empty. Momsie was at a luncheon, and whichever gossip bound to be the topic of the day was, apparently, so scandalocious that Galinda and Elphaba weren’t allowed to listen in. Popsicle had some meeting or other. They wouldn’t be back until dinner. The cook was certain to be at the market, or dashing around the kitchen somewhere, but she wouldn’t disturb them either way. Not if the door was locked, at least.

“Today's our last day,” Elphaba said indignantly, “and you want to stay in bed?”

“Not in bed,” Galinda protested. “Just in. We can read something. Or look at pictures of me as a child, so you can see why I’m never getting bangs again.”

"Or we can go outside and enjoy the weather.”

“Oz,” Galinda sighed. “Fine. If we must.”

Which was how she found herself trudging across a dirt path in her heels, which had, at some point, seemed like a good idea.

“I used to run across these fields as a girl,” Galinda said, squinting and shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked out at them. “But I don’t think I’d get that far today.” She stepped forward on the trail, with its turns and impolitely scattered roots. “It’s warm this season,” she remarked. “The poppies are blooming already.”

Ahead of her, Elphaba hadn’t moved, staring at a sea of red flowers bending languidly in the wind.

“Elphie?”

Elphaba turned and held out her hand. “Are you coming?”

“My shoes,” Galinda said.

“You can take them off, you know.”

“I’m not—”

“I’ll carry them for you.” She tucked her hat under her arm.

I’d much rather you carry me instead, Galinda almost said, but she just nodded wordlessly.

To her credit, Elphaba did take her shoes. She took Galinda’s hand, too, and pulled her fluidly across the field, so quickly it felt like they were flying. It was an early spring day with the threat of a chill looming far away enough to ignore. The dirt was still cold from the winter, but it gave way as they ran together, gripped with a wild delight that only grew as their steps became less coordinated and they had to hold onto each other for balance. Galinda, caught up in admiring Elphaba, found the rest of the field reduced to blur of color around them.

Of course they fell at some point. But it was a light tumble and the field caught them, and Galinda found herself laughing until Elphaba leaned in and kissed her slowly, holding her face with both hands. They sank into the delicate smell and each other until Galinda felt dizzy, from the poppies or Elphaba, she didn’t know.

Sprawling onto the flowers, they stopped to breathe.

I love you, Galinda thought, but she reached out a hand to trace the smooth curves of Elphaba’s face instead. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered.

“So are you,” Elphaba said, “but that’s cheating, because everyone knows that.” A teasing smile danced across her face.

“You can say it. I don’t mind.” Oz, there were so many butterflies in Galinda’s stomach. Or not butterflies, more like fully grown Eagles furiously flapping their wings back and forth. “Or—” Or tell me I’m a good person, she almost said. She closed her eyes to banish the thought and rolled onto her back, sun shining onto her face. None of that.

“Or what, my sweet?”

Galinda’s eyes snapped open. “What did you just call me?”

“I’m sorry.” Elphaba’s hand slid over her stomach, thumb absentmindedly running back and forth. “You call me Elphie. I thought I should call you something, too.”

“I like it.” Galinda’s eyelids flickered closed again. “And Elphie suits you, it really does.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Elphaba said.

They lapsed into silence.

“Elphie, do you think I’m a good person?”

Oz, why. She hadn’t even thought about the question before she’d said it. There was no answer she wanted to hear, really. She was about to play it off as a joke when Elphaba frowned slightly, and the rush of ten thousand Eagles or whatever in her stomach became nothing against the seething turmoil barely beneath Galinda’s skin.

“Don’t answer that,” Galinda said swiftly, face burning. She sat up, feeling her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

“Of course I do,” Elphaba said. “I just… don’t understand why you’re asking me.”

“The other day,” Galinda started, pained. “With the Lion cub.”

Elphaba turned towards her and nodded.

“I could have helped you,” Galinda said, staring at the flowers in front of her. “If you needed someone. You could have” –she winced, hating the way she sounded, hating the softness of Elphaba’s gaze– “picked me.”

Opening her mouth, Elphaba pushed herself up with her elbows.

“Don’t.” Galinda drew in a tight breath. “Don’t apologize. I just…”

“Just what?”

“I just wish you hadn’t left me behind.”

Elphaba stared at her wordlessly, her lips slightly parted.

Galinda shrugged. “But you had your reasons, and I understand.”

They sat for a moment, bathed in an uncomfortable silence.

“I want to show you something,” Elphaba said quietly. “I’ve been reading.”

“So what else is new,” Galinda said, but the joke felt like walking on a broken limb that hadn’t quite healed. Instinctive, but not right.

Elphaba rolled her eyes. “I’ve been thinking about how you’ve been having trouble with magic.”

“My slightly underwhelming natural talent, you mean.”

Elphaba nodded and looped her hands into Galinda’s. “I read about something that might help you.”

“No,” Galinda said, finding the thought of failure—the frustrating, grinding failure she experienced with Sorcery again and again—too unbearable. “Elphie—”

“Please.” Elphaba let go of Galinda’s hands to touch her face lightly. A spark hissed between them. “Just let me try.”

Silently, willingly, Galinda let Elphaba take her hands and lay them flat at her sides.

“Close your eyes, my sweet.”

She did. There was a slight wind, now. Her nose twitched.

“Feel the ground,” Elphaba whispered into Galinda’s ear. Galinda started. How had she gotten there so quickly? “The soil, underneath you. And the roots—”

“I did this with Morrible already,” Galinda said. “Though she wasn’t quite as close to my ear. It didn’t work, though, Elphie. I can think about soil composition all I want.”

“Shh,” Elphaba said. Obediently, Galinda fell silent. “We’re not talking about soil composition. Feel it, Galinda.”

It was still cold, from the winter. Slightly damp. Ugh. Galinda let her hands dig into it, dirt pushing itself up under her fingernails. Oz, this better work, she thought.

“Don’t think about anything else,” Elphaba instructed her sternly.

“I’m fully with the soil,” Galinda protested. Shaking her head to let her thoughts settle for a moment, she relaxed her hands.

“What do you feel?” Elphaba asked, voice pitched low.

“Dirt,” Galinda said flatly. “It’s like crumbs. And…” Her fingers stretched out. “Air.” Yes, there was a tiny current of air swirling around her fingertips. She took a deep breath. “And… there’s water. Somewhere. Am I getting quizzed on this later?”

“Galinda,” Elphaba groaned.

“Sorry.” Back to the dirt. Something was humming under her. There was a rush, a murmur, thousands of miniscule rivers teeming around her, feeding…

“Life,” Galinda whispered. Of course. Hundreds of thousands of poppies, their yearning roots anchored into the soil. She felt them all, somehow, scattered across the field, her consciousness divided and siphoned up by every flower’s root. A breeze tickled her face and she felt a hundred thousand versions of her bend reverently for the wind. “I…I think something is happening.”

“Good,” Elphaba’s voice breathed into her ear, more part of the wind than anything else. “Now pick one.”

Somehow, she did. She felt its petals tremble towards the sun while its root searched deeper, for water, for life…pulling away from each other, but inextricably linked. A young flower in the first blossom of its life. In her mind’s eye, the flower unwrapped itself further, crinkly petals unfolding, then wilting as the sun passed over them again and again.  Then it fell apart, seeds carried away by hot wind she felt coming over the horizon already, off to new fields or perhaps just a few paces away, to grow again if they could. And there would be other springs, and other blooms, but this one—this one was now. “I have it,” Galinda said. Her hands in the ground prickled.

“That’s good,” Elphaba said, and for a moment Galinda was so distracted by her pleased-sounding voice that she nearly lost the connection. “Stay focused.”

Not trusting herself to speak, Galinda nodded.

“You’re going to levitate it.”

“How?”

“Pull at the roots. Loosen the soil.”

Galinda felt the roots twitching in the earth, shaking themselves free. “Am I doing that?”

“Yes. Now lift them.”

“It needs the soil,” Galinda murmured. “For water, and nutrients—”

“Do you want to make it fly?”

“It’ll die,” Galinda said. All of that wanting and growing for nothing. It still has time. Her cheeks were wet, suddenly, and she noted distantly that she was crying. “I… I can’t.”

“Ask.” Elphaba’s breath ghosted over Galinda’s ear again. “Or try to feel it. What it thinks.”

It still has time, Galinda thought again desperately, wanting to keep the flower safely cocooned in the ground. It still had the rest of this years’ bloom, and the next, and the next, always unfurling in the same way, swaying in the same breeze. Its roots gripped the only soil it had ever known. It had everything here: water, companionship, the sun over the field. And yet as the wind, picking up, teased its petals forward, there was something there—a longing, quiet and unfulfilled. To be carried away, perhaps.

Or was she lying to make herself feel better?

“I don’t know,” Galinda whispered. “How do I know?”

The flower shivered, a fine vibration from its roots to the tips of its fragile petals.

It could just be a flower, for the rest of its life. There was nothing wrong with that. It was the natural order of things.

Or it could fly.

The air pressure dropped, making Galinda’s ears pop. She only barely registered the pain. Numbly, her hands pushed through the soil, trying to go deeper, to have something to hold on to. The wind shrieked in her ears. Her eyes screwed themselves tightly shut, fresh tears running silently over her cheeks.

When she opened them, there was quiet. The poppy was suspended in the air, sunlight bleeding through its petals.

“Elphie,” Galinda said, shaking with exhaustion. “Elphie, look!”

Elphaba was staring up at the flower with an easy grin on her face, like she’d never doubted Galinda at all.

“Are you doing this?” Galinda asked, pulling her hands out of the earth to grip at Elphaba’s sleeve, not caring that it was white and would get dirty and that her parents would surely find that questionable. “Elphie, I swear to Oz, if this is you—”

“All you, Galinda,” Elphaba said, turning her head towards her.

“I did Sorcery,” Galinda said breathlessly, not quite wanting to believe it. She raised the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle the sob that tore at her chest.

Elphaba nodded excitedly.

It was just flowers. One flower, to be exact, floating lazily above them. And Galinda felt as if she had been gnawed down to the bone while Elphaba could make furniture fly without even breaking a sweat. But she’d done it.

“Is that what it always feels like for you?” Galinda shivered with cold sweat as the poppy turned in the wind. “It must be so much.”

“It gets easier with practice.” Elphaba tilted her head. “And normally it just happens.” She paused and exhaled. “But yes. It’s always a little…destructive.”

Galinda imagined, for an overwhelming moment, feeling things with such an intensity as often as Elphaba did magic.

“Like in class,” Elphaba continued. “I didn’t want to leave you. It was a mistake.”

“Don’t,” Galinda said. She drew her knees to her chest and looked away, at the sun, at the flower bearing unfortunate witness to their conversation.

Elphaba turned fully towards her, placing both of her hands on Galinda’s knees. “I won’t leave you again.”

“You don’t have to say that,” Galinda said, trying to force her voice upwards but failing miserably.

“I mean it.” Elphaba sounded sure. Matter-of-fact. Galinda could hardly bring herself to look at her directly. When she did, there was a precious delicateness on Elphaba’s face, but no sign of facetiousness or dishonesty.

Smoothly, Elphaba stood and extended a fine green hand towards the flower, which drifted towards her with no sign of effort. Carefully, she plucked it out of the air. “Here,” she said, holding it out to Galinda, who clambered to her feet awkwardly. Elphaba smiled, and she looked so beautiful that Galinda just wanted to look at her until her every feature was carved into her mind.

“I promise,” Elphaba whispered.

Galinda took the flower and nodded, choosing to believe her.

--

“That’s beautiful,” I said softly. Loosened from history, they were just two young women in a field holding each other. A faded picture for a faded time.

“It was just a flower, there’s no need to get sentimental,” Glinda said stiffly, reaching up to wipe away a tear. “Anyway. How long do you have, Nor?”

“What?”

“How long do you have?”

My forehead wrinkled. “For what?”

“You asked me how long this will take.” She looked… not angry, but certainly not pleased. Like this was a particularly unpleasant task on her to-do list. “How long do you have?”

“I don’t have a deadline,” I said, shifting uneasily. Half my mind was still in that field. “Or an appointment. I just—I had plans. Have plans.”

Glinda sat, waiting.

“I want to write a book about my childhood.” Did she even care? Was she internally screaming with boredom? Her face gave no indication either way. “And to research it, I need to go to the Vinkus.”

“Hm.” Glinda pushed her glasses up her nose and studied me, like she was trying to parse out whether I was telling the truth or not. I tried not to look suspicious, then felt ridiculous because nothing I was doing was wrong in any way. It just felt odd, to sit there and explain it. “Where in the Vinkus?”

“I didn’t get that far yet. I don’t know where I’m from, exactly.” And since I had absolutely no false hope about figuring that out any time soon, Vinkus would just have to be Vinkus and that would just have to do. Hence the glorious plan to get on the next train with a ticket that got me as far West as my money could take me.

“Go to Fanarra.” Glinda cleared her throat and got up, grabbing a worn book from the shelf and leafing through it. “It’s not far from Kiamo Ko. You can take the trail up. Probably a two day walk, in those horrendible shoes of yours.” I frowned. Glinda shrugged nonchalantly, then continued. “Three in heels.” When she set the book in front of me, I saw it was a map, surprisingly intricate for the region.

“You’ve been?” I studied the page, pencil markings on different towns.

“I have.” Glinda’s tone was clipped. “When do you have to leave?”

“Before the weather turns.” Running my finger over the page, I stopped at Kiamo Ko, appropriately marked with an X. For Fiyero’s birthplace? “So I have time, but I need five days or so to go to the Emerald City. Then a few weeks to save up enough money to buy a ticket. I think the train leaves once a week.” I knew the train left once a week. I’d stared at the schedule more times than I could remember, wishing myself brave enough to just go.

Glinda raised an eyebrow. “Five days to go to the Emerald City?”

“Coach travel.” I crossed my arms. “I can’t afford the train.”

She didn’t say anything.

But I don’t have to go this year, I nearly said, then physically bit my tongue. I would go this year. I had to. I would never do it otherwise. “We can pick it up again next year, if there’s not enough time.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Glinda waved a hand through the air. “I’ll pay for your ticket.”

“To the Emerald City?” I coughed. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“That’s what makes me so nice,” Glinda said dryly. “Yes. And to the Vinkus. That should buy us a few weeks.”

Speechless, I let my pen drop on the page. “But—”

“Not that we’ll need that long,” Glinda continued. “But I don’t like to feel rushed, and coach travel” —she shook her head emphatically— “it’s not what it used to be. You’ll be better off that way. Thank me later.”

Why would she do this? Why did she care whether I got the Vinkus in comfort, or if I had to walk there through the high mountain pass, skin blistering from the cold? Why did she care whether I got to the Vinkus at all? None of it made sense. “Glinda, what—”

“This was a good talk,” Glinda said, getting up from the couch and sweeping over to the door, wide pant legs rustling smoothly against each other. “See you tomorrow.”

“My question,” I called.

She turned in the doorway. “Yes, Nor.”

“Why did you pick me to write this?”

“I like your writing,” she said insistently.

“I—”

“You should really be more confident, Nor.” Glinda smiled, bowed her head at me, and left.

As I went out after her, I looked down the hallway in the direction she always disappeared down, through the uncanny portraits of past Uplands of the Arduennas lining both walls with blank eyes and empty smiles.

Chapter Text

Elphaba was terrible at packing.

She was good at so many things: History, Sorcery, making Galinda blush. Just to name some pertinent examples.

But she really was terrible at packing.

“I don’t need more than one pair of shoes,” she protested as Galinda came towards her with an elegant pair of short heels. Short! Not like Galinda’s, which felt a bit like walking on needles sometimes but made the line of her calf pop scandalociously. No, these heels were just neat, like Elphaba was. Neat but elegant and perfectly appropriate for any occasion.

“What if you have a dinner?” Galinda asked.

“I have my boots.”

“Oz,” Galinda groaned. She collapsed against the side of Elphaba’s bed. “Boots? To dinner? With the Wizard?”

Elphaba nodded matter-of-factly.

“Elphie,” Galinda groaned. “They may be boots you can wear in many situations—”

“—all situations,” Elphaba corrected her.

“Many situations.” Galinda held the back of her hand to her forehead, like she was a maiden dying of consumption during the third Ozma’s reign. “But there are limits.”

Elphaba looked at the shoes dubiously.

“If I can’t come with you, at least let me help.” Galinda gathered herself up off the floor, swaying dramatically back and forth.  She thrust the shoes out to Elphaba with determination, so that Elphaba could only accept them as she shook her head. “See? Is that so bad?”

“None of this will matter if I don’t prove myself,” Elphaba pointed out, motioning to her suitcase. “He’s not going to listen to me just because of my shoes.”

“You’ll be fine,” Galinda said definitively. “He’ll be very impressified. Just remember to give me credit. For the shoes.”

Unwittingly, Elphaba snorted.

“Do you have something to sleep in?” Galinda rifled through the clothing in the suitcase, successfully locating one of Elphaba’s nightgowns. “Or something warm,” she continued. “Since you’re always freezing at night. Who knows what kind of hotel they’ll put you up in.”

She rummaged through her own closet, pulling out her favorite fluffy sweater. “Here, just don’t get any food on it. It’s dry-clean only.” She tossed it into the open suitcase. Two days without Elphie. Why did Oz want to punish her so?

When Elphaba didn’t complain—she normally found dry cleaning to be a waste of money and energy, blatant favoritism towards certain items of clothing over others—Galinda looked up to see her sitting on the couch, staring at the ground. “Elphie?”

Elphaba shook her head. “Sorry. Yes. No food on the sweater.”

“Are you alright?” Galinda shuffled over to her. “If you prefer the boots, I’m sure he won’t really mind. Maybe I got a bit carried away. They look nice.”

“It’s not that,” Elphaba said absentmindedly. “I just have to prove myself.” Her hands, resting on her knees, shook as she spoke. “He’s the Wizard, Galinda. He’ll know if I’m not—if I’m not worthy.”

“You will prove yourself.” Galinda sat down on the floor in front of her. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“You know how difficult it is to predict Sorcery.”

“Yes, but he knows how good you are. Madame Morrible told him, didn’t she?”

“I have to prove myself there, though.” Elphaba sighed. “And if I don’t... ”

“In what universe would you not be able to prove yourself?” Galinda sat back on her heels, frowning. “Elphie, please.”

“But if I can't do Sorcery—”

“Then talk to him,” Galinda said. “Oz, tell him about your last History paper. If he can’t see you’re astoundifying without a magic trick, I don’t know what to tell him.” Galinda took Elphaba’s hands in hers, dry and cold and shaking.

“I hope so.” Elphaba’s voice was thick.

She kissed Elphaba’s hands, then. Until they were steady. Until some color had returned to Elphaba’s cheeks, and they got up and finished packing, bickering only a little. And the thought of being left behind—missing Elphaba’s warmth, her voice—only stung a little bit.

The rest of the evening was a blur. If Elphaba was too nervous to sleep, she at least stayed next to Galinda the entire night, who dozed with her nose pressed into Elphaba’s shoulder and woke at the first rays of the morning sun.

--

“Are you sure you have everything?” Galinda mentally went through a list of things Elphaba could have forgotten: nightgown, toothbrush, a book for the train. Oz, but they’d packed it all. Elphaba had even insisted on bringing the hat, black and pointy as ever. “Remember to write,” Galinda continued, hands fussing over Elphaba’s dress. “I’m sure it’ll arrive after you come back but you know I love postcards. And I think it’d be fun to start collecting snow globes, so if you want to get me one, you can.”

“Should I be keeping a list?” Elphaba asked, lip quirking up into a smile.

“Yes,” Galinda said earnestly. Then she felt her face crumple. “Oh, Elphie—”

But Elphaba’s gaze slowly slid past her and towards the far end of the train station. Galinda fell silent. “I can’t believe it,” Elphaba whispered, grabbing Galinda’s shoulders and turning her around. “Look.”

Galinda’s eyes flickered over the throng of students, come to see Elphaba off—so the newspaper ad and the flyers had been enough—to an awkward-looking group, consisting of Nessarose, Boq, Madame Morrible, of all people, and a man who looked whatever the opposite of cheery was.

She put the pieces together before she actively recognized him, and her face twisted in displeasure. “Ugh.”

“He’s actually here,” Elphaba said, more shocked than pleased.

As the group came towards them with frightening speed, Galinda tried to make her face seem less… well, annoyed. It felt harder than it should have. Wasn’t it one of her better qualities, that she could smile and nod her way through interactions with even the most odious men before escaping? But it now seemed better, if she was honest, to scowl at this man openly. Even as Nessa looked at him with an expression that could only be described as devoted adoration. Even as Elphaba fluttered over to them with a mixture of excitement and uneasiness in her step.

After gathering herself, Galinda stepped forward and wound her arm around Elphaba’s waist.

“I treasure any chance to see my daughter,” Governor Thropp was saying to Madame Morrible in his horrendibly nasal voice. Still. At least he was being supportive. Galinda nodded approvingly, to positively reinforce his behavior. He wasn’t too old to learn. Perhaps there was hope. A single, tiny shred of hope.  

Then he patted Nessa condescendingly on the shoulder and she could barely keep herself from rolling her eyes.

“And it’s such an honor, of course, that your other daughter is being welcomed by the Wizard.” Madame Morrible cleared her throat, failing to hide her disapproval completely. Finally, something the two of them could agree on.

Elphaba stiffened against Galinda’s arm.

“Yes.” Governor Thropp pulled his face together in a smile. Or at least what could pass as a smile, for someone who had never seen a person genuinely smile in their entire life. Galinda found that unsurprisifying, because who would smile around this man? He’d never had an example to learn from. A pity, really. “Let’s just hope she makes a good impression.”

“I’m sure she will,” Galinda said, tightening her grip around Elphaba’s waist. “She’s brilliant, as anyone with a brain knows.” She blinked at him, tilting her head. Then she flashed him a brilliant smile, so he would know what he was missing out on.

Governor Thropp swallowed visibly, looking at Galinda for the first time. “And this is?” 

“Galinda.” Elphaba sounded flustered.

“No last name?”

Oz, was he sneering at her?

“Upland,” Elphaba added. “Of the Arduennas of the Upper Uplands.”

Governor Thropp pressed his lips together. Oz, he apparently really didn’t know how to smile, did he. “Pleasure.”

Galinda nodded. “All mine.”

She tried not to look at him—staring daggers at Elphaba’s father was surely not the most helpful thing she could do in the moment, tempting though it may have been— as the crowd came up behind him and drowned them in benevolent noise. “It’s so loud,” Elphaba whispered to Galinda, but she was smiling, really smiling, and Galinda couldn’t help but lean over and kiss her on the cheek.

After Governor Thropp had, thankfully, disappeared off to Oz-knew-where, Galinda stood with Elphaba as the train rolled into the station. The rush of seeing Elphaba in the crowd—blushing, turning to greet every new person who came up to her with only the best wishes—faded, leaving only a muted pain.

“Oh, Elphie,” Galinda said, brushing invisible dirt off Elphaba’s dress sleeves just to touch her. “You’re going to be amazing.” She stepped back, looking at Elphaba—shoulders tilted backwards, hair elegantly gathered at the nape of her neck. “I’m going to miss you.”

“It’s two days,” Elphaba said lightly. “You’ll barely notice I’m gone.”

“I’ll notice after twenty minutes, when no one rolls their eyes at me.”

“Plenty of people will roll their eyes at you, Galinda.” Elphaba bit back a grin.

Galinda rolled her eyes.

“See, you can even do it yourself.”

Galinda waved her hand impatiently. “I just can’t wait to see you again.” She imagined herself picking Elphaba up from the train station again at dusk, Elphaba flinging herself into her arms. She’d have a lot to tell, surely. Impressions of the Wizard and the city. Galinda had never been—it had always been too loud, too noisy, too expensive for her parents, who preferred rural retreats for vacations. As if they didn’t already live in the countryside. Yes, she was excited to see Elphaba again. But perhaps Elphaba would come back unknowable to her, fundamentally changed. If she concerned herself with bigger and more important things than Galinda, and the life they had in their dorm room—rubbing shoulders with influential people to talk about important things Galinda could only smile and nod about—

Elphaba cupped Galinda’s cheek with a warm hand. “Two days, my sweet.” Then she leaned in and kissed her softly.

Behind them, someone cleared their throat. “Sorry to interrupt,” Fiyero said cheekily.

“You better be,” Galinda muttered, blushing. “And you’re late. Do you at least have a good excuse?”

“Galinda,” Elphaba scolded, fingers brushing up against her arm.

“He had very clear instructions to be on time. I printed them and everything.”

“I got you these, to excuse my tardiness,” Fiyero said, showing Elphaba a bouquet of poppies. “I’m happy for you, Elphaba.” His smile, chipper just a moment before, fell loosely from his face as he averted his gaze towards the ground, away from them.

What was he doing? A silence spread between them, decidedly awkward. Skin prickling with anticipation, Galinda stepped forward. “We all are, Elphie.”

“Thank you,” Elphaba said hesitantly.

“I’ve been thinking a lot.” Fiyero cast his head upwards with sincere intensity. “About the things we spoke about.”

Things? Galinda’s eyes ticked back and forth between them.

“About the Lion cub,” he said. “And Dr. Dillamond.”

Elphaba nodded, turning her face towards him. “I have been, too.”

Galinda’s heart beat shrilly in her throat. Her mouth tasted like acid. And yet she just smiled vacuously, which was all she could do, apparently.

“I understand your point.” Fiyero scuffed the platform with his shoe. “About not giving up. And—” His voice faltered.

“I know you do,” Elphaba said, reaching out to touch him on the arm. As she should. As was right for friends, who enjoyed each other’s company and cared about each other and understood each other.

Galinda looked at Fiyero—visibly emotional, still clutching the flowers in his hand. He’d probably even picked them himself; their stems were roughly cut. Elphaba, next to him, looked ethereally beautiful, almost as if she was just a spectre and the real Elphaba was already sat on the train, rushing away from her. No, but Elphaba was still here. She was here and she had barely slept since getting back from Pertha Hills, to better prepare for her meeting. She had practiced her appeal for the Animals, at first with a shaky voice, pacing back and forth across their room. Galinda had been proud, but also gripped with a worry she couldn’t name as Elphaba grew more confident with her speech, until her sureness filled the room. She was here, but all the while the train hummed next to them, ready to take Elphaba away.

They were happy here. They could be happy, for a long time still. Galinda knew she was being selfish, wanting that so badly when Elphaba wanted—needed—to fulfill a purpose Galinda was still trying to understand.

A purpose Fiyero clearly understood.

“Oh, me too.” Oz, was she talking? Yes, Galinda realized with mounting horror. She was talking. “I think about it all the time,” she continued breezily, unable to stop herself. “Constantly. It haunts me in my sleep.”

Elphaba and Fiyero looked at her with the same expression—half-confused, half-amused, heads tilted to one side.

“Does it?” Elphaba asked.

“Yes! It’s just horrendible.” Galinda shook her head emphatically. She reached out, fumbling towards their nearest hands. When she found them, she gripped them tight, just for a moment. “To—to outlaw Animal professors like that! Despite their perspectives being so vital to Ozian culture.” She lifted her chin. “It’s time for us all to take responsibility. Me too, obviously.”

Fiyero pursed his lips. “What were you thinking, exactly?”

“I’m going to take a stand.” Galinda’s hands flitted through the air in front of her. “To honor him. Dillamond. Professor Dr. Dillamond, I mean.”

Elphaba blinked.

“I am” –Galinda swallowed, hoping desperately to think of something good– “changing my name.” The last part came out more a squeak than anything else. She smiled weakly at the two of them.

“Your name?” Fiyero asked.

Elphaba bit her lip. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Galinda said, still feeling very removed from the part of her brain intended to sign off on the words coming out of her mouth. “Since Dr. Dillamond had his own way of pronouncifying my name—in solidarity, and to express my outrage, I will be known henceforth no longer as Galinda Upland of the Arduennas of the Upper Uplands, but rather—”

She cleared her throat, trying to get the words out that she had, apparently, committed to thirty seconds ago.

“Glinda.”

Oh, Oz.

“Upland of the Arduennas of the Upper Uplands,” she finished weakly.

She hated the way it rolled off her tongue. It sounded like the word “glib”. Which she most certainly was not. She caught herself, hopefully before the disgust showed too plainly on her face, and smiled brightly.

“What about your third cousin?” Elphaba asked, voice pitched low.

“I’m not going to let petty familial rivalries get in the way of what’s right.” Galinda—Glinda—said. Oz, this was going to take some getting used to. Was it too late? Judging by the looks on Elphaba and Fiyero’s faces, probably not. They seemed insultingly confusified. So they didn’t think she meant it, then. Glinda exhaled miserably. “That’s my name, from now on. Glinda.”

It was a little better when she said it fast. It had a modern feel to it. Sleek, ozmopolitan. Saint-like, surely.

“That’s very admirable.” Fiyero nodded slowly. Then he cleared his throat. “Good luck,” he said, turning to face Elphaba squarely. He handed her the flowers with a flourish. “I know you’ll make us proud.”

Glinda turned away, stomach crumpling in on itself. She barely registered their brief good-bye as the blood rushed in her head. When Elphaba rushed off to find Nessarose, Glinda could only watch numbly, too frozen in place to go after her.

Fiyero stood next to her, hands hooked into his pockets. “So, Glinda.”

She tried not to grimace. “That… is me.”

“Why the name change?”

“I’m allowed to have political interests too, you know,” Glinda sniffed.

He sighed.

Glinda, unable to keep her smile convincingly glued to her face, deflated. “Or try, at least,” she said in a forced whisper. “I said I’d be better for Elphaba. Now that we’re together. Don’t I owe her that?”

Fiyero winced slightly. Or was he just squinting at the sun?

“I know it’s ridiculous,” Glinda said bitterly.

“No, it really is very admirable.” He wasn’t quite convincing. There was too much amusement in his voice.

Glinda frowned. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“Sorry.” His shoulders dropped. “You could just be happy, you know.”

“I am,” Glinda said, not even lying. “I just don’t think I deserve it. So excuse me—”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Fiyero tilted his head. “What a strange notion. If you’re happy, don’t question it. Just be happy you’re happy.”

“You’re saying the word happy too much, it’s starting to lose meaning.” Glinda forced her arms to relax by her side. “And while it’s flattering that you’re so concerned with my—happiness—”

“As friends are.”

“—I think I can handle it. It’s not a bad thing to want to be a better person, Fiyero.”

“Yes, but you don’t have to twist yourself into a knot for it.” He turned and smiled, kindly, at her, with his ridiculous large eyes and dashing dimple.

“It clearly doesn’t come easy to me. Do you even know how awful I was before you came here?”

“Probably not,” Fiyero admitted. “But you were very winsome from the moment I arrived.” He grinned like he was trying to charm her. “Maybe it was me.”

Glinda raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not very good at this, am I?” Fiyero’s grin faded, leaving only furrowed eyebrows and his lips parted in a slight exhale. “Do you know when I stopped thinking you were just winsomely charming?”

She shook her head.

“At the Ozdust,” he said. “When you danced with Elphaba. You walked forward with such a tremble in your step, and the dance—”

“You don’t have to give me a play-by-play, I was there,” Glinda mumbled, but there were tears in her eyes.

“You were creating it together, in the moment. Just the two of you. It was fascinating, nothing like I’d ever seen before. And I thought oh. Any girl who can understand another person like that… ” He smiled fondly at the memory.

“This feels very patronizing,” Glinda said flatly. Then she hugged Fiyero tightly from the side, forgiving him for his condescension or genuine sympathy, both options equally exasperating. “Do you want to get dinner tonight?”

She felt Fiyero nod against the top of her head. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Galinda.”

“You’re paying,” she said, voice muffled against his shirt. She pulled away from him, a hushed sadness settled neatly over her body like a heavy cloak in winter. “I think I’ll go say goodbye to Elphaba now.”

Fiyero nodded. “See you later.”

Oz, how to face Elphaba? She felt embarrassed and sad, but mainly ridiculous. Fiyero’s words, though certainly well-intentioned, had offered little comfort. You don’t have to try so hard. What good would it do, if at the end there was still Elphaba with her impossible goodness and Glinda, forever waiting to deserve what she had? Elphaba, who would surely one day wake up with frightening clarity about who Glinda really was, who she would always be…

When she found Elphaba, hugging Nessa goodbye, she waited until they had parted, then cleared her throat.  

“Galinda.” Elphaba’s face brightened, then fell. “Are you alright?”

“It’s Glinda now,” Glinda said, turning towards Elphaba and pressing herself against her dress, hoping it would hide the tears still threatening to stream down her cheeks. “Oz, I’m so stupid.”

“It doesn’t matter what your name is.” Elphaba’s hand trailed lightly up and down Glinda’s back. “Everyone loves you.”

“I don’t want everyone,” Glinda said, pulling back and staring at Elphaba, not caring that she was now openly crying. “I want you. I want you to think I’m a good person. I just don’t think I am—” her voice broke, painfully, embarrassingly. “This must be what other people feel like,” she wailed. “How do they bear it?” Her gaze fell to the bouquet of poppies, hanging limply from Elphaba’s hand. As their gentle scent floated up to her, she was flooded with the memory of Elphaba’s reassurance, her groundless belief in Glinda. It was so painful she had to look away.

Elphaba looked slightly lost, but she stepped forward and hugged Glinda again. “Oh, Ga—Glinda,” she whispered. “You’ll be fine.”

“It’s definitely not Gaglinda,” Glinda sniffed.

Elphaba stepped back and brushed the tears off Glinda’s cheek with a tender swipe of her thumb. “It’s only two days,” she whispered. “Galinda or Glinda, I’ll be happy to see you.”

“Two days.” One night without Elphaba, alone in their bed, clutching a pillow to her chest and hoping she would come back to her.

The heavy silence between them was split by the sharp whistle of the train.

“And that’s your cue,” Glinda said, trying to look upbeat. She was happy. Happy for Elphie, happy for herself to have someone who cared so much about her… wasn’t it a good thing, to feel badly about oneself from time to time? It meant she had not just accepted the way she was; she could still let Elphaba change her.

Casting that thought aside, she pulled Elphaba in and kissed her goodbye. Her breath was ragged when they parted.

“Come with me,” Elphaba said then, so quietly Glinda thought she had hallucinated it in her desperation. But then she said it again, louder, staring down at the dusty platform. “Come with me.”

“What?”

The whistle blew again. Glinda’s skin erupted into goosebumps.

“To the Emerald City.”

“I only have my purse. I—I don’t even have a change of shoes.”

“Who cares?” Elphaba brought a hand up quickly, to touch the side of Glinda’s face. “Come with me.”

When their eyes met, Glinda felt a chill. Did it mean anything? Was it just the wind? Years later, she still woke sometimes with a disquieting certainty that a part of her had known what was to come and had ignored it, in favor of being dragged away on an adventure in the Emerald City. But it was useless to speculate on events lodged so firmly in the past. Elphaba had, for better or worse, made up her mind. Who would Glinda have been to challenge it? So it was inevitable, how it happened in the end: Elphaba taking her hand to pull her onto the train without another word, Glinda staring helplessly into Elphaba’s deep green eyes, not quite believing what was happening. Then Elphaba took a resolute step forward and kissed her with such certainty that all doubt—if there had been doubt—left her mind and she forgot what she’d been crying about.

--

“I saw you make that face, Nor. Are you like this in all of your interviews? It’s rather disconcerting. Just to give you some feedback.”

“I didn’t make a face,” I said, choosing to ignore the rest of her comment. She didn’t even seem offended. She sat on the couch too lazily for that, heels crossed over each other and fiddling with a tassel on a pillow. I’d only raised my eyebrows slightly as she talked about her name change, and she had seemed so far away I was surprised she even registered any of my movements at all. “I’m just surprised.”

“It sounds ridiculous, I know.”

“I don’t even find it that ridiculous,” I said. I’d just assumed she’d dropped the “a” at some point to seem chic. Or to align herself with the saint, which seemed to be a very Glinda-like thing to do.

“That makes one of us.”

“Why’d you keep it, then?”

Glinda shrugged. “I wanted to live up to it.”

“To the name?”

“To the feeling I had,” she said, eyebrows knitting themselves together as she searched for words. “The feeling I had to do something.”

--

“Oh, I wonder what this one does!” Glinda waved Elphaba over excitedly and pointed at a particularly enticing bright gold button. “Come on, let’s try it!”

“We don’t need to press every button,” Elphaba said, but her nose crinkled in curiosity in the way Glinda loved. “I don’t want to break—”

“Elphie,” Glinda said sternly, catching Elphaba’s hand in her own and guiding it to the button. “Once in a lifetime opportunity.”

Elphaba poked it cautiously, eyes lighting up as part of the wall in front of them slid up to reveal a green bottle, clouded in smoke. “Okay, that was a good one.”

“See?” Glinda beamed and grabbed the bottle out of the wall. “This looks fancy,” she said, squinting at the label. “And expensive.” She nodded resolutely. “Let’s drink it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Not now.” Glinda nudged Elphaba’s side. “Tonight. After your meeting.”

“It might help if I’m drunk,” Elphaba muttered darkly. “Then I can get the words out.”

“I’ll hear none of that,” Glinda said. “You’re going to be amazing.” She opened Elphaba’s suitcase and stashed the bottle inside, wrapping it in a sweater. Just in case. Who knew about the integrity of potentially magic bottles. “Now we have something to look forward to.”

Elphaba sighed, but she still shot Glinda a smile as she strode back to the daybed and flopped onto it. “So, what do we want to do first?”

“Shopping,” Glinda said immediately, rushing after her. “I need a change of clothes for tomorrow. And a change of clothes for the Wizard. And a change—”

“You realize we only have the one train to take us back, right?” Elphaba looked strict, but her upper lip twitched.

Glinda’s stomach flipped as her gaze fell onto Elphaba’s mouth.

“But fine. We can get you an outfit first,” Elphaba conceded.

“Thank you,” Glinda said primly, stomach still somersaulting. Oz, she had probably kissed Elphaba dozens of times that very morning, and she still got lost in the quirk of her lips. Glinda coughed and grabbed a brochure off the table, opening it to a page at random. “Oz’s largest lollipop,” she read out loud. “And the History Museum, for you—we can get Fiyero a postcard—”

“We only have one day,” Elphaba reminded her gently.

“I walk fast, Elphaba,” Glinda said, leaning her head onto Elphaba’s shoulder.

“Quickly,” Elphaba corrected.

Glinda waved her hand. “Whatever. You definitely want to go.”

“You know me.” Elphaba blushed.

Lacing their hands together, Glinda nodded. “I so do,” she said, wanting to sound flippant. It came out more like a confession—a heavy whisper, loaded silence in the room. Closing her eyes, she tipped her head forward and kissed Elphaba’s neck lightly once, then again.

“Is that alright?” Glinda murmured.

Elphaba nodded. She sat ramrod straight on the daybed, dress spilling down towards the floor. The picture of collectedness was betrayed only by the quietest sigh and a slight extension of her neck, arcing backwards. Glinda had to keep herself from grinning in anticipation. “We don’t have a good track record with trains,” she said, kissing Elphaba’s neck again with more purpose, opening her mouth slightly.

“We don’t,” Elphaba mumbled absentmindedly.

“But the carpet’s been vacuumed in the last century, at least.” Glinda placed a hand lightly on Elphaba’s thigh, over the thick fabric of her dress. She remembered touching Elphaba there without restriction, the silky skin of her inner thigh, the ripple of tensing muscle… but that wasn’t the point, now. There was a time and a place. Elphaba, whose nerves had already been bursting on the platform, would certainly want to focus on her meeting with the Wizard and Glinda could control herself, if she had to.

Quickly, she withdrew her hand and kissed Elphaba’s neck again briskly before sitting back. “Well. No need to risk anything. Trains are unpredictable, and the Emerald City railroad line is famously underdeveloped—I did read that article, you know—”

“Galinda,” Elphaba interrupted hastily, “please stop talking.”

“I’m making conversation,” Glinda continued. “And it’s Glinda—”

“Oz,” Elphaba said. Then she kissed Glinda so urgently there was hardly any time to register what was happening before Elphaba’s hands were on her face, flitting over her waist. How did she do it, so she was everywhere at once, like she had multiplied herself? She didn’t have time to think about it as Elphaba’s fingers moved towards the back of Glinda’s head, threading themselves through her hair.

“Your meeting,” Glinda said weakly. “You need to concentrate on your meeting.”

Elphaba pulled back, cheeks flushed. “That’s tonight,” she said, hand trailing down Glinda’s neck. “I don’t want to think about it.” She looked down. “I want to think about you.”

Glinda’s hands moved autonomously to Elphaba’s waist, warm even through her dress. “Your dress,” she whispered. Her fingers gripped the fabric, itching to pull it away, to tear it if need be. She held them still instead. “It’ll get wrinkled.” 

“Take it off,” Elphaba said.

“What?” Her body whirred, longing for Elphaba. It screamed to touch her properly, as she sat with her hands stiffly on Elphaba’s waist. “But the train people—”

“They won’t come in.” Elphaba sounded so sure that Glinda instantly believed it, for whatever reason. “We’re alone.”

Glinda swallowed.

Elphaba’s gaze flickered. “Do you—do you want this?”

“Yes,” Glinda breathed, allowing her hands to slide towards Elphaba’s back. Oz, she wanted it so badly. “I just—” I’m just nervous, she wanted to say, but it felt ridiculous considering the ease with which she normally tugged Elphaba’s clothes off. Inadvertently, she glanced at the polished walls, the Wizard’s emblem plastered over every otherwise blank surface.

“It’s no different than at home,” Elphaba said, gently tipping Glinda’s face up with a knuckle. “There’s you—me—”

“Well, we’re sort of integral for the process.” Glinda shifted helplessly as her body flooded with anticipation. “I can imagine it’d be difficult without either one of us.”

Elphaba rolled her eyes, flattening her hand against Glinda’s face for better purchase. Glinda’s eyelids fluttered shut as Elphaba pressed open-mouthed kisses onto her neck, teeth just grazing her skin, her jaw, her lips. Suppressing a moan, Glinda fumbled towards the zipper of Elphaba’s dress and nudged it hesitantly downwards.

“Good,” Elphaba whispered.

Glinda’s stomach clenched at the encouragement. With new determination, she kept pulling until the dress split open from the back and she could trace down the taut muscles of Elphaba’s spine. She slid off the daybed, pulling Elphaba up with her, guiding the dress off her shoulders so that it fell into a heap at her feet.

“We’ll have to hang it up,” Glinda said absentmindedly. She draped it over a chair, trying to ignore the blood rushing in her ears.

Elphaba cleared her throat. “Yours, too.” She reached forward and undid the fastenings of Glinda’s dress with businesslike efficiency. “Better,” she whispered. Then she walked over to the door and turned the lock, which slid into place with a decisive click.

Glinda could only stare at Elphaba, her skin tingling with goosebumps.

“Are you nervous?” Elphaba asked, crooked smile spreading across her face. “I thought this would be better than the Great Gillikin Railservice.” She sat down on the daybed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“I’m not nervous,” Glinda said, shaking herself out of her trance. Her legs trembled as she stepped out of her dress and kicked it out of the way, watching Elphaba’s eyebrow shoot upwards for the briefest of seconds. The train rattled beneath them. “I just—”

“Come here,” Elphaba said, her voice a breathless laugh.

Determined, Glinda walked over to Elphaba and straddled her upper thighs. “I’m not nervous,” she repeated indignantly, looping her arms around Elphaba’s neck. It wasn’t nerves that made her entire body thrum with electricity. “It’s just—unexpected, that’s all.” She shivered—the train wasn’t exactly warm, not up to par for this standard of luxury—then exhaled sharply as Elphaba’s hands, burning hot, moved over her back, forward to her sides, over her stomach. She felt Elphaba’s every fingertip, then the soft pressure of her mouth, scattered across her chest and neck. Flustered, she moved her hands to cup Elphaba’s face, then leaned down to kiss her, teasing her bottom lip with her teeth.

Elphaba let out a shuddering breath as Glinda pulled away, staring at Elphaba’s wide pupils, the flush blooming on her cheeks. “Are you nervous?” she asked innocently.

“No,” Elphaba said. Her voice was so soft it was almost a sigh. Her hands returned to the small of Glinda’s back, holding her steady.

“Good,” Glinda said dumbly, because she could think of nothing else to say. Gently—marveling at her own coordination—she kissed Elphaba again and shifted her weight forward so Elphaba sprawled onto her back, thigh between Glinda’s legs. She arched her hips upwards for more contact and began to pull Glinda closer with her soft hands on her face— “Patience,” Glinda murmured, plucking Elphaba’s wrist out of the air and holding it down neatly. She giggled at the eyeroll she received, deservedly, then returned her attention to the warm skin of Elphaba’s stomach, moving steadily downwards.

Despite the clatter of the train, it was easy to lose themselves to the thrilling familiarity of each other. Their hands, interwoven, pressed together on the mattress, to anchor themselves or just for comfort. Glinda felt raw, exposed, completely occupied by Elphaba, then by her mouth, her lean fingers, her own begging turning more and more incoherent as her mind crowded with sensation. The train did nothing to distract her. They had locked the door, but the doorknob did not attempt to turn. The train did not stop. It swayed intensely only once, letting them press their foreheads together with exasperated laughter as they nearly tumbled off the daybed. Otherwise, it stayed obediently on track. And so when they collapsed next to each other—gasping, skin slick with sweat—Glinda truly, for a moment, forgot where she was.

It came back to her in bits and bursts as she dozed, Elphaba’s fingers lightly trailing up and down her stomach: the dusty sunlight on the platform, the gleaming surfaces of the train, her dress, forgotten in a corner. When she kept her eyes closed, there was only daylight filtering through her eyelids, Elphaba’s fingertips on her skin, the scent of her perfume and starched, washed sheets. “How long do we still have?” she murmured, turning to nudge her nose into Elphaba.

She felt the rise and fall of her chest as Elphaba breathed. “An hour or two, maybe.”

“Hmm.”

“I can check.”

“Don’t,” Glinda said as Elphaba shifted away from her. “We have time.” She moved upwards to kiss her, finding her lips just with the tips of her fingers, eyelids still closed.

“We just can’t sleep too long,” Elphaba whispered as they broke apart, but there was more than a hint of drowsiness in her voice.

“Let’s not fall asleep again, then.” Glinda opened her eyes to look at Elphaba’s face, a more luminous green than anything else on the train, unlined and smooth. She would never see her this young again. “We can talk. Or not. Whatever you want.”

Elphaba nodded and shot her the smallest smile. “I’m just happy you’re here.”

“I’m happy you invited me,” she said, placing her hand delicately on the side of Elphaba’s face. She leaned in to kiss the tip of her nose. “You could have given me more advance notice, though. With the clothes. We could’ve coordinated outfits.”

Elphaba laughed slightly, shifting so her head nestled against Glinda’s shoulder. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Glinda said lightly.

“I didn’t want to leave you, my sweet. I did promise.”

Promises in a poppy field. Glinda’s heart ached. “I thought you meant leave me in the figurative sense. You’re still allowed to do things on your own, you know.”

“I know.” Elphaba rolled her eyes slightly. “But I couldn’t imagine doing this without you.”

“You’re going to be amazing,” Glinda whispered against Elphaba’s hair. “You’re going to blow him away.”

“Seems like a bad way to get into his good graces.”

“Not literally, Elphie.”

The train, rumbling, filled the silence.

“He has to help the Animals,” Elphaba said. It sounded more like a prayer than an assured statement. “If—if that’s my heart’s desire.”

Glinda nodded cautiously. “Of course. Why wouldn’t he?”

They fell silent again, flush against each other. Glinda shivered, suddenly cold. How hard could it be to climate-control a train? Or was it nerves? Regardless, she nestled even closer to Elphaba, who threaded her hand through Glinda’s, then held it to her chest, so Glinda could feel her breath hitch.

“What’s wrong?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” Glinda breathed, suddenly nervous. “Anything.” Her fingers traced the edge of Elphaba’s hipbone, the corrugation of her ribs.

There was a bare hopefulness on Elphaba’s face, like a layer of fear and nerves had been peeled off partway. She glanced over at Glinda and smiled, teeth poking out between her lips.

Helplessly, though she still didn’t know what was happening, Glinda smiled back.

“I have these”—Elphaba took a deep breath, as if to steady herself— “visions.”

“Visions,” Glinda said, feeling her lungs squeeze together involuntarily. “Like…”

Like in dozens of cautionary tales, regularly woven into Glinda’s bedtime stories. The Wizard Percival, who had gazed too deeply into the heart of the Time Dragon Clock and became convinced he could change the fate predicted to him, then tore his entire village into an early death as a result. Oswald the Overly Pious, who heard a prophecy about his glorious destiny and became obsessed with laying the bricks of his life so he would fulfill it, forgoing any other ties. But Elphaba did not have the fevered look of a religious fanatic nor the hardened determination of a warrior frantic to avert his fate. She just looked like Elphaba: cozy, warm, staring at Glinda with those magnificent green eyes that contained such depth of color they felt endless.

“I see them in glass,” she said. “Darkened windows, or shards of broken bottles. Not always.”

“What do you see?” Glinda asked, propping herself up with an elbow.

“People cheering.” Elphaba sighed. “Because of me, I think.”

“As they should,” Glinda said. “What am I wearing? Do I look good?”

“It’s not clear enough to tell.” Elphaba reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind Glinda’s ear. “But I’m sure you do.”

“Thank Oz,” Glinda said lightly, not knowing what Elphaba wanted her to say. “But those are good, right? Good visions?”

“They are,” Elphaba agreed. “I just don’t know if they’ll come true or not. Or if I’m just imagining it.” She closed her eyes. “Or if I’m lying to myself.”

“No.” Glinda took Elphaba’s hands and turned them over in her own. “It’ll come true.” Looking down, the intricate creases of Elphaba’s palms whispered gentle reassurance.

“Glinda—”

“I know it will,” Glinda said, kissing them. She didn’t have visions, but she had faith. That would just have to do.  

All the while, the train shook and groaned around them, like a sleek beast that had accidentally swallowed them and did not find its meal particularly easy to digest. Glinda found it comforting, almost. A symphony of metal against metal, wind and dull pressure against her ears as they shot through long, dark tunnels. And if the noise became too much or the pressure began to hurt, Elphaba was there. In that moment, she was there.

--

“The visions…”

“She was right, of course. As always.” Glinda looked down at her nails. “Absolutely insufferable character trait, if you ask me. Even if it wasn’t in the way she thought or wanted.” Her shoulders arched forward. There was a deep-set frown on her face.

“You mean the Melting Day celebrations.” I didn’t remember them—I had been much too young for that. But people said it was like the first rain after the Great Drought: the land awash in relief, people dancing in Munchkinland’s cobbled streets and dirt roads, the Emerald City’s smoothly paved avenues.

“What else?” Glinda pushed her glasses up with her index finger, studying me with wary resignation. “They wanted to make it a national holiday, you know. A yearly Melting Day, with children off from school and a bonfire and a parade.” Her nose scrunched in disapproval. “I said we should look forward, instead of dwelling on the past.”

“And they listened.”

“Of course they did.” Glinda sighed. “I thought of letting them have it. Their happiness. But there are many things to be happy about.”

I could have pushed her. I could have said that the people of Oz were relieved to end a time of terror and instability, and that she could have lived, once a year, with a celebration to mark the death of the woman she loved. But I imagined screeching cries of joy, smoke rising in the sky, burning straw figures of the Witch who had, at some point, been Elphaba, and my stomach twisted. I couldn’t do it. And I’d always hated bonfires, anyway, so I changed the subject instead. “Do you think Elphaba knew what exactly was going to happen with the Wizard? Did she go into it with the plan to steal the Grimmerie, or—”

“No,” Glinda said, sounding annoyed. “Why would she have? She thought she was going to get her heart’s desire.”

“Which would have been what, exactly?”

“For him to help the Animals.” Glinda’s gaze was cool, but her voice broke. “Noble and idealistic, obviously. She believed in him that much. She thought he could have done it with a snap of his fingers.” Painstakingly, she cleared her throat. “It would have been good, her heart’s desire. Better than mine.”

It seemed cruel to keep asking, like hitting an animal in the unprotected underside of its belly, but the words tumbled out on their own. “What would you have wished for?”

Glinda let out a stilted laugh. “Elphaba. For us to be together, and happy.”

“Oh.”

“I’m selfish, what can I say?”

I opened my mouth to reply—something encouraging, something kind—but she dismissed me with a flick of her hand. “Enough for today, Nor,” she said, getting up fluidly. “I’m sorry.”

Chapter Text

My tea was getting cold as I chased my thoughts around in circles, but I still couldn’t stop.

The Witch. Elphaba. I saw them intertwined like a parasite and its host. The Witch biding her time until… until what, exactly? Elphaba with her soft, hopeful visions, not of decay and destruction but of people cheering for her.  The thought made my stomach hurt. The pieces of information I had stacked on each other—my usual approach, to build an overview from different sources, to compare and create something coherent—clashed too much.  They edged up against each other, discordant. Living, twitching, the truth was in front of me; I had it nearly in my grasp, Glinda was serving it to me on a platter. But wasn’t the truth supposed to make sense, so that one could integrate it into what one already knew? Wasn’t—

“So… what do you even talk about in there, for hours on end?” Miss Daisy asked timidly, letting herself fall onto a kitchen chair.

I flinched at the sound and nearly dropped my mug.

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s that bad,” she said. She had a bright, animated face with eyebrows that moved fluidly to express whatever excitement or indignation she felt. They dipped down and pulled themselves together, then relaxed in surrender. She called out, in direction of the hallway, “Billie! I told you she wouldn’t talk!”

“Daisy, leave Nor alone,” Miss Billie said sweetly, walking into the kitchen. “I thought you were responsible for food?”

“I thought it’d be a worth a try.” Miss Daisy shrugged. “After weeks.”

“You’ve terrified her,” Miss Billie said, motioning to me with a wing.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, unsure if I was lying or not. “I—I don’t know if Glinda wants me to say anything—”

Glinda definitely didn’t want me to say anything. At the same time, I craved a normal interaction so badly I was considering throwing all etiquette and common sense out of the window and spilling everything.

“I could’ve expected that,” Miss Daisy said, deflating slightly.

“You should absolutely have expected that,” Miss Billie muttered and hopped up onto a chair. “Oz knows I’ve kept her schedule for years and even with me she’s very tight-lipped. Though I once heard a throwaway comment about a university love—”

“You always brag about that,” Miss Daisy complained, “and I think that’s unfair.” She turned to me and twisted her eyes upwards. “Glinda never tells me anything. And I’m trustworthy. I asked her why her favorite color is pink once and she said ‘Oh, Daisy, must we always understand everything about one another?’” Though her voice was pitched a smidge too high, it was undeniably Glinda’s sharp upper-class dialect and airy tone.

“I’m sorry,” I said feebly, looking back and forth between them, completely overwhelmed by the pace of the conversation in contrast to Glinda’s pensive musings. “So she didn’t tell you what she’s up to?”

“She told us that she’d found someone for an interview,” Miss Daisy said. “She was terribly excited for a few days. But then you got here and it was right back to usual. A shame, really.” Seeing the look on my face, she shook her head emphatically. “I didn’t mean it like that, you seem perfectly nice. You could tell us more, I guess. But that’s probably why she chose you? Discretion and all that?”

“Glinda’s not too prone to sharing, dearie,” Miss Billie said. “So you must forgive us” –she looked pointedly at Miss Daisy, who got up and busied herself with wiping down the kitchen counter— “for our very inappropriate curiosity.”

“That’s fine,” I said, wondering what Glinda would think of this, wondering, for some reason, if I was disappointing her by even entertaining this conversation. “But you’ve both been in her employ for some time?” Oz, what was that phrasing?

“Around 20 years, I reckon?” Miss Billie tilted her head.

“I’m newer,” Miss Daisy said. “Chuff hired me last year.”

It took me a moment. “Lord Chuffrey, you mean?” Somehow, I’d almost forgotten about Glinda’s husband. To be fair, it seemed like she had, too.

“The very one,” Miss Billie said, clucking sadly. “May he rest in peace.”

There were no pictures of him anywhere, I realized. Not even from the wedding, which had been broadly covered in society magazines and in the Emerald City Courier, an intimate event a couple of years after Fiyero had disappeared. I thought of him next to Glinda at the school’s opening, nondescript compared to his wife, only a part of my memory because of his proximity to her. “What was he like, then?”

“I liked him.” Miss Billie shrugged.  

“He hired me,” Miss Daisy said. “So no complaints here. But he died shortly after that, so.” She leaned back against the counter. “Even before that, he was never here. I think he hired me because he was worried she’d be lonely. And because the food she makes is terrible.”

“We shouldn’t talk badly about them,” Miss Billie said. “But yes, the food was magnificently awful. Inedible, Nor.” She shuddered. “I like to think Chuff did it for me, too. As a parting gift. Though he generally wasn’t one for sentiment—”

There were rapid footsteps in the hall, and the three of us went quiet like schoolchildren when a teacher enters the classroom.

“I’m sure this silence is a group-led contemplative meditation on the state of Oz,” Glinda said plainly, standing in the door with a sunhat under her arm, “so I am choosing not to subject it to further interpretation.”

“I have your breakfast ready, Glinda,” Miss Daisy said, getting up hastily, but not nervously. “I thought you’d be awake earlier, but I can warm—”

“I’ll take it on the back terrace.” Glinda motioned vaguely towards the garden. “The weather is lovely today. And I’m getting tired of the sitting room. The curtains are so ugly. Don’t you agree, Nor?”

“I...”

“Hm. I’ll take that as a yes. Rather rude of you, to insult my curtains. Terrace it is.”

Sending Miss Daisy and Miss Billie a helpless look, I followed her out the back.

--

“Have you been to the Emerald City?” Glinda sounded light-hearted. Cheery, even. She held a scone from her plate out to me, but I was too full or nervous to eat anything more and shook my head. Her feet, clad in characteristic pink heels, brushed against the ground.

“I live there, usually, between assignments.”

“Oh.” Glinda’s legs stopped swinging. Then she blinked. “So you know the city. I lived there for a while too, obviously. But that was the first time I went. With Elphaba.” She smiled sadly, tracing indistinct shapes on the table. “Sometimes I think it would’ve been better if I hadn’t gone with her.”

“Because things would have turned out differently?”

“I don’t think so.” She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. “But I saw her there constantly, even though it was impossible. I felt her. Like she was waiting around a corner. Or I’d pass shops we might have seen, on that one day, and think—oh, we could have stood right here…”

Oz, it was surprisingly chilly. I briefly wished I’d put a sweater on. Then the sun broke through the clouds. I felt smothered with a lucid sadness, for these girls hurtling towards their fate. “Glinda—”

“We were only there for a day.” Her voice was neutral. She looked towards the ground, then at her hand, clutching a teacup rigidly. “So we couldn’t have seen that much. But—” Her voice faltered.

“It was the possibility of it,” I finished quietly.

“Yes.” She let the teacup go and stretched out her fingers.

Instinctively, I reached out and touched her arm through a layer of gauzy fabric. “We don’t have to talk about it today if you don’t want to.”

“Thank Oz, I’m sure I’ll have a blast with it tomorrow.” She took a deep breath. “No, there’s no point. It won’t change anything. We might as well get it over with.”

--

The shift in Elphaba crept up on them like a change in the weather. As they stepped out of the train station, she shielded her eyes from the sun glaring off spectacularly green buildings, then shrank back when a carriage plunged through a puddle in front of them and nearly sprayed them with dirty water.  Her face was carefully blank. Her hands moved towards the strap of her shoulder bag and clutched it as if it would steady her.

“It’s alright, Elphie,” Glinda said, brushing a hand up against her back. She did not necessarily feel at ease in the commotion, but gathered all the confidence she could muster up for Elphaba. “Look.” She pointed. “There’s a patch of flowers. We have those at Shiz, too. I think you even have them in Munchkinland.”

Elphaba smiled, barely, and relaxed enough to take Glinda’s hand.

Yes, there was a lot going on. A stream of people and Animals pulsed around them, babbling in the bright accent of the Emerald City, their sentences a melody of vibrant up-and-down, the broad twang of Gillikin—Glinda winced, thankful for her elocution classes—Qua’ati, Fliaan, even a shred or two of Arjiki. And it was all, unsurprisingly, green. Either green-washed, from the reflections of the buildings, or truly green if it could be dyed or painted or had the good fortune to be green by nature. They moved with the crowd, not knowing exactly where they were going, too intimidated to fight against the current, their only security in the warmth of the other’s hand.

Little by little, it felt more manageable. Glinda stepped adeptly to the side as a bicycle came up behind them, with barely a squeak of surprise. They successfully managed to navigate their way out of the business district, only stopping to squabble about which street to take once.

Elphaba was right. She had a good sense of direction.

The skyscrapers gave way to art galleries with their doors open, a theatre with columns, delightfully Ozmic with their volutes, though they looked much too new to be original. Glinda felt her heartbeat slow slightly, in time with her steps. “Nice hat,” a Cat said as it slinked past them on a low brick wall. Elphaba’s hands reached upwards, like she wanted to make sure it was still there. Then she truly smiled, in the way that made Glinda’s heart soft.

By the time they’d bought a postcard or two for Elphaba—“For me?” Glinda had asked, but Elphaba had only rolled her eyes—and a toothbrush and a dress for Glinda—she was capable of restraint, in dire and unprecedented situations—Elphaba moved a bit more securely, dashing across the street with everyone else, no longer dependent on Glinda’s hand pulling her forward. And as they strolled through a park on their way to the history museum, Elphaba nudged her gently with her elbow and pointed at a bench. “Do you want to sit?”

“Oh,” Glinda said. “We can. But I thought we’d hurry, so we have more time at the museum.”

“I want to soak it in.”

Glinda nodded and let Elphaba lead her to the bench.

“It’s all green,” Elphaba said quietly.  She took her hat off and set it next to them, then sat back and closed her eyes, tilting her face up towards the sun. The light, filtered through the leaves, shone on her face. “Like me.”

“It’s beautiful.” Glinda’s shopping bag rustled between her feet. She found herself unable to look away from Elphaba, the shine that seemed to surround her.

“I never thought I’d like it here,” Elphaba confessed. Her breathing was deep and even. “In a city, with so many people.”

Glinda, not daring to exhale, nodded.

“But nobody’s staring,” Elphaba continued, “or pointing. For the first time I’m somewhere I belong.”

“You look positively emerald,” Glinda whispered, chest pulling itself together as she saw a tear run down Elphaba’s cheek.

Elphaba opened her eyes and shook her head. Then she beamed at Galinda. “Look,” she said, pointing at a row of houses, barely visible through the trees. “We could live there. With a view of the park.”

Glinda’s heart sped up. “We?”

“Yes,” Elphaba said, like it was obvious. “I’ll work in the palace. You can—”

“I’ll be your trophy wife,” Glinda said quickly. “I can bring you lunch every day. Store-bought. I won’t cook, don’t worry.”

“I think you’d be too bored as a trophy wife, my sweet,” Elphaba said.

Glinda imagined it—floating down halls in fancy dresses, sitting in their apartment watering plants or bouncing around rooms, waiting for Elphaba to come home. Limply, she shrugged. “What else would I do?”

“You could work with me.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Glinda ducked her head, embarrassed. “I don’t think I’d be very good at it. Considering the best thing I came up with in response to Dr. Dillamond getting arrested was changing my name.”

A group of Zebras trotted across the path in front of them, discussing something with hushed voices.

“We can figure it out together,” Elphaba said.

“Elphie…” Glinda’s hands kneaded themselves together in her lap. “I don’t think I’m quite like you in that regard.” She saw Elphaba swallow. “Not that I don’t want to be,” Glinda added hastily, “but I don’t know what makes you think I could do this.”

“I’m willing to take a leap of faith.” Elphaba smiled at her, cautious hope in her eyes. “For the girl who danced with me at the Ozdust.”

Glinda felt something fracture in her. A delicate joy leaked out of the cracks.

“We’ll find something for you,” Elphaba said, jumping off the bench and holding out a hand to her. “Palace or no palace. Let’s go look around.”

“But you wanted to go to the history museum,” Glinda protested. She slid off the bench and took Elphaba’s hand daintily in her own. “Before Wiz-O-Mania.”

“I seem to recall you saying something about not harping on the past.” Elphaba’s smile brightened her entire face.

“Oz,” Glinda groaned. “Must you mock me so?”

“Yes.” Elphaba reached up to touch Glinda’s cheekbone. Glinda, trying to roll her eyes, could only blush. “It’s fun.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re having fun,” Glinda grumbled, though she felt light. “But fine. If you insist, we can go check out the neighborhood—”

“Our neighborhood,” Elphaba corrected her.

“Our neighborhood,” Glinda said as a gentle warmth that had nothing to do with the green-tinged sun spread through her torso. “Well, then. Miss Elphaba.” Was it healthy, how her heart skipped over itself? “Lead the way.”

As so Elphaba was unrecognizable as the girl who had stuttered off the train and stared at the towering skyscrapers and the surrounding bustle with an air of uncertainty and trepidation. Instead, she seemed completely at ease, part of the city itself—shimmering green, splendid, a thousand possibilities wrapped up in one. She turned back to Glinda and smiled, more brilliantly than a thousand emeralds or diamonds or any luxury stone Glinda could name. Glinda caught up to her then and linked their arms together, determined not to lose her in the crowd. As if that would even been possible. They made their way out of the park into the quieter, more residential part of the neighborhood, with trees passing over them and New Pastorial houses.

“I like that house,” Elphaba said, pointing at one on the corner.

“It’s right by an intersection. And I hate decorative shutters. How about that one?”

“The one with the tower?” Elphaba tilted her head. “What are we going to do with a tower?”

“Your lack of creativity wounds me,” Glinda sniffed. “There are many uses for a tower. We could—”

“You could use it as a closet,” Elphaba suggested sweetly.

“Well, it’s much too small for that.” Glinda felt like she was floating, on the verge of a laugh as soon as she opened her mouth or breathed. “Maybe for your books.”

“Alright, then. The house with the tower it is.”  

They stopped in front of it, staring up at the windows together. Glinda imagined the curtain sliding back, all their things mixed up together—books lying strewn about with Glinda’s sketchbooks, Elphaba’s boots on a shelf next to her favorite pair of heels. Elphaba coming in the door, shaking her head, complaining effusively about some dignitary or other. Glinda tired from a day of something-or-other, finally content, greeting her with a kiss to the temple. And as for the tower—they’d figure something out.

“Would you like that?” Elphaba asked, almost shyly, breaking Glinda out of her reverie.

“Of course.” Glinda reached over to hold Elphaba’s arm, already linked with her own. “I’d—nothing would make me happier.”

“Good.” Elphaba exhaled slowly. “We’ll have to remember it.”

Glinda stared at the street, trying to commit it to memory: the way it sloped slightly upward, the neat sidewalk stones, the iron-wrought fences and mailboxes all in different shades of green. Though the green was probably universal in the Emerald City. But standing there, in front of the house of the tower, it felt like home. Not like her parents’ house, which was home because it was where she was from, but rather home in the sense that it was where she would go. “I’ll try to remember,” she said, “but you might have to help me find it.”

“Let’s keep going,” Elphaba said, pulling Glinda forward again.

They found a library a few blocks away—“Walking distance,” Elphaba said, her giddiness so infectious Glinda leapt up into the air to clap enthusiastically—a salon where they both got their nails done—“I’m glad they don’t just have green,” Glinda confessed a little sheepishly, looking at their vast selection of colors, pink and purple and blue—and a coffee shop, where they sat and ordered identical green drinks.

“We still need to figure out something for you,” Elphaba said, stirring her drink before picking it up to examine the viridescent bubbles. “Do you think this is safe to drink?”

“Yes.” Glinda giggled a little, then took a sip. It had a pleasant taste, not dissimilar to the tea served at Shiz. “Don’t you think they’d have more of a problem here, if the green wasn’t safe?”

“I guess.” Elphaba looked dubiously at her drink before lowering her head, nipping at it so awkwardly Glinda couldn’t stop from laughing. When Elphaba laughed, too, she jostled the cup, sending a wave of liquid onto the table. “Sorry,” she said quickly, searching for a napkin.

“Elphie, it’s fine.” Glinda produced a tissue out of the depths of her purse. “It happens.”

“I guess I’m nervous,” Elphaba said, mopping up the drink with a blush burning around her ears. “I forget, sometimes. What we’re here for.” She paused and looked up at Glinda, pushing her mouth to the side in what could, perhaps, pass for half a smile. “I walk around with you and it’s like none of it matters. It’s about houses with towers or the coffee shop we’ll go to.” Her chest heaved. “Then I think about the Wizard—”

Glinda reached forward and touched Elphaba’s wrist. “What are you afraid of?”

Elphaba stood to throw the napkin away, then sat down neatly on her chair. “I never wanted anything my whole life,” she said, swallowing visibly. “Or it wasn’t that I didn’t want anything, I never wanted to want anything.”

“Elphie…”

“I mean, look at me.” She motioned to herself with a finality that made Glinda’s heart quicken with sadness.

“But you’re brilliant,” Glinda said. “And brave and beautiful and—” She forced herself into silence, to let Elphaba finish.

Elphaba stared forlornly at the bubbles, floating around in her cup. “It was fine that way. Not wanting, I mean.”

It wasn’t fine. Glinda could scarcely think of anything less fine.

“But now…” Elphaba’s voice trailed off as she shook her head. “Now I have you.”

Despite herself, Glinda smiled. The tiniest bit.

“And this—this dream, of the Wizard. What we could do together.” Her gaze went slack. Glinda wondered if she was seeing the crowds again, with their unrestrained joy. She tilted her head. Was there an exultant crowd, hidden in Elphaba’s dark eyes? Bounding figures in a cloud of smoke, throwing flowers in the air? No, Glinda decided. She didn’t see anything. Just Elphaba, but that was better than a vision, anyway.

“That’s nothing to be afraid of,” Glinda said gently. She moved her thumb over the back of Elphaba’s hand. “I’m here. And the Wizard—”

“I know what it feels like, now,” Elphaba said, her voice thick. She took a sip of her drink. “To want something. To be close to having it.”

“You have me,” Glinda said. “And I can’t speak for the Wizard, but I don’t think he asked you to come here for fun.”

“You’re right.”

“As always, Elphie.”

They both giggled at that.

“Are you sure you want me to go to the palace with you?” Glinda asked, shifting nervously in her seat. Don’t be upset if she says no, she thought forcefully. Elphaba probably didn’t need her. Her presence would be too distracting. “I could wait at the hotel. Get dinner, or something. Or buy another dress. But if you want—” she sighed. “I don’t have to, either way. It’s up to you.”

“Yes,” Elphaba said breathlessly, without hesitation. “I want you at the palace.”

Glinda, unable to think of anything to say, held Elphaba’s hand. They were here, in the Emerald City, in a neighborhood they could take quiet walks in, and Elphaba was looking at her like she could never get enough. I love you, Glinda thought, tilting her head. The words sent a rush through her that made her feel lightheaded. Not the time, she scolded herself. Elphaba was busy. But her mouth, insubordinate as it was, seemed poised to say it, her jaw dropping for that first letter—

“We’re going to be late to Wiz-O-Mania,” Elphaba said, looking at her watch. “Glinda, finish your drink.”

Glinda swallowed the last of the drink—pleasant enough, but with a strange aftertaste she’d have to get used to, if they were to frequent this coffee shop—and pushed her chair back. Her skin buzzed with nerves, at what she had nearly said. “Let me run to the bathroom,” she said, adjusting her purse. “But we can’t be late. It’s supposed to be amazing! They got—”

“Then hurry, for Oz’s sake.” Elphaba slid off her chair, still holding Glinda’s hand. “Go, I’ll hold your bags.”

When Glinda emerged out of the café, her gaze swiped over the tables, taking it all in. There was a Chinchilla sitting on the table, holding a cup that looked much too large for its small hands. There was a group of students from Emerald City College, wearing their characteristic ties, exchanging notes or gossiping. A woman sitting with a child, cutting a pastry in half to share.

But no Elphaba. She frowned.

She went over the crowd again, trying to choke down the panic that overcame her. Had Elphaba been kidnapped? Maybe there was someone who was frightfully envious of her green skin, who would lock her away in a tower or a basement or—

“Sorry,” Elphaba said, coming up behind her and placing a kiss on the side of her head.

“Where were you?” Glinda said, outraged. “I am not to be left alone in large cities, Elphaba!”

“Looking around.” Elphaba grinned. “So, Wiz-O-Mania?”

“You’re very lucky I adore you.” Glinda crossed her arms. “I was about to report you as a missing person. Or file a report against you for abandonment.”

“Glinda.”

“Elphaba.”

They both burst into giggles. Glinda felt nearly drunk with relief. “Don’t lose me again,” she said sternly, pulling Elphaba close.

“I won’t.” Elphaba placed a hand over Glinda’s, holding it tight. “I just found you.”

--

They made it to Wiz-O-Mania as a green-clad teenager, looking bored, started to close the door. “Wait,” Glinda called, gripping Elphaba’s hand. “Please! We have tickets! We love the theatre!”

“This is not theatre,” the teenager said bluntly. “But go ahead.”

“Thank you so much,” Glinda gushed, patting him on the shoulder. “Oh, you’re lovely. Thank you.”

He blushed and held the door open for them.

--

“You’ve heard of Wiz-O-Mania, right?”

“I mean…” Glinda was looking at me so expectantly it pained me to shake my head no.

She groaned. “Oz, that makes me feel so old. Wiz-O-Mania used to be this show they’d put on in the Emerald City, for unfortunate tourists. They took the Emerald City players, dressed them up in these horrendible puffy outfits—I think they even unionized about it, but it didn’t do anything—and made them sing and dance about the Wizard for hours a day. It was a sensation, truly. People were obsessified. Ranting and raving, a must-see.”

“So it was good?”

“It was awful.” Glinda made a face. “In retrospect. Though the dancing was awful in all… spects.” She coughed.

She was trying to amuse me. Or herself. “So what exactly did they sing and dance about?”

“Like I said. The Wizard.” Glinda shook her head. “Where he came from, what he did, how wonderful he was…”

“Did they sing about his Animal-unfriendly policies?”

Glinda clicked her tongue. “Well, no. That’s not the point of propaganda, dear.” She crinkled her nose. “Or are you being facetious?”

“Maybe a bit,” I sighed. Somehow, she was retreating. The more she laughed—bubbly, glittering—and waved her hands as she spoke, the more Glinda slipped away from me. I could imagine why. Wasn’t this story—sweet, idealistic, young in so many ways—the backstory to one of Oz’s most notorious terrorist attacks? It still made no sense to me. I knew, intellectually, that history didn’t have to make sense. There were dozens or hundreds of things playing into a situation; it was impossible to have a grasp on everything. But how could Elphaba—my mind no longer stuttered over her name, so accustomed I had grown to hearing it—do what the historical record, eyewitnesses, Glinda the Good had claimed she’d done? “Glinda—”

“I’m not going to reenact Wiz-O-Mania for you,” Glinda said. “It’s for your own good. Think of a lot of prancing and ruffles; you have a vivid imagination. The rest I’ll summarize. We went to Wiz-O-Mania, a cab picked us up to take us to the palace, we stood in traffic for ages, we got out and walked up the steps—”

--

“I can’t believe today’s over already,” Glinda remarked as they stood, arm-in-arm, staring up at magnificent green doors. There were carvings, intricate and expansive, over the wood, depicting scenes of the Wizard performing saint-like duties. Helping a Badger cross a stream, standing in a Munchkinese field with a rake in his hands. Though, Glinda noticed, bending her neck to take a closer look, the carvings seemed to repeat identically after a certain point, a bit too perfectly. Not like the inconsistencies of wood carved by hand. Probably the product of one of his innovations, then. Very impressifying.

“One day’s not really, enough, is it.”

“No.”

“We’ll have to come back.” Elphaba gripped Glinda’s arm the slightest bit tighter. “Do it properly. See everything. Find a better coffee shop.”

“We’ll move to the Emerald City like everyone does, right out of university.” Glinda felt so light she would have floated away, if it hadn’t been for Elphaba holding her steady. “It’s very unimaginative, but oh well.”

“I was thinking…” Elphaba’s voice trailed off.

“What, Elphie?”

Elphaba turned and bit her lip. “Glinda, my sweet, I don’t think we can afford the house.”

“No, I don’t think so either.” Glinda couldn’t bite back a laugh, then. “Not yet, at least. So a terrible one-bedroom it is.”

“We’ll be lucky if we don’t need roommates,” Elphaba said.

“Not roommates,” Glinda said, voice pitched low like she was sharing something scandalocious. “Oz knows I have my hands full with you.”

Somewhere, a bell chimed. Elphaba cast a subtle glance at her watch. “They should let us in in a clocktick.”

Glinda nodded, nerves whipping upwards into her stomach. “Do you think we’ll be different?”

She’d meant after they met the Wizard.

“It’s a new city,” Elphaba said, hooking her arm out of Glinda’s so she could slide it around her waist instead. She pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “But we’ll stay the same.”

Glinda turned to Elphaba and kissed her slowly, languidly, like they had all the time in the world.

They broke apart before the door creaked open autonomously, pushed by invisible hands. Beyond it, there was only a cavernous room with high, arcing walls, radiantly green. A line of Gale Force—uniforms identical to those that had taken Dr. Dillamond—stood lined up in front of them. “The Wizard will see you now,” one of them, faceless in the dim light, said.

“Thank you,” Glinda said to them, while Elphaba nodded silently and clutched Glinda’s arm as they began to make their way in.

The room was truly enormous, but not endless as Glinda had feared. He was a Wizard, after all—who knew what tricks of space and time he could perform? Quite frankly, it was a miracle everyone had placed so much trust in him, when he could have destroyed the entire country as an afterthought. We got lucky, I guess, Glinda thought. Cheered by the bright pink flowers adorning the walls, Glinda patted Elphaba’s arm. “At least we can’t get lost,” she said.

Elphaba swallowed.

They came up on another emerald door, adorned with veins of gold ending in leaves, splayed out like helpless fingers. “If you ask me, the doors are a bit much,” Glinda said mildly, trying to ignore her heart trying to break out of her ribcage. “Do you think the Wizard is open for interior design tips?”

It wasn’t really funny, Glinda knew, but Elphaba smiled anyway. Then she took a tentative step forward and lifted the knocker gingerly. It fell back onto the door with a resounding clang that made shivers run across Glinda’s skin.

Nothing happened.

“What now?” Elphaba took a step backwards again. “I mean, do we—do we wait, or—”

The door opened on its own again, revealing a green hallway—mercifully short, Glinda’s feet hurt from walking all day—flanked by two neat rows of Animals of some sort, though they weren’t Animals Glinda had ever seen before. As she glanced at them, she realized it wasn’t the shape—they were clearly Monkeys—but rather their powder-blue color that made them seem unfamiliar. Their fur glittered in the light, which streamed in on both sides through a series of windows stained in a magnificent green.

“They’re beautiful,” Elphaba whispered.

Glinda waved at them, but they didn’t wave back. “Not very friendly, though.”

“They’re working,” Elphaba said.

I’m very nervous, Glinda almost said as an excuse, but an embarrassment twinged through her and she pulled herself together. She nodded respectfully at the Monkey who strode in front of them and motioned to the door—yet another door, would he ever have enough?—behind him.

Elphaba took a step forward, then wheeled back. “Let’s take a minute,” she breathed. Her hand tightened around Glinda’s fingers.

Glinda, looking at Elphaba, could hardly believe what she was seeing. If it had been anyone else, she would have described the expression as abject terror, but surely it couldn’t be that. And yet as Elphaba looked up at the door—the final door, presumably—Glinda could think of no other phrase that could adequately describe how her mouth screwed together and her wide eyes ripped themselves open.

“Elphie,” Glinda whispered, tapping her arm.

There was no reaction. Elphaba’s shoulders moved up and down as she breathed, drawing themselves painfully inward.

“Elphaba Thropp,” Glinda whispered, a little more forcefully. “Look at me.”

Thankfully, Elphaba did, lip trembling.

How could she be so afraid? She had more power in her right little finger than Glinda would ever amass in a lifetime. Glinda felt it, radiating off of her, stronger than any force of nature. In the stained-glass windows on the far side of the wall, Glinda tried to imagine the crowds Elphaba might have been able to see there—cheering, celebratory fireworks. Maybe they were there for both of them. She squinted, but there was only green-tinged light. Then she shook her head and looked back to Elphaba. “You can do this,” she said, squeezing her hand. “You can do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yes.”

Elphaba closed her eyes. Glinda dared not breathe, watching her. Then they opened again. “I’m ready.”

Holding each other, they turned.

--

Glinda’s arm dangled over the armrest of her patio chair, glasses tucked between two fingers.

My stomach felt like lead.

“Let’s stop there,” she said flatly, every trace of her usual magnetism gone. Then she cleared her throat. “Can you ask your question?”

“I—” My throat went dry. “I can’t think of one,” I lied. I had dozens of questions, all to seek a truth that would, in the end, make no sense.

But the truth always made sense. There was a logic to it. A painful one, perhaps—this was why I’d lied incessantly as a child, to distract myself from that unbearable coherence, the neatness of my story: a parentless child, shunted around from town to town because she was too difficult, too withdrawn, with those horrendibly alert eyes that seemed to take in everything and reveal nothing. But it made sense.

Except for now.

Glinda raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “It doesn’t get better, I’ll tell you that for free.”

No. I really only had one question. “What the Wizard told everyone—” I closed my eyes. “What you and the Wizard told everyone. About what happened at the palace. Was that true?”

Glinda stared at me impassively. “No.”

A coldness slid down my throat, settling in my chest. “So you lied about Elphaba. What she’d done.”

Her gaze was brittle. “The Monkeys… were changed. And there was the escape, of course. And the fire with the wounded and the dead—” She took a deep breath, carefully, like it hurt. “That was all real. But the circumstances…”

“There were rumors of a manifesto,” I said, flipping back in my notes. “Tirades about Animal rights—”

“No doubt a university essay of some sort. Or they made it up.”

“But why would you lie?” There was a sour taste in my mouth.

Glinda sighed and inclined her head. “I…”

“There must have been a reason.”

“I used to say to myself that I didn’t lie, I simply didn’t correct the Wizard. Or Morrible. She came up with all the finer details of the story. But of course I lied in a way, and as for the reason—”

She looked at me helplessly, like I had her at my mercy, like I could absolve her by backing off.

Inadvertently, I turned my hands palm-up towards her. Your move, Glinda.

“If I hadn’t lied,” she continued stiffly, through clenched teeth, “what good would it have done? By the time I woke up after the—the attack, as you call it, though who was attacking whom is something we’ll get into another day, the Wizard’s version of the story had reached the farthest corners of Oz. And I could either smile and nod along and keep what little legitimacy I had. Or I could tell the truth, and what then? Who would have believed me?”

She looked at me defiantly, but there were tears in her eyes.

“Whatever you’re thinking about me right now, Nor, I can guarantee you I’ve thought worse.”

I’ve done a lot of terrible things, Nor. Some of them I’ll never make up for.

Did she mean this?

Another, more terrifying thought: did she mean something else?

“But you—you get to know what really happened,” she continued briskly, tears gone. “Consider yourself lucky. You’re very welcome. Is that all?”

Chapter Text

At first, there was nothing.

Well, there were strips of fabric suspended from an unseen framework. A… deconstructed curtain? It was a rather strange interior design choice. But the overwhelming impression was a gaping nothingness held between green marble walls lined with statues, and the chill that settled into Glinda’s bones as they passed through the door. And within all that nothingness that bizarre conglomerate of fabric, swaying gently in an impossible wind, almost as if it were breathing…

She tried to make a joke, but her mouth was too dry to speak.

A rattle came from behind the curtain, deep and resonant, nothing that could be produced by a human, Animal, or animal. It sounded like the groan of machinery, forgotten in an empty hall and left to run for years against rust and common sense until it ground to an exhausted halt. When the Wizard spoke from behind the curtain, every word sounded like a man’s last dying gasp, if the dying man’s vocal cords were corroded metal.

“I… am… Oz…”

The sound shook into the far reaches of her mind, crowding out everything else. The curtain fluttered. Behind it there was only darkness. Whatever lurked within lay in wait, breathing.

“The… Great… and… Terrible…”

Had she ever felt like this before? Parsing through her memories for a similar sensation, there was Elphaba leaping towards the soldiers in the classroom, and, even earlier, her first day at boarding school, when she first wandered into class and saw twenty pairs of bright eyes staring at her. She had barely eaten that entire weekend; she had not slept the night before. She did her best impression of her father’s glowing smile, she flounced over to the nearest free seat. Her hand shook as she pulled out her favorite glitter pen, and still she raised it to answer every question. She punctuated all of her remarks with a knowing grin and told jokes with such confidence that the rest of the children laughed out of instinct, regardless of whether they were funny or not. Her mind evaluated the performance from a distance, so she could barely feel the bile creeping up her throat, and found it acceptable. Charming. Authentic. Really, the situation had been rather funny, in retrospect. How she could have been so intimidated by a room that would grow to love her, containing many future friends…

So, despite feeling every nerve in her body turn to ice, Glinda wrinkled her nose in her best impression of a Glinda who found this all rather amusifying and mundane. The Wizard did not seem to be in good health. Frankly, it was no wonder he wanted to find a Grand Vizier, because he seemed to have his proverbial heel on the edge of the proverbial bucket.   

The curtains moved aside, and then there was nothing.

And the head.

Next to her, Elphaba let out a barely audible gasp. Glinda found herself inadvertently glancing towards the exits, in case they had to make a break for it. There seemed to be a few corridors running off the throne room, but Oz knew where those led. And the distant statues on the walls weren’t statues—they were living guards, evenly spaced around a smooth, broad balcony running along the circumference of the room. They watched calmly, without moving.

Unsatisfied with their escape options, Glinda turned back to the head—the Wizard?— with a sour expression on her face.

It looked coolly down at them, suspended in the room with no body to speak of. While worrying about those logistics seemed particularly inappropriate, wasn’t it dreadfully inconvenient to not have a body? She forced herself to look into his dead eyes, wondering if he could even see them, if he had always been that way or if he had once been a normal size, or had had a body, and perhaps had performed so many experimentations on himself that transplanting his mind into this horrendible metal fixture was his only way of keeping it alive. Perhaps he was luring young women here, to steal their youth. It was a flattering thought, but fundamentally unhelpful.

“Who… Are… You…”

If he was going to continue to speak like this, they were in for a long evening.

“And… Why… Have… You… Come…  To… Seek… Me…”

His jaw fell open with a creak.

“Say something,” Glinda whispered after a brief but unbearable silence. “Elphie, say something.”

“Say… Something…” the Wizard gasped. His breath was gray smoke, billowing over the floor.

“Don’t breathe that in,” Glinda muttered to Elphaba. “Oz knows what’s in there. Literally.”

Elphaba stared straight ahead, her jaw clenched. “I’m Elphaba Thropp, Your Ozness.” Her voice was the only gentle thing in the room. “You sent me an invitation.”

“El…pha…ba…”

Then the light behind his eyes went out.

“We’ve killed him.” Glinda held a hand over her mouth. “Oh, Elphie. I’m so sorry. He’s definitely dead. Unsurprisifying, considering the state of him. I suppose he’s gone to be with his body, rest in peace—”

“I am so sorry,” a congenial voice said from behind the curtain.

“Who is that?” Elphaba’s hand was tight in her own.

“Elphaba, Elphaba, Elphaba,” the voice continued, a patter of well-meaning noise. It was nearly swallowed up by the remaining nothingness.

Glinda looked over a second after Elphaba did, in time to see a shape emerge—a hand, with an arm attached to it, a body—“A man,” Glinda whispered, relieved and confusified, but mainly relieved.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” The Wizard stepped out from behind the curtain, a tall, lanky man in a smart green suit. A truly fantastic suit, Glinda corrected herself, with very high-quality fabric, though she wouldn’t have expected anything less. As he walked over to them, the spring in his step suggested an age much younger than the lines etched onto his face otherwise indicated.

Elphaba’s arm unfurled itself from Glinda’s waist and reached out to shake his hand. When she looked at him, her eyes filled with a trembling hope. His smile reached up into the far corners of his face. Here was the man who would give her what she had always dreamed of, who would allow her to help the Animals, to do what she could not do on her own...

Glinda, noticing a queasy feeling in her stomach, stepped backwards. Was she jealous? Her heart certainly stuttered over itself like when she was jealous, and if the Wizard had looked at her with that much excitement in his eyes, like he had been waiting years for her, she would have found it validating.

But was she jealous of Elphaba or of the Wizard?

Oh, she had outdone herself. Glinda—as hard as she tried—could make a poppy float in a field if Elphaba was holding her hand. The Wizard had the guards at his beck and call and all of Oz at his feet. It was obvious, really. And yet, with her eternally overlarge ego, she had somehow expected that she could measure up to the Wizard of Oz, wonderful or great or terrible as he was, that she could have ever given Elphaba anything close to her heart’s desire.

“I see you’ve brought an unexpected guest.” He cast a quick glance in Glinda’s direction. “This is—?”

“Glinda.” She straightened her back. “The ‘guh’ is silent.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said without turning towards her.

“Likewise,” Glinda chirped.

Elphaba took a step closer to her and squeezed Glinda’s hand, for encouragement. Despite the chill, Glinda’s heart nearly melted. “I know the invitation was for me,” Elphaba started, fidgeting with Glinda’s hand, “but Glinda—”

The Wizard turned to look at them. His smile seemed frozen as his eyes ticked back and forth between them. Then he cleared his throat and extended his hands. “The more the merrier! I’ve got the space, as you can see.” He looked at Glinda and winked.

A timid relief tugged at her. “That’s very kind of you, your Ozness.”

Elphaba cast a nervous glance at the head, tilted motionless towards the ground. “So—the head—”

“I know, it’s so much.” The Wizard rolled his eyes and strode towards the head with large, buoyant steps. He reached and slapped it, the sound of flesh against the metal reverberating through the room. “Folks expect this sort of thing! It’s hard to believe, but they get disappointed by me.” He hooked his thumbs into his pockets and frowned, so melodramatically Glinda had to snort. “I try not to take it personally.”

“That’s terrible,” Elphaba said, looking genuinely concerned.

“Well.” The Wizard slapped the head again. Glinda nearly expected it to open its eyes and glare at him. “You gotta give the people what they want. My first piece of advice to you.”

First. Elphaba beamed at him. “Well, it’s a very impressifying… giant head.”

“Thank you, thank you.” The Wizard bowed down with his arm extended in a sweeping gesture. Then he shot upright. “But if you think that’s impressive—wait until you see this!” He looked at them expectantly.

Nothing happened.

“See what?” Elphaba asked cautiously.

“Well, you’ve got to walk with me.” The Wizard motioned them over. “Here—past this wall—secret doors, you know, gotta love ‘em—”

He used the same words as the rest of Oz, but the way his sentences rolled up and down was nothing like Glinda had ever heard before. Following him, they walked down a long hallway—carpeted this time, at least, and all the warmer for it—and entered another room, which seemed impossible in dimension again. Spread out, it must have been nearly as large as the courtyard at Shiz or the backyard of Glinda’s childhood home, though the ceiling was low and dark, nothing like the sky. The air smelled faintly of sawdust and something heavier that stung when she breathed in. The first part of the room was dominated by broad wooden worktables, covered with mechanical parts haphazardly screwed together. Some resembled figures or tiny machines. Others were too lonely to be recognizable as parts of a whole.

Beyond the worktables, the rest of the room emptied out into a sleek black floor, unnervingly bare.

“So I like to play around with things,” the Wizard said faintly as Glinda strode towards a series of sketches taped to a wall. There was a beeping sound and then a whir. “Doodinkuses, and whatnot. I jerry-rigged this up—”

Glinda was so focused on examining the sketches—a smooth metal face with binoculars for eyes, its joints delicate gears—that she didn’t turn until she heard Elphaba gasp.

The Wizard stood with her in front of a replica of Oz, large enough to walk around in, rising slowly out of the floor. There was Gillikin—the glittering cities in the south, giving way to gentle hills—Pertha Hills. Oh, there was a scattering of red dots where the poppy fields were, and the tiny tracks of a miniature railroad, disappearing into a tunnel poked through the jagged mountains of the Vinkus. Though Glinda didn’t consider herself an expert in Geography, the model looked nearly perfect. There was a network of blue canals surrounding Shiz and the brilliant green of the Emerald City skyline. While the Vinkus was clearly unfinished, painted a dull gray color, the rest seemed vividly alive.

“It’s like we’re flying,” Elphaba said, sounding a bit breathless. Her eyes roamed across the replica, opening wide as a miniature train came chugging out of the ground. As it made its way through Oz, it sent tiny puffs of steam into the air. “You built all of this?”

“I did,” the Wizard said. “Took me a while, mind you. But it’s good. Keeps me focused. Politics is hard work. Especially running a whole country.”

Glinda found herself nodding along in sympathy.

“But when I come out here and look at it…” his voice trailed off as he gazed down fondly at the little houses of the Emerald City, the model of the palace. “I remember that this is what it’s all about.”

“Glinda.” Elphaba rushed over and dragged her around the replica by her elbow. “Look, it’s Shiz.”

“I can see our room,” Glinda said, laughing at the way Elphaba’s nose scrunched up with delight. “Well, nearly at least.”

“From up here you can see it’s all Oz,” the Wizard said. “Destined to be one! From Winkie Country” –he motioned vaguely west—

“The Vinkus,” Elphaba corrected automatically, like she had dozens of their classmates and even a professor or two.

Glinda felt a shot of anxiety. The Wizard’s agreeable expression didn’t change one bit.

“A good friend of ours is Vinkan.” Elphaba cleared her throat.

“You know his father,” Glinda cut in. “Chieftain Tigelaar. I’m told he speaks very highly of you.”

“Yes,” Elphaba agreed, the tips of her ears dark green.

“Of course.” The Wizard hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Silly me. You’re college kids, with, you know. Sensibilities and all that.” He chuckled. “They’ve sure got a lot of pride, those Winkies. Sorry, Vinkans!” He shook his head at himself. “And Fiyero Tigelaar, huh? Oh, he breaks his old man’s heart.”

 A silence settled quickly in the room.

“But anyway,” the Wizard continued, as brightly as before, “that’s what I’m about, Elphaba.” He gazed down fondly at the replica, then picked up a little house and studied its painted window. “Forgetting about all those borders and connecting people.”

 “It’s incredible, your Ozness.” Elphaba circled Oz once in quick steps, then stopped in front of Munchkinland, painted in all bright colors for its fields of flowers and corn and flaxseed.

“Look.” The Wizard went to stand next to her and pointed a steady finger in the direction of the Emerald City. Glinda watched Elphaba’s head tilt upwards to follow it. How could she be so happy for her, and at the same time have that malignant ache in her chest? “Think of how easy it’d be if you could walk, from here to the Emerald City. That’d be great, right?”

“It’d be much too far for me,” Glinda commented absentmindedly, then winced. Did anyone even want her to speak? “I do prefer the comfort of a coach.”

“But it’d be easier if the coach didn’t have to rattle over broken roads, right? And those potholes? Ugh.” He shuddered.

“Well, yes.”

“Thought so!” The Wizard turned and pressed a series of buttons mounted to the wall. The replica began to rattle—no, not the whole thing. A stream of parts shimmered with a fine vibration before they turned, one by one, revealing a gleaming silver underside like a dragon rolling over to show its belly. The stream wound itself from Pertha Hills, straight through the poppyfields, to the Emerald City, then on to Munchkinland, splitting to let tendrils extend into the other parts of Oz. “Pretty neat, huh?”

“What is it?” Elphaba asked, bright eyes taking it in.

“A road!” The Wizard snapped his fingers. “A brick road. Connecting all of Oz together, for foot traffic, horse traffic, coach traffic…”

Glinda’s eyes followed the road from its start in Pertha Hills, meandering gently until it reached the Emerald City.

“I wanted to start construction last year,” the Wizard was saying, “but the permits! Oh, the permits. You’d think they’re determined to stop progress. ‘We already have roads.’” He rolled his eyes. “But I think people need direction. They need guidance. And once this thing is built, everyone’s always going to remember that if they follow the road… it’ll always lead back to me.”

He pressed another button and the parts transformed into a bright red. Glinda frowned. It looked like an anatomical study: Oz as a dissected organ, the road the branching arteries that fed it. “I don’t like that one as much,” he admitted sheepishly. Thank Oz, Glinda thought. He pressed the button again and the red was replaced by a vivid purple, then green—lovely, Glinda thought, but not quite contrasting with the lush green of the fields enough, yellow—

“Oh,” Glinda said quietly.

The Wizard stopped, hand hovering over the button. “Oh?”

Elphaba nodded.

“Yellow,” the Wizard said. “Huh.”

“It just says road to me,” Glinda said matter-of-factly. “I can’t explain it any differently.”

“Seems like she knows what she’s talking about,” the Wizard said to Elphaba in a low voice. Glinda swallowed, unsure if she was in on the joke or if she was the joke, or perhaps there was no joke at all, simply the Wizard with his eternal benevolence…

He pulled a lever and the replica slid slowly downwards until it was even with the floor. Carefully, making sure not to step on any houses or small railroad tracks, he inched his way forward to the Emerald City. “Come on,” he said, beckoning to Elphaba, then to Glinda. “And watch out for the train, it bites.”

Casting a doubtful glance towards the train, which curved its way merrily through the Glikkus, Glinda stepped forward, thankful for Elphaba’s hand reaching out instinctively towards her. Fake grass crunched under her feet.

“I’m up here a lot,” the Wizard said when they reached him, standing at the foot of his model Emerald Palace. His hand rested on one of the towers with a rounded top. “Forgive an old man for his hobbies, will you? Anyway—” he pressed a hidden button and the front of the palace popped open, revealing a miniature throne room with corridors running off it, housing a miniature face—adorable, nearly, when it was so large it could fit in a palm—a tower with a tiny green balloon in it, and, sitting in the equivalent of the room they stood in now—Glinda’s head spun; was there another replica in the model, repeating ad infinitum?—a tiny Wizard, dressed in a suit. “There’s me,” he said, smiling fondly at himself. “And if you look a little closer…”

Simultaneously, Elphaba and Glinda leaned in to inspect the palace, following the Wizard’s pointer finger. Well, Elphaba inspected. Glinda fought the urge to lean onto Elphaba’s shoulder, suddenly craving a closeness that could not be assuaged by the feeling of Elphaba’s hand in her own. So it was Elphaba who reached out a timid green hand and grasped a second figurine.

“Look,” she whispered, holding it out to Glinda. “It’s… it’s me.”

It was. It was Elphaba wearing a black dress like any black dress she owned, braids tied together into a neat, low ponytail. She was even wearing the hat. And she was green. Not a green as vibrant or as rich as Elphaba’s, but at least an approximation.

Oz, she looked happy. In person and in imitation.

“Someday, she’ll be a permanent part of the palace.” The Wizard took his own figure and moved its arms up and down in celebration. “And we’ll put her in the throne room. Right next to me! And then”—the Wizard dropped himself to the ground—“Oops.” He laughed. “Anyway. You’ll call this place your home.”

The faintest smile rushed across Elphaba’s face. “She’s green.”

“She doesn’t have to be,” the Wizard said, all his earlier bravado replaced with a lilting gentleness. “Would that be your heart’s desire?”

Elphaba lifted her face—beautiful, luminous, even in the room’s dim light—and shook her head. “I want you to help the Animals.” Her voice was sure. “Something bad is happening to them and you have to help. You’re the only one who can.”

Glinda felt a shot of—well. Pride, affection, an aching fear of losing her. But wasn’t that loving someone, all of that wrapped together? Slowly, she nodded to herself and squeezed Elphaba’s hand. They could talk about the house with the tower with the library in the neighborhood all they wanted, but this, in the end, was Elphaba’s dream. The thought that there would never be a Glinda figurine in this dream was so unpleasant that she shoved it vehemently out of her mind.

“I thought you might say that.” The Wizard sat down cross-legged next to the Emerald Palace, his foot nearly upending a historical bank in the business district. “And I wholeheartedly agree. The problem of the Animals—”

“That makes me so happy,” Elphaba said.

“I love to make people happy.” He leaned forward, resting his head on the sloped roof of the palace. “It’s the reason I got into politics.”

Glinda thought of him arriving in the balloon, descending down into this unfamiliar land with this unfamiliar folk, armed with his wits and his magic.

“I know, I know,” he sighed. “It always has that reputation. For the power-hungry and whatnot. But I always saw it as a calling. I think it’s similar for you, Elphaba.”

“I’m not particularly interested in politics.” Hesitatingly, Elphaba sat down across from him. Her hand fell out of Glinda’s. “I—I just want to help.”

“That is politics,” the Wizard said. “Helping people. And Animals, if that’s what you want.”

Glinda slid down to the ground, too, watching the rise and fall of Elphaba’s chin as she nodded.

“You have so much talent, Elphaba,” the Wizard said forcefully, gesticulating broadly.

Glinda found herself nodding too, though no one was looking in her direction.

“And I’m sure if you work on it—if you grow a bit—you can do everything you want to do.”

“Thank you, your Ozness.”

“Don’t thank me, Elphaba.” He shook his head. “It’s what I’m here for. People always say I’m sentimental, but it’s really a sense of… responsibility. Like a father has for his children.”

Dimly, Glinda thought of Elphaba’s father looking at them that morning with that barely perceptible sneer on his lips, how he had mustered Elphaba without any hint of affection. Responsibility that a father has for his children. Glinda scoffed inwardly.

“Though I never had children,” the Wizard continued breezily, “so what would I know?”

Elphaba looked down. “So, the Animals—”

“There’ll be enough time for that later,” the Wizard said, standing up and stretching his limbs with ease. “We’re actually almost late for our next meeting.”

“Meeting?” Elphaba asked, accepting the Wizard’s hand to pull her up. Glinda clambered to her feet behind them, brushing off her skirt with sweaty palms. “What meeting?”

“You’ll see!” The Wizard walked quickly out of the room, leaving the replica behind. Elphaba followed him, taking Glinda’s hand loosely in her own. As the train chugged through Pertha Hills, Glinda glanced quickly backwards. She wished that they were on it instead of in this palace with its indifferent green marble, a different shade entirely from the warm color of Elphaba’s skin. But it was going well, their meeting—Elphaba’s meeting—and so she grasped Elphaba’s hand tighter, to give or take comfort, she didn’t know.

--

“So when I heard about how special you are,” the Wizard was saying to Elphaba as they had arrived in the throne room again, “I knew I had to get you in here to try something. And I want you to bear with me because it sounds crazy.” He paused, looking at Elphaba expectantly.

“Well, what is it?” Elphaba swallowed.

“I want you to try a spell. With the Grimmerie.” The Wizard rocked backwards on his heels, clasping his hands together in front of his chest. The throne room echoed silence, the head tilted passively downwards. The guards, who seemed not to have moved at all, looked straight ahead with emotionless expressions. And yet the very air in the room seemed to pull itself together at the mention of the book. “But don’t worry. You’re not alone. I—”

The door opened and Glinda’s face fell. Madame Morrible. Yes, yes, a Sorceress of great renown and all that. Glinda thought more vividly of how her eyebrows always seemed angled in disapproval at her, how she had sneered as Glinda worked for hours in her classroom on a feather or coin that would never float.  Elphaba, ever the optimist, had predicted that it would get better, but their last interaction at the very end of exam week hadn’t been very promising. I still don’t think you have it in you, dearie, Morrible had said. Then she’d refused to give Glinda a proper grade for the class, so she wouldn’t “ruin Galinda’s academic future, which most definishly does not lie in Sorcery.”

But she had helped Elphaba. Glinda had to give her credit for that.

“Madame Morrible!” Elphaba ran towards her with a child’s excitement in her step. “You’re here!”

Glinda saw Elphaba fling her arms around Madame Morrible after a brief hesitation as Glinda waved from her side of the room, certain that Morrible did not want to hug her.

“I couldn’t miss this,” Madame Morrible gushed, taking Elphaba’s hands in her own. “Oh, I am so proud of you. You’ve come so far this year, and—”

Her gaze sharpened as it landed on Glinda, still with her hand pathetically extended in a wave. “And you’re here, too.”

“I invited her,” Elphaba said breathlessly.

“How good of you.” Morrible’s nostrils flared.

“Good to see you, Madame.” Glinda rearranged her face into a smile. “I’m simply happy to be here, to support Elphie—”

“Well.” Madame Morrible shook out her sleeves, silk rustling. “The Wizard and I spoke extensively of something you could do to prove yourself, Elphaba. As you know, it is not easy to receive a position in the Wizard’s court. You must have discipline, control…” She smiled faintly. “And most of all, you must have your natural-born talent. But Miss Elphaba, I can say without a doubt that you are the first student in many years to have even an inkling, even a semblance of the power we expect—”

“Yay,” Glinda cheered under her breath, trying to look upbeat.

Elphaba, looking back, blushed and shot her a smile.

“Turn around,” Glinda whispered, motioning frantically. “This is your moment.”

“So we’d like to put the power to the test,” the Wizard said, striding over to them. He stopped in front of Glinda and laid a hand on Elphaba’s shoulder. “Chistery!”

There was a creaking sound from the side of the room. Glinda, not having much else to do, turned to look at a Monkey—one of the magnificently colored ones from earlier, with a dusted blue coat and sharp sky-colored eyes—wheeling a cloth-covered shape into the room, standing idly to the side once it had reached its intended position.

“Well, you’ve got to uncover it, Chistery,” the Wizard said, shaking his head with exasperation.

He did.

The temperature in the room seemed to waver, then drop by ten degrees. Glinda thought she could see a cloud of her breath rising up as she exhaled. Her entire skin erupted into goosebumps, every single hair on her body upright like a soldier in formation.

There was a book in the center of the room. It didn’t look like any type of book Glinda had ever seen before. Not like a textbook, nor like one of the ridiculous romance novels Glinda’s mother liked to read at home, or even like a magazine. No, she thought, stepping forward to examine it a bit more closely. It wasn’t a book. It was something in the shape of a book, irritated at the lines and form it was forced to inhabit, itching to break free. She could see it bristle with indignation at how limited it was.

“The Grimmerie,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

“Yes,” Madame Morrible said, for once inclining her head gracefully in Glinda’s direction. “The ancient spellbook. With unspeakable power and unspeakable knowledge… the oldest book of magic in our world or the next.”

Glinda reached out a trembling hand to touch it.

“Miss Galinda,” Morrible said sternly.

She drew her hand back, cheeks burning.

“Miss Elphaba,” Morrible said, a hint of warmth returning to her tone. “Please, approach the Grimmerie.”

Elphaba inhaled sharply. “Are you sure? I—”

“You know what?” the Wizard interrupted, glancing at Madame Morrible. “I don’t think this is such a good idea after all. I mean, casting a spell from the Grimmerie? That’s difficult. It’s dangerous. And Elphaba will have enough chances to prove herself, it’ll have to wait—”

“No, no. I don’t want to wait.” Glinda saw Elphaba draw her shoulder blades together. Her voice was small but steady. She reached backwards. Glinda knew it was to look for her hand and ached to touch her. But Elphaba was a step too far away and the Wizard was a step too solidly in between them, so she had to settle for nodding in encouragement. “Please,” Elphaba continued. “Let me try.”

“Don’t rush yourself,” Madame Morrible said. “Today has been a long day. And I think I agree with the Wizard, actually. Next time, you—”

“No,” Elphaba said, more forcefully that time. “I want to prove myself.”

“If you insist.” The Wizard shrugged. “But I’ve got to warn you—casting a spell from the Grimmerie is no walk in the park. Trust me.” He shivered. Glinda thought back to the poppy field, to the haunting exhaustion she had felt even as they walked back to the house, the poppy clutched firmly in her hand.

“I know.” Elphaba took a cautious step towards the book, extending both hands in front of her. Like she was trying to tame it or protect herself. The air hummed with power. Glinda fought the urge to clench her eyes shut, to open them again when it was over and Elphaba was safe.

Then Elphaba exhaled and the book groaned open.

The Wizard coughed, then cleared his throat. “So—very good start, Elphaba, very impressive. What spell do you want to start with?”

“We’ve been working on levitation,” Morrible said quickly.

Glinda did not turn to look at either of them. She only saw Elphaba and the book.

“Levitation,” the Wizard repeated. “Well, you know what—Elphaba? You remember Chistery, the captain of my private guard.”

As Elphaba turned away from the Grimmerie, it fell closed.

The Wizard’s gaze shifted frenetically between Elphaba, the book, the Monkey standing ramrod straight. The look in his eyes was not unlike Elphaba’s in its intensity; Glinda knew it from hundreds of study sessions or lively debates. He signaled for Elphaba to come closer, so he could whisper something into her ear.

Elphaba stepped away from him unsteadily, like she was dreaming. “Are you sure?”

“Imagine how empowering it’d be,” the Wizard said softly. “Everyone deserves a chance to fly, don’t you think? You could give it to him.”

Was there a shadow of doubt across Elphaba’s face? If so, it was gone in an instant. “Wings…” she muttered as the book opened dutifully for her again. When its pages fluttered back and forth, it smelled like summer at first—warm breeze over poppy fields—then stale air and then, as Glinda parsed through all the sensations that suddenly flowed over her as the book came to rest, something deeper, rotten. Leaves forgotten under a heavy snowfall and left over the winter to decay. “Are those… words?”

“The lost language of spells.” Madame Morrible reached out to touch Elphaba lightly. “Don’t worry if you cannot decipher it,” she said.  “It has taken me many years, and yet I can read but a word or two—”

Elphaba held her hands over the pages and words began to flow out of her, simultaneously a melody and a whisper. They carried, settling over Glinda’s mind like a thick fog, until there were only the words and Elphaba, and that slick smell of rot.

--

“Nor,” said Glinda, rigidly drawing in a breath, “do you have a weak stomach?”

I thought of a train accident I’d covered my first year working. Bleating cries of pain coming out of the rubble, the smell of blood so heavy in my nose I smelled it for days afterwards. I’d retched once, arriving to the site with smoke still hanging in the air.  Then, as it dissipated, I steeled myself, took a sip of water, and went to work.

“No,” I said. It felt like a lie. My stomach churned with anticipation of what would come next. I had read the official accounts of the Witch’s first experiments with cobbling together parts of different Animals to create whatever abominations would suit her needs. How much worse could the truth be?

Glinda sat back and looked at me with an expression of worry that seemed so out-of-place it made my head spin. I knew Glinda the Good was excellent at looking concerned, from hospital wards to charity drives: head tipped at a precise angle, gentle fingers on the side of someone’s face, eyes wide with sorrow. But that was a worry from a place of security, her gentle hand reaching out of its cocoon towards another.

This was straight fear shining out of her perfect face.

“Good,” she said.

--

That stench of dead and dying things slid into her open mouth as she breathed. Glinda nearly retched, but nothing else happened at first. She steadied herself with a hand pressed against her stomach and the words flowed out of Elphaba as easily as water through a streambed. And yet she seemed very alone, standing over the book with her reaching hands.

Feel it, Galinda, Elphaba had whispered to her that day in the field, before she had felt the magic coursing through her. Glinda felt something elemental, fundamentally unknowable… a Sorcery much older than whatever normally surged out of Elphaba. A Sorcery so old that it had outlived its maker, had slumbered in some crack in the ground or pocket of air for centuries while the rest of existence waited, breathless, for it to return.

Feel it. The Wizard, slack-jawed, stared as Elphaba moved her hands smoothly over the pages, which rose towards her with excitement; a challenger finally meeting its match.  Morrible was pale, leaning back against the smooth emerald wall. And Elphaba seemed fully in control of it. Not distressified at all.

So really, there was nothing Glinda could do.

She still wanted to feel it. To make Elphaba less alone, or because she had a selfish urge to experience it herself?

Wings, Elphaba had whispered. The Wizard had looked at the Monkey, who now stared up at Elphaba with an open expression. How would that even work? Changing the composition of a body, making something new grow out of structures that had long since settled in their intended forms… it seemed like a magic too wild to comprehend. Was it even possible? Reviewing everything she knew about magic, Glinda inadvertently shook her head no to herself. The Wizard had given Elphaba an impossible task.

The Monkey’s back arced violently towards the ceiling, his face twisting in pain.

For an excruciatingly long time, the Monkey stayed suspended in that unnatural position, then collapsed inward. It’s over, Glinda thought, it has to be over. And still Elphaba kept whispering in that horrible sing-song, and the Wizard stared in awe at the Monkey and adopted a hideous grin.

Glinda, for the most part, did not feel anything but nausea and a weak, numb fear that tingled in her fingertips.

Then Elphaba looked up and locked eyes with her and she felt everything.

She could not tell where the Monkey ended and she began, so vivid was the click and shift of bones, grinding against each other at joints that were never supposed to exist, shooting upwards, splintering apart like a branch from a young tree. Glinda’s knees buckled and she fell neatly to the floor, still staring desperately into Elphaba’s helpless eyes. The feeling reminded her of the growing pains she’d had as a child, sobbing to her parents as her shins ached dully, multiplied a hundredfold as the tissue stretched and ripped a dozen times over, mending itself and breaking, mending itself and breaking, skin pierced through from the inside-out by the thin, sharp shafts of feathers—

Elphaba’s eyes broke away, and though Glinda missed her—Oz, how she missed her, even then, though it was a feeling she would become all too familiar with in the coming months and years—she trembled with relief, clutching at her arms. And they were only arms, shaking and thin and pale.

The Monkey’s tailored coat began to strain outward until a teeming mass of tissue and feathers tore through the fabric. Grasping at his new appendages, the Monkey began to scream. It was a piercing sound, high-pitched. A warning call.

“It’s just the transition,” Morrible said in a low voice. “There’s no need to worry—”

Her words were lost in the Monkey’s keening moan. As he lay limply on the floor, his wings folded outward. They were magnificent. Feathers of the purest, lightest blue, beautifully symmetrical, matted with blood.

Elphaba, abandoning the book on its podium, crouched down next to the Monkey. “Chistery.” She had remembered his name, of course she had. “Are you alright? I’m so—”

As she reached out a gentle, shivering hand, the Monkey flinched away, then drew himself upwards and extended his impossible wings. Wings that could carry over mountains. Wings that could fight the wind. He shook them, sending droplets of blood spattering against the ground, then beat them together until he took flight. He hovered at first, barely gaining altitude, until he gnashed his teeth and screamed again and flew higher, higher, until he was level with the guards, until his wings faltered.

He fell down in a spiral and smacked onto the ground wetly.

The Wizard’s eyes coolly followed Chistery up and down.

“You actually did it,” Glinda said weakly to Elphaba. Somehow she had moved to be next to her, so she could lay a hand on her shaking shoulder blade. “Oh, Elphie—”

Elphaba stared at her hands, green and soft, with their prophetic creases. “I—I don’t think he wanted that.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Glinda whispered. She knew she had said the wrong thing when Elphaba looked up at her blankly, then turned to Madame Morrible.

“How do I reverse it?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Tell me. How do I make it better? How do I—”

“Spells from the Grimmerie cannot be reversed,” Madame Morrible said. “You should know that, Miss Elphaba. And it may be frightening, but your skill—” She broke off as Elphaba turned away from her, holding her arms over her stomach.

Chistery lay twitching on the ground, his cries of pain reduced to a low sob.

There was still the snap of magic in the air. Elphaba’s, this time, familiar, crackling. It was nearly a comfort, after what had happened. She could almost hear it in the room, a steady thumping, all that power still in Elphaba, untethered from that horrendible book…

No, Glinda realized. Though there was the unmistakable hum of thaumaturgic energy radiating from Elphaba, the sound was coming from outside the room.

“Elphaba, Elphaba,” the Wizard cried. He pronouncified it like everyone else, and somehow it still sounded grating in his mouth. He clapped his hands twice and the door—that final, completely unnecessary, stylistically desolate door—to the throne room burst open. Glinda was hit with the smell at first—bright copper blood—then the screeches and whimpers of dozens of Monkeys, then that incessant sound—she realized, a virulent horror in her chest—of wings beating together.

--

“So it wasn’t—so she didn’t—”

“She would never have hurt them,” Glinda said, “not on purpose.”

“She cast the spell,” I said numbly, “but—”

“It was at the Wizard’s request,” Glinda said sharply.

“I’m not saying it’s her fault, I’m trying to wrap my head around it.” Softer, I told myself. “You don’t have to defend her to me.”

Oz, poor Elphaba. A knife in the Wizard’s hands. If I had been feeling particularly cruel, I would have asked why Glinda didn’t say any of that earlier, when she was still alive. Before it was too late. But I had no stomach for a discussion like that, not when she shrank together more with every word she spoke.

“I’m not defending her.” Glinda raised her chin. “It’s the truth.”

--

“Oh.” Elphaba’s hand pushed tight against her face to muffle her agonized words, or perhaps to shield herself from the smell. “Oh, what have I—”

“Amazing,” the Wizard said, grabbing Madame Morrible by the elbow. “Look.”

“I knew it.” Morrible held a hand to her mouth, too, but an expression of astonished joy peeked out from behind it. Glinda felt her stomach turn. What was happening? The Wizard and Morrible clutched at each other, triumphant, as Elphaba slumped onto the steps in front of the throne room like a puppet with cut strings. “I knew she had the power!”

The Wizard stepped past Elphaba, almost over her, towards the din of Monkey screams and the cloud of feathers in the air. “Oh, these are perfect,” he whooped. “The wingspan on them! The stamina!”

Glinda shot him a disapproving look as she gingerly sat down next to Elphaba. “It is astoundifying,” she said to her, her voice sounding very small. Oh, but what else could she say? The noise was too much. And Elphaba had only wanted to help them, and perhaps it was better for the Monkeys this way, so that they could fly—it’s just the transition, Madame Morrible had said, with her voice like honey. Glinda found the thought a little comforting, enough to ease her stomach into fragile composure that was barely bearable. “Elphie—”

“It’s better than I could have hoped,” the Wizard was saying to Morrible. “They’re quick, they’ve got the overview—pardon the pun—you couldn’t ask for better spies!”

“Spies?” Elphaba asked, looking up, but her question was lost in the blur of noise. Glinda set her hand gently on the top of Elphaba’s knee, hoping to urge her into calmness. There had to be an explanation of some sort, there always was. And the Wizard’s face was still lined with crinkles from laughter, and Morrible was still Morrible, haughty and condescending but fundamentally well-meaning.

Elphaba’s leg was trembling.

“We need to weed out that pesky Quoxian enclave first,” the Wizard continued, “since I think that’s where most of this dissidence is coming from. So we’ll need the cages for that, but we ought to have enough. The Shiz group collapsed with the Goat—”

“Cages?” Elphaba stood unsteadily. “Spies?” she asked again, and though her voice was quiet, it carried such a deadly determination with it that the Wizard and Morrible froze, turning towards her in perfect synchronicity.

“That’s fair,” the Wizard said. “It sounds really negative.” He snapped his fingers. “Scouts! Monkey scouts!” He seemed nearly giddy. “Flying around Oz, reporting back—”

“Reporting what?” Elphaba asked, turning pale.

Oh, Oz.

“The really important stuff,” the Wizard said. “Matters of national security. When Animals are being difficult at protests—”

“No.” Elphaba’s eyes scurried back and forth, between the Wizard and Madame Morrible, like she was cornered prey trying to decide from which side it would get attacked next. “No, no, you’re supposed to help them, you said you understood—”

“And I do,” the Wizard said, sounding genuinely distressified. “Of course I want to help them, Elphaba, I can’t—”

“How is this” –Elphaba’s hand tore through the air to point at the Monkeys— “helping them?”

“They’re going to help me.” The Wizard brought his hands close to his chest. “And I’m going to help Oz. That’s how this works.”

“Miss Elphaba,” Morrible said, her voice a low hum creeping towards them, “remember to control your emotions—”

“Breathe, Elphie,” Glinda whispered, reaching out to touch the small of Elphaba’s back, afraid of the guards, afraid that Elphaba would say something she would later regret. “It’s alright. Breathe.”

“It is not alright,” Elphaba said through clenched teeth.

“You still have to breathe,” Glinda whispered.

“All of Oz will benefit.” Madame Morrible tilted her head, sympathy rushing across her face. She’s probably thinking of how young we are, Glinda thought hopelessly. How young, and how we know so little, and how one day we’ll surely understand—

“You knew.” Extending a shaking finger, Elphaba’s face twisted into a grimace. “From the beginning, you knew—”

Knew what, exactly? Glinda wanted to ask, but she was smart enough to hold her tongue even if she was too useless to do anything else but try to comfort Elphaba.

“You’ll benefit too, Miss Elphaba.” Madame Morrible clicked her tongue and sighed. Then she strode forward, shaking out her wide sleeves, and ushered both of them back into the throne room, away from the howling herd of Monkeys. “You must trust us. But I know this must be so distressifying for you.”

The Wizard closed the door and turned back to them, shoulders drooping as he sighed. “Oh, dear, I think that was a bit too much.”

Glinda glared at him. You think?

Next to her, Elphaba’s breathing slowed. Despite her rage, nothing in the room was shaking. Energy emanated from her, but it did not burst outward like that first day in the courtyard or in their dorm room. Instead, it seemed to float just outside the constraints of her body, ready to strike, patient enough to await a command.  

“Leadership isn’t easy,” the Wizard said delicately. “When I first came to Oz, everyone was so… unhappy.  They hated each other, Elphaba. How’s a country supposed to work if everyone hates each other?”

Elphaba gazed coldly at him.

“The sad thing,” he continued, shuffling his feet over the ground almost bashfully, “is that countries work better if everyone hates… one thing. It brings folks together, to have that one common enemy. It’s sad, it really is. But that’s the nature—”

“Why me, then.”

“What?” The Wizard wrinkled his forehead.

Elphaba nodded defiantly. “Why me? If you wanted spies—why not make them yourself?”

The Wizard leaned backwards slightly. His nose twitched.

Madame Morrible coughed and looked away.

Elphaba drew herself up to her full height—still smaller than the Wizard, though her blustering intensity nearly made up for it—and thrust the book at him. It knocked him backwards, nearly off his feet, as it smacked into his chest.

“Elphie,” Glinda warned quietly. Oz, there were all those eyes trained on them, and she could have sworn she heard a gun click. And despite the discomforting stillness—Glinda would have almost preferred for the doors to rattle shrilly in their frame, or the curtains to whip about in the face of Elphaba’s anger—Elphaba was clearly distressified, working herself up into a frenzy. I need to calm down, Elphaba had said in their dorm room that evening, which felt like a lifetime ago. I can’t do it on my own.

Glinda stepped forward and put a hand on Elphaba’s arm.

“Read it,” Elphaba spat, brushing Glinda off of her. “Prove you’re who you say you are.”

“Miss Elphaba,” Madame Morrible gasped, “your insolence—”

“You be quiet,” Elphaba hissed at her. Then she turned her gaze back to the Wizard. “And you. Cast a spell.”

It was like a hand had grasped onto Glinda’s heart and would not let go. She couldn’t move or breathe. She watched.

“You can’t, can you.” Elphaba opened her mouth. To scream, Glinda thought. Then she cackled incredulously. “You can’t read this at all!”

The Wizard, turning pale, froze as she leapt forward and snatched the book back out of his hands. “That’s why you need spies. And—and cages.” Elphaba’s voice broke, but still she carried on. “That’s why you need an enemy. Because you can’t do it yourself, because you have no power. So how are you supposed to help Oz without all that—smoke and noise?” She turned towards the face, words echoing through the throne room.

“You’re very smart, Elphaba,” the Wizard said neutrally, some color returning to his face. “And you ask good questions. To answer them” –he shrugged apologetically, like he had stepped on her toe with the heel of his boot— “that’s what I need you for.”

Elphaba’s arms tightened around the book.

“Think of your future,” Madame Morrible whispered soothingly. “Of all the good you can do.”

“All the good—” Elphaba laughed again. “With you?”

“With your power, Elphaba…” The Wizard shook his head. “Well, we won’t need all of that! We’ll have you! And if you can cast a spell like that out of the Grimmerie, your first try…”

Glinda, still feeling very much like she was perhaps not really in the room at all, was so surprised when he turned to look in her direction that she thought he was staring at something behind her. When she turned back around to face him, he tilted his head precisely in Elphaba’s direction and shot her a severe glance.

“Elphie,” Glinda said, stepping forward slightly, “wouldn’t it be better if we just sat down for a second? Here, let me—”

“Your friend gives good advice,” the Wizard said, “and if it still means anything, and I hope it does—I really meant that you could have a home here.”

Were Elphaba’s arms slackening around the book? Was her gaze softening?

“And look—” The Wizard strode forward and pinched Glinda’s elbow uncomfortably, pulling her over to where he stood. “If it sweetens the deal—we can even find a use for your friend. If that makes you happy.”

Despite everything, Glinda wished desperately that it would. That it would make Elphaba happy to be with her, here in the palace. Or in that house with the tower, on the street corner they’d never stand on together again.

When Elphaba took a tentative step towards the Wizard, a tender relief burst through Glinda that made a sob rise up in her chest.

“Really?” Glinda whispered.

There was nothing in Elphaba’s eyes that Glinda knew. Her brow was furrowed with a rage she had never seen before. She took another decisive step forward, not in reconciliation but to mark her ground. Then she looked at Glinda and there she was—Elphaba—with all her tenderness and warmth, smiling sadly as they made eye contact. “No,” she said, and though her voice was quiet, it was steady. “No. Absolutely not.”

Clutching the book to her chest, she turned and ran.

“Jesus!” The Wizard wheeled around, running a hand through his shock of full gray hair. “She’s stubborn, that one—”

As he turned, he caught Glinda’s eye.

“But you,” he said. Glinda thought of pointing to herself and blinking innocently—who, me?—but Morrible and the Wizard were staring at her so intensely that she could only swallow. “You know her. Do you want to help?”

Glinda nodded mechanically.

“Get her back,” he said. “Maybe it won’t be so bad, then. If you find her before we do.”

What else could she have done?

She ran.

--

Oh, my head hurt.

I hadn’t had a headache like this in a long time. Instead of a timid pressure around my temples or my forehead that signaled to me that the weather was changing or I’d perhaps not had enough to drink, there was a hammer in my skull that thudded dully in time to my heart.

As I looked at Glinda, my vision blurred.

“So to summarize,” I started, as carefully as I could, “the Wizard had no power.”

“Zero,” Glinda said flatly. She seemed to have regained some of her energy over the course of the last hour or so. At least she sat fully upright. “Less than me. Which is saying something.”

Distantly, I registered that this was also new information—somehow, I’d still assumed that Glinda had developed a talent for Sorcery, even if she hadn’t been born with it—but it was new information that would have to wait for another day.

“And his Animal adverse laws. They weren’t oversights, or trying to conserve resources, or—” I sighed. All those ten thousand excuses. Pragmatic choices for a pragmatic leader. Unfortunate coincidences that plague the legacy of the father of modern Oz. “They really were just part of a targeted smear campaign.”

“He was very good at those.” Glinda’s mouth twisted.

“And he manipulated Elphaba into mutilating the Monkeys for the express purpose of using them as spies—”

“It wasn’t entirely thought through,” Glinda mused. “I think he wanted to establish a surveillance system, but it really was only a couple dozen Monkeys or so, and they obviously weren’t particularly motivated considering that they themselves were Animals—”

“Right.” I closed my eyes, trying to make sense of it all.

Had Elphaba snapped? Was that how this story ended? A gentle girl forced to do harm, horrified at the abominations she had created with her own hands, pushed to the brink and abandoned there? Resigned to her role after the lies about her misdeeds spread?

Or was all the rest of it a lie, too?

I was beginning to suspect as much. But then where had the children gone? Where had Fiyero gone?

“It’s been a very long day, Nor, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

It had been. The sun had set hours ago, and yet Glinda hadn’t touched her tea all day. She had just talked, her voice a monotonous drone that grew raspy as the time passed.

I nodded.

“Maybe we can sleep in tomorrow,” Glinda said, almost timidly. “Do something else. Before it gets worse.”

Worse?

But I couldn’t argue. The image of the Monkeys thrashing on the ground, bodies distorted, was burned into my mind. “What do you mean with something else?”

“Something nicer than sitting around like this.” Her mouth quirked. “Eggnog. In the café by the bridge.”

Despite myself, I nodded. I even found I was looking forward to it. Just a little.

--

“You’re up late,” Miss Daisy remarked as I came into the kitchen for dinner. She sat with her legs propped up on a chair, reading through a gossip rag. “I figured you were busy. Glinda normally eats earlier, too.”

“She talked for a long time today,” I said quietly, ladling a portion of soup into a bowl.

Her eyebrows shot up as she turned a page. “What about?”

I shot her a look.

“Right.”

“You know that rumor that she was friends with the Wicked Witch of the West?” The question burst out of me nervously, uselessly. If I hadn’t been holding a bowl of hot soup, I would have smacked my forehead. What was I doing?

Miss Daisy snorted. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Do you think it’s true?”

She shrugged. “I always thought that was more of a historifical fun fact. Like, a tidbit. Glinda the Good and the Wicked Witch of the West went to Shiz at the same time. Isn’t that interesting? History is a circle.” She paused. “Not a circle. I’m thinking of something else. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“I mean, it doesn’t really seem like something that would ever have actually happened,” Miss Daisy continued, setting her magazine aside. “Like, what would they have even talked about?”

“They were roommates,” I said timidly. “At Shiz.”

“Ew,” Daisy said, pulling her mouth into an exaggerated frown. Her eyebrows crinkled together. “Poor Glinda. If we’re being honest, the Witch still freaks me out. There was this picture of her in one of my History textbooks that gave me nightmares for years. She’s just so monstrous with the claws and the red eyes and—”

“Stop,” I said as my head blared with pain.

Miss Daisy stared at me blankly.

“I’m sorry,” I said, not having the nerve to explain myself. “Have a nice evening, Miss Daisy.” I grabbed a spoon out of a drawer. “Forget I said anything.”

I wasn’t really hungry, but my stomach churned as I left the room.

Chapter Text

“So, how’s the eggnog?” Glinda looked at me expectantly, a smile hidden in the high curve of her cheeks. 

“It’s good,” I said mildly. It was, but I didn’t want to give Glinda the satisfaction of gushing too much. The small agreement was enough for her, though, as she sat back in her chair, looking smug. Next to us, a river gurgled its way into the ground or a lake or wherever the water that flowed in and out of Oz came to or went from.

She’d insist we sit outside, just to listen to the river. It gives me peace, she’d said.

“Lady Glinda!”

I wondered how much peace she could possibly get, with people coming up to us every few minutes.

Though Glinda had sat down with her back towards the street in an effort to stay more anonymous, this proved to be a method with limited success. The other problem was that this now left me facing the people sidling up to us to wish Glinda well or inquire about her health, and I was finding it more and more difficult to keep a straight face. Though I would have never admitted it, there was a thrilling novelty in sitting casually with Glinda the Good in a café, like I was someone significant. It made me prone to fits of giggles I found embarrassing.

And Glinda could be extraordinarily, disconcertingly charming, which didn’t help. She smiled graciously at older men fumbling through introductions and cooed over babies in buttoned-up onesies. Then she redirected them back down the street and snapped back to business, complaining about the weather or needing reading glasses these days or aging in general—People need to treasure their youth, Nor, not everyone can look as good as I do at this age. It’s unfair, but what can I say.

“Lady Glinda!”

“Yes,” Glinda said, swinging her hair over her shoulder as she turned towards the woman who’d called out to her and now came rushing up the bridge, so quickly she nearly tripped over her feet. “Oh, dear. Don’t run on my behalf. Whatever can I help you with?”

“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” the woman said, blushing a fantastic red. “It’s wonderful to see you, on the last day of our vacation. We were all so worried” –she motioned back towards the bridge, where two hapless teenagers stood waiting for their mother— “after hearing the news of your dear husband, and—”

“Thank you,” Glinda said gently. She took the woman’s hands in her own, squeezing just the right amount. She smiled enchantingly, warmly. “No need to be worried, I’m perfectly alright. Grief is nothing but proof that there once was love.”

“That’s lovely,” the woman whispered.

Glinda looked pleased. “Thank you.” She patted her hand twice, business-like, then turned towards the bridge. “Are those your children?” She waved in their direction. “They seem very observant, look how they’re watching you.” Her smile was mischievous, like they were sharing an inside joke. “As if they’re afraid I’ll snatch you up. You’re lucky, you know.”

“I am,” the woman said, blushing again, if she had ever stopped. “Asherton—the taller one—he’s just been accepted to Shiz—”

“To Shiz!” Glinda gasped, excitedly grasping the woman’s arm. “Oh, he’ll have an amazing time. I myself am an alumnus of Shiz, and…”

As she rambled on, the woman listened with a buoyant joy in the raised apples of her cheeks. She was of the generation that would’ve grown up with Glinda’s soothing words in their ears, maybe ten to fifteen years older than me. Her children were too young to know her as anything but a socialite and philanthropist, and yet they still looked at her with reverence, coming slowly down from the bridge. Perhaps they’d learned about her in class, or from their mother’s stories. Or her historifical significance was dim in their minds, but it was the cheerfulness and grace that radiated off her that made them recognize intuitively that this was someone you wanted to know.

“Usually it’s calmer,” Glinda sighed after the woman left. Asherton and his brother trailed after her, but not before looking back at us one last time. They looked quite a bit like their mother. They even shuffled their feet the same way. “I think it’s the tourists. Who knew Pertha Hills would become a vacation spot?”

“Don’t you find it exhausting?” I asked, watching her swirl the last of her eggnog around in the glass.

“What?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.” She tipped the glass back, finishing the drink.

“This.” My hand moved aimlessly through the air. “Everyone knowing you.”

“I didn’t become a public figure because I hate attention.” She dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “And no one knows me, Nor.”

“You mean in the existential sense.”

Glinda shrugged.

“They could know you, if you ever talked about yourself publicly.”

“They don’t want to hear about me,” Glinda said, waving her hand dismissively. “Not really. They want me to smile at them and kiss their babies—which is unsanitary, Nor, never actually do that—but that’s a fickle kind of familiarity, and not one I’m predisposed to trust.”

“And they all believe Elphaba was the Wicked—”

“Don’t say it, Nor, I’ve no mind to cause a fuss.” She looked at me with a blank expression. “It seems to have a weight around it, those words.”

I sighed. “But it must be difficult for you, that they think all those horrendible things about her.”

“I thought we were taking a day off.” She held her cup upside down, to see if any eggnog was hiding at the bottom. “I suppose that’s what I get for spending time with a journalist.”

Her words stung. Only a little. “I’m just curious,” I said. “I’d ask you that even if I was—” your friend? No, that felt deeply wrong. There was no universe in which Glinda the Good and I would ever be friends. “Even if I wasn’t a journalist.”

“That’s what they all say,” Glinda said, putting her cup back down and picking up a biscuit. “But I am disinclined to talk about this now. That’s my spiteful streak.” She paused, biscuit jammed between her fingertips. “Though I suppose you’re the first person to know me in twenty years,” she said lightly. She didn’t make eye contact.

Something twisted in me. Nerves or a deep regret or some instinctual guilt I couldn’t place. And I thought, for a second, that it was a pity I knew Glinda so well, but that she didn’t know me at all. Not that I wanted her to know me. But the way I saw it, Glinda spent her days on the wrong side of a two-way mirror, and no matter how many people were looking in on her, she would never be able to look back.

--

There was a light knock at my door in the evening. When I opened it, Miss Daisy stood in the hallway, hands in her pockets. “Hello,” I said.

“Hi.” Miss Daisy hesitated, then sighed. “Look, did I offend you yesterday? You really don’t have to tell me anything if Glinda doesn’t want you to.”

“It’s fine,” I said. It wasn’t Miss Daisy’s fault that she’d bought into the most effective propaganda of the century. Still, the thought of sitting her down and explaining everything was draining. “Really, don’t worry about it.”

“Is Glinda overworking you?” she asked, eyebrows scrunching together. “She’s never overworked me before, but you honestly seem really tired.”

She seemed nice. Really, actually nice, in a straightforward way. I found it confusing.

“Maybe it’s a me problem, then.” I smiled thinly. “It’s really fine.”

“Alright.” Daisy shrugged. “If you need anything… just scream.”

“I will not scream,” I said, “but thanks anyway.”

--

The next morning Glinda settled into her usual spot. She wore a cardigan I’d seen before and the wide pair of pants that swished as she moved. Heels, short but elegant. Her hair, a soft blonde and full, fell tidily to her shoulders.

Of course she looked older, but all I could see was Galinda shining out of her, encased in several decades of regret.

“I don’t know what I was hoping for,” she confessed quietly, looking down at her nails. I wondered if she still painted them to calm herself down. Probably not. “But I didn’t think about it. I just ran.”

--

If they got out of this alive, she was going to have words with Elphaba.

Really, Glinda thought, feeling her ribs ache from the exertion. Of course Elphaba had decided to run upstairs instead of outside. When Glinda reached the top of the stairs, she felt lightheaded. She shook her head, which was more an excuse to catch her breath. Taking off and running through the palace! And I have no sense of direction, and you know that—

The thought that Elphaba maybe didn’t want her to follow sobered her enough to silence the babble of her thoughts. She turned down a skyway, bright in the setting sun with large windows offering a fantastic view of the city she would not stop to admire. Glinda lowered her head and ran, ignoring the pain in her feet, the ever-growing screeching of Monkeys.

Winged Monkeys, now. Whipping around outside, they were apparently still trying to gain control of their new limbs. Were wings limbs? Regardless, their mouths froze open in screams, eyes opened wide with terror as they smacked against the glass, tumbled downwards, then regained enough control not to fall.

“Guards…” There was that horrendible metal voice again, pouring out of the wall. “Find… her…” She imagined the head keeling over, light fading from its eyes again. But now that man was sitting inside and piloting it, jovially wicking sweat off his forehead as he pulled the levers up and down. “And bring… her…”

An exhale like a death rattle. Please be dead, Glinda thought.

“To… me…”

No, they wouldn’t get that lucky. In her heart, she knew that. In fact, she had the distressifying suspicion that their luck on this day had run out completely.

She was fast enough to see Elphaba disappear around a far corner, but too slow to catch up. Before she could call out for Elphaba to wait, there was a clang of metal behind her that propelled her body forward with adrenaline. Breaking into a full sprint, she skidded around the next corner. “Elphie,” she shouted as she crashed into the wall with her outstretched hand. “Elphie, please—”

Elphaba did not look back. Perhaps she hadn’t even heard her—how would she have? The Monkeys chattered amongst themselves in their own language; she could hear their shrill voices going back and forth, and that incessant flapping sound.

And her luck really had run out, because she tripped over nothing and stumbled towards the window as a Monkey crashed through it. Enclosing her upper arm in a vise grip, the Monkey began to pull her towards the broken window, fingers digging into the bone. “What are you doing,” she hissed at him. “I can’t fly, I’m going to die—”

He froze at her words, but did not let go of her arm. Glinda stepped backward, her dress stretching between her body and his fingers until finally it split open at the shoulder. Its flayed edges gaped apart like a wound.

Backing away in disbelief, she turned and kept running.

“Elphaba!” Her voice was hoarse from the shouting. She looked back—a mistake, she realized that instantly—to see more Monkeys crawling through the shattered windows, hands scrabbling around desperately for her. Behind them, heavy boots thudded closer. Move, she commanded herself, move, you little idiot, don’t just stand there.

She snapped out of it before the Monkeys reached her, but in her distraction lost sight of the direction of Elphaba’s escape. Helplessly, she stared down identical green hallways, trying to feel if there was an intuitive pull in one direction. Or a sixth sense of some sort, anchoring her to Elphaba. There was nothing. She scrambled out of the way as yet another Monkey lunged at her, pressed against the wall, screwed her eyes shut, resigned herself to her miserable fate—

And yet the Monkey’s grasping fingers never reached her. Instead, she tumbled backwards into pitch darkness. “It’s me,” Elphaba said grimly. “Can you please stop screaming?”

 “Elphie,” Glinda gasped into the darkness, feeling for any part of her. “Elphie—”

“We have to get out of here.”

“Where are we?” Glinda whispered.

“A staff hallway.”

Glinda looked around, but it was too dark to see anything. “How in Oz...”

“I saw it in the model of the palace. If I cut through here—”

“For what, Elphie?” Glinda’s hands ghosted over Elphaba’s sleeves, settling over her forearms. Her eyes, still adapting to the dark, could barely make out the form of her face.

“I get to the tower with the hot air balloon. Or at least I should.”

“Elphaba.” Glinda paused and tried to stop her head from spinning. “Elphaba, pray tell, what in Oz are you planning on doing with a hot air balloon?”

“I’m going to leave,” Elphaba said simply.

Blood rushed in Glinda’s ears. “What?”

“We’re not discussing this here.” Elphaba disentangled her arm out of Glinda’s grip. There was a smooth sliding sound, then a click. The hallway was doused in blinding light. Before Glinda’s eyes could adjust, Elphaba grabbed her hand and began to pull her, blinking, down the hallway.

“I don’t understand,” said Glinda.

“What is there to understand?” Elphaba didn’t look back.

“The Wizard—”

Elphaba flinched.

“Elphie, please look at me.”

Elphaba turned back, and with a start Glinda saw that her face was tear-streaked. “Oh,” she whispered, her hand settling on Elphaba’s face. “Oh, Elphie—”

Trembling, Elphaba took a deep breath. A fresh tear ran over the back of Glinda’s hand. “We have to move,” she said roughly. She took Glinda’s palm and kissed it.

Glinda tried again. “Elphie, the Wizard said—”

“I don’t care what he said.” Reaching a dead end, Elphaba placed a hand onto the wall.

“What now?” Glinda chewed on her bottom lip, stopping only when the taste of copper flooded her mouth. Her stomach roiled, thinking of the stench of blood-matted feathers in the throne room.

Elphaba moved her hand flat against the wall. It slid open.

“Magic,” Glinda whispered.

“It’s a mechanism.” Elphaba stepped back and tilted her head upwards to look at the wall. “I saw the Wizard do it earlier.”

They stepped out into a tall, arcing room—no, not a room. A tower. Left over from an Ozma’s reign, integrated haphazardly into the palace since it was already there. It smelled lightly of a fragrant wood. Her eyes ticked up, from the clutter on the floor to a rickety ladder to a platform, where the hot air balloon stood undisturbed, and finally to the hole in the roof where the evening sun shone through, illuminating the tower in a soft orange light.

So Elphaba had been right again.

As always.

Elphaba slid the door closed. Around them, it was still. No footsteps of people coming to arrest them, no Monkey wings flapping.

“Oz.” Glinda was still catching her breath. She leaned onto a wooden box, and when her hand came away it was covered in dust. “You could have listened to him, Elphie, instead of storming off,” she said, trying to sound cross to hide the break in her voice.

Elphaba didn’t reply. Her hands tore at moldy panels and the latches that had been untouched for years. She ripped them open unceremoniously, eyes roving over an array of discarded mechanical parts.

“Guards…”

Glinda shrank together, feeling all the carefully won air squeeze out of her chest. The sound floated above them, not coming from outside but from everywhere around them.

“The… fugitive… is… still… at… large…”

Elphaba didn’t even look up. Her hands just kept moving.

“Bring… her… to… me…”

“What are you even doing?”

“Help me look for something to light the hot air balloon.” Elphaba wheeled around and began to pace, back and forth. “Or don’t. There’s nothing here, anyway. I could use magic. I could use—”

She took the Grimmerie out of her bag and stared at it, eyes wide.

“No,” Glinda said harshly. “Elphaba, enough.” Her thoughts jumbled together, images imprinting themselves on her mind. Elphaba, dragged screaming and kicking by the guards after from her; Elphaba, limp and lifeless, strewn on the ground in that throne room, in front of that horrendible head…

Elphaba, resigned, rifled through the book. It didn’t react. “We’ll figure it out,” she muttered, dropping it back into her bag. “Just follow me.” Then she turned and dashed towards the ladder.

“Follow you where?” Glinda asked. The first rung shuddered as she placed a foot onto it. How old was this ladder? How rotten was this wood? As they climbed higher, her stomach settled into a peculiar queasiness. She could think of nothing else as they ascended, Elphaba in front of her placing her feet and hands securely on the rungs, while Glinda clung to them so tightly she felt every grain of wood under her palms. “Where are you going?”

“Up,” came Elphaba’s reply as she clambered onto the platform. She turned to help Glinda, hands cool and clammy.

“They’re in here!”

There was a banging sound against the wall. Glinda flinched as she sprawled onto the platform, her knee stinging from the impact. As she rose, brushing her hands across her kneecaps, Elphaba leapt into the wicker basket and began fiddling with the controls, hair spilling out over her shoulder. It glinted in the evening light. Glinda’s heart ached.

A group of guards, or soldiers—what was the difference? Was there a difference?—burst into the room. “There,” one of them shouted, “the green one—”

He fell silent as Elphaba pulled something and a flame shot up under the balloon. It—well, ballooned out instantly, making the basket jolt. “So I guess the fire is in there?” Elphaba said, looking up in wonder at the flame that now blazed above her head. “Good to know.” She nearly fell as the balloon lurched upwards, the ropes that secured the basket taut in their effort to keep her down. “Glinda, hurry up!”

There was now a non-negligible gap between the platform and the basket, and in that gap there was only yawning emptiness. Glinda stood, frozen with fear, anticipating the brutal snap of bone as her leg broke out from under her. “I’m too short,” she said frantically.

“Jump, Glinda!” Elphaba held a hand out. Glinda tried to jump, she really did, but her legs faltered. “Just jump! You’re running out of time!”

Seized with fervent panic, she jumped as the first guard reached the platform. If Elphaba’s hand hadn’t grasped her arm tightly, she would almost certainly have fallen. But Elphaba was there, and so Glinda dangled loosely from the basket as it continued on its constrained rise, fighting against the ropes that held it still. Hooking her arm into the basket, wincing with pain and effort, she looked at the platform, at the guard glaring at them.

“What do I do?” she heard him ask, his head jolting from side to side as if salvation would come out of nowhere.

Glinda pulled herself up and collapsed into the basket, her arms shaking.

Elphaba extended her hands and with barely a flick of her wrist made the ropes furl outwards, then back in again. With yelps of pain, the guards let them go. “One problem down,” Elphaba mumbled, so quietly Glinda could barely here, “several to go.” Grimly, Elphaba looked at the fire above her. “We need more,” she decided. “We’re never going to get out of here otherwise.”

Still lying in the basket, the rough pattern of the basket pressed up against her face, Glinda looked out at the guard on the platform.

“What do I do?” he asked again.

“Kill her,” someone shouted.

As he raised his gun towards Elphaba, the soldier—the guard—whoever he was—made eye contact with Glinda. He had deep blue eyes, she noticed, and a young, round face. His lip snarled as he aimed, but perhaps it was just in concentration. Incapacitated with fear, Glinda watched him for too long, her brain’s numb terror overpowering any impulse for useful action. Then she saw him put his finger on the trigger.

Helpless, she screamed.

Nothing happened. The guard pulled his rifle back, bemused, and peered into its muzzle. Then he moved his hands over the middle of the gun, staring at the components, forehead wrinkling in confusion.

“Elphaba,” Glinda yelled, “he’s going to shoot you—”

“We need to get higher.” Elphaba cast a glance at the guard, who was still struggling as the others shouted frantic suggestions from the ground. “They’ll get it together at some point.”

“What are you going to do?” Glinda asked, trying to stand with wobbly legs.

“Magic? I can’t—” Elphaba grasped up at the chain dangling from the burner unit, barely missing it. Glinda, finally on her feet, reached up and grabbed it at the same time as Elphaba. Together they pulled down, and finally the flame shot upward and accelerated their ascent.

Smugly, Glinda looked down and waved at the young guard, who by now had given up on his rifle and could only stare in wide-mouthed awe at the hot air balloon as it rose above him.

They nearly had it. The balloon climbed swiftly but steadily towards the opening in the roof of the tower. Glinda could feel the cool evening breeze on her face. Elphaba’s arm curled around her waist, holding her tight, and she was safely in the basket of the balloon and they could figure it out together and—

Elphaba’s face fell into shadow. Sunset, Glinda thought, still caught up in that hope. But sunset would not have caused Elphaba’s eyes to widen and her hand to pull at the chain with increasing desperation.

Bracing herself, Glinda looked up.

The roof was falling in on itself, cutting the sky off from them. She heard the grind of a great mechanism, guards barking instructions back and forth.

“We need to be faster,” Elphaba said, looking at the flame. “We need more—”

“Elphie, I don’t think—”

But Elphaba was already mumbling to herself, extending her hands upwards towards the burner unit. A bead of sweat pearled on her face. Had she ever created fire before? Was that something they’d covered, in Morrible’s class? If so, Elphaba would have certainly been able to coax a flame out of thin air and send it dancing across the table. Maybe Glinda—Galinda then—would have laughed with delight, or squealed in mock terror and jumped across the room to make Elphaba giggle and roll her eyes. But that had never happened, not that Glinda could recall. Still the flame spiked as Elphaba held her hands out, trembling with effort, a triumphant smile spreading across her face.

Glinda did not see the balloon get caught in the closing roof. She did not see it catch fire. She just watched Elphaba’s smile fade, her eyes darken with terror and regret, and her throat constrict. The both of them lurched as the basket did, swinging like a pendulum from the trapped balloon, flames licking down and sending a swell of heat towards them.

“Get out, Glinda,” Elphaba breathed, “go, jump—”

“It’s too high,” Glinda said without looking. Instinctively, she grabbed onto Elphaba. Her eyes stung as she looked up.

Elphaba put her hands on the rim of the basket and screwed her eyes shut. Glinda’s stomach dropped. The ropes running between the basket and the balloon were already on fire, emitting a rancid smoke. Was Elphaba giving up? Had she accepted that their fate would be to die in this wicker basket, burning alive in the Wizard’s tower? And what a fate it was. At least they’d go together. Glinda lowered her head, sent a prayer to whoever would be listening—Oz, Lurline herself—to forgive her for the things she’d done or hadn’t done.

Then the basket, trembling in its frame, clanged into a platform Glinda hadn’t even seen, that Elphaba had seemingly plucked out of thin air. “Go,” Elphaba choked, “I can’t keep it up—”

The platform was blessedly solid under her feet. Glinda scrambled forward to grab Elphaba just as the balloon ripped and the basket dropped, the weight of her sending a sharp pain into her shoulder. “I’ve got you,” she panted, feeling very much like she did not have her. Though her arms shook with effort, she somehow managed to haul her up, tears of exhaustion running down her cheeks. She stayed frozen, looking down at the base of the tower, as Elphaba sprang to her feet.  

The basket, now fully ablaze, fell for what seemed like ages. It tumbled towards the young guard on the platform, who dropped his useless rifle and tore his mouth open in a useless scream.

Before it hit him, Glinda was plunged into darkness.

“Don’t look,” Elphaba whispered. “Close your eyes.”

She did.

“Are they closed?”

Glinda nodded.

Elphaba drew her hands back, then helped her to her feet as the air filled with hoarse screams. “We have to go.”

Glinda opened her eyes again, blinking out the sting of smoke.

“Don’t look back,” Elphaba said. She grabbed Glinda’s arm and led her down another door, placing her hand on the wall to make it slide open. It looked practiced, natural. Glinda’s ears rang as she followed Elphaba down another hall, as Elphaba threw open the set of wide double doors at the end of it.

“This is bad,” Glinda was muttering. “Oh, Elphie, this is really, really bad.”

Wordlessly, Elphaba barricaded the door with a broom. Glinda turned to inspect the room they’d ended in. Stale air, the faint scent of mold. So they’d finally reached the attic. The floorboards were covered in dust, which looked like it hadn’t been disturbed in years, if ever. Bleached fabrics rippled over forgotten furniture. A spiral staircase wound upwards into what seemed to be impossible heights. There was no exit, as far as Glinda could tell, or other means of escape.

Oh, what were they doing. She still smelled the smoke, clinging to her skin, and felt the rush of freedom as she had looked up at the sky crumbling agonizingly. Their only chance of escape, gone up in flames. Literal flames. So they’d made an effort. So things didn’t work out sometimes! And sometimes one just had to accept that and find a solution that was better. And Elphaba, who held the Grimmerie in her hands as she paced around the floor, mouth a flattened line—

Oz, they had been so happy. And the Wizard, with his absurdifying Monkey plan and his stupid road, had ruined that, and quite rudely too, Glinda had to say. She found the indignation comforting, after the horror and the fear.

“Well,” she said briskly, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough.”

Elphaba stopped pacing to look at her, eyebrows shooting upwards in confusion.

“You can still talk to him,” Glinda said. “You can—”

“Talk to the Wizard?” Elphaba’s voice was low and dense. A morning fog over a field. She set the book down with a low thud.

“I know he’s a bigot, Elphie, but you don’t have to let that ruin your life.”

“You want me to talk to the Wizard?” Elphaba repeated incredulously.

“What else are you going to do?” Glinda threw her hands up, exasperated.

Elphaba said nothing, head tilted towards the ground with her shoulders drawn together tightly.

“You’ve made your point,” Glinda said softly. “Let’s go back. Please. We could be happy here. I know it’s not what you imagined, but—”

Elphaba’s head snapped upwards. “You mean you could be happy.”

Glinda flinched.

“I saw your face in the throne room,” Elphaba said, “when the Wizard said you could stay, too.” She paused, looking at Glinda like she was seeing her for the first time. “Is that worth it to you? Crawling back to the Wizard, groveling—”

“I never said anything about groveling.” Glinda took a step back. “I just said you should talk to him, Elphie, because maybe you don’t always know everything, contrary to popular belief, and maybe the best course of action isn’t stealing the Grimmerie” –helplessly, she motioned towards the book, which lay serene and cozy in a patch of fading sunlight— “and taking off in a hot air balloon! Which is on fire!”

She stopped, breathing quickly.

Elphaba shook her head. “I thought you’d understand.”

“What, because I’m famously a hot air balloon enthusiast?”

There was a loud screech and a crackle. Glinda flinched, thinking of the monkeys, but then a voice bloomed out of a distant loudspeaker and she recognized the sound as static. “Citizens of Oz!”

It wasn’t the head with its metallic croak. It wasn’t even the Wizard, with his strange foreign dialect. No, this voice was deeply familiar, and Elphaba stiffened as it resonerated through the towers, through the city.

“There is an enemy that must be found and captured,” Madame Morrible continued. Oz, Glinda hated her voice. How many times had it corrected her, sneering about something she couldn’t have possibly known? Wand composition, spell languages Morrible had never bothered to explain… but, she had to admit, if she was a citizen of the Emerald City and had never heard Madame Morrible speak before, she would have bought it in an instant. “Believe nothing she says!”

“Don’t listen,” Glinda whispered.

Elphaba shook her head.

“She is evil,” Morrible said. “She is responsible for the mutilation of these poor Monkeys. She stole our Grimmerie, the most powerful book of magic in all of Oz.” There was an appropriate amount of emotional heft in her voice. Involved, but not hysterical. The perfect blend of concern, resolve, and competence.

Elphaba inhaled sharply.

“Oh,” Glinda whispered, reaching out to Elphaba. She touched her arm briefly, then pulled back when no reaction came.

“Her green skin is but an outward manifestorium of her inner, twisted nature,” Madame Morrible intoned. “She is a distortion. A repulsion!”

Now she was overdoing it a bit with the rhetoric. Glinda frowned. Would they fall for this, the people of Oz?

“If you see her, do not hesitate.”

More static.

“Report her immediately. She is to be delivered to the Wizard dead or alive.”

She saw Elphaba clench her hand into a fist. Then she relaxed it, searching fingers stretching outwards, shaking slightly.

“Don’t be afraid,” Glinda whispered, taking Elphaba’s unsteady hand. It was the only thing she could do.

Elphaba tilted her head back to look up at the staircase spiraling into the heights of the tower. Then she looked at Glinda, and there was that steady gaze again that held something so breakable within. Visions, visions, Glinda tried to comfort herself.

 “I’m not afraid,” Elphaba said quietly. She squeezed Glinda’s hand, then let it go. “It’s the Wizard who should be afraid. Of… of me.” She nodded, like she was trying to convince herself. Jerkily, she picked up the book again and stalked past Glinda towards the staircase. “Are you coming or are you just going to stand there?” she asked without turning around.

Glinda, not wanting to be left behind, scurried after her. “I don’t get what you’re trying to do.”

“I want no part in what the Wizard has planned.”

“But what is that, Elphie?”

“If you don’t know what’s going on, why are you trying to convince me to talk to him?”

“I know this is bigger than us,” Glinda said, running her hand along the railing as she tried to keep up with Elphaba’s pace. “I know you could’ve listened to him, instead of flying off the handle!”

Elphaba didn’t say anything. She looked resolutely forward at the next step, then the next. Glinda, feeling ignored, huffed with annoyance. “Elphaba,” she said, trying to sound soothing, “this is your dream.”

“Not anymore.”

“But the things we talked about”—Glinda took a sharp breath— “the things we could have together—”

“Not if I have to work with the Wizard.”

“You could change him,” Glinda pleaded. “You could make him understand, if you talked to him—”

“Maybe I could.” Hoping against all hope, Glinda thought Elphaba was slowing down. Then again, they were still climbing, and Glinda’s legs had started burning what felt like minutes ago. Elphaba would have to get tired eventually. “But I won’t,” Elphaba said, and her words were biting and bitter, “because I have nothing to say.”

“You have plenty of things to say,” Glinda said. “I heard you go over it dozens of times.”

“I don’t want to make him understand anymore.” Elphaba stopped, her hand clenching around the railing. “I don’t care if he understands anymore. The Wizard can rot. I’m going to fix it myself.”

Glinda felt breathless as they kept going towards the last shafts of sunlight coming from the top of the attic. “Yourself?”

“I have the book,” Elphaba said curtly. “And I’m going to tell everyone the truth.”

“And you think people are just going to believe you?” Glinda scoffed. “Elphie—”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Because he’s the Wizard, Elphaba!”

Elphaba stopped. Please look at me, Glinda thought. Elphaba shook her head and kept climbing. “They’ll have to believe me.”

“What if they don’t?”

“Well, I’ll never know if I don’t try.” Elphaba stopped again to breathe. Was she crying again? Glinda couldn’t tell. “It’s too late, anyway.”

“But what are you going to do?”

“Take a leap of faith.” Elphaba’s voice broke as she reached the top of the stairs. Kneeling to the ground, she took the Grimmerie out of her bag and splayed it open.

“With what?” Glinda dashed up the rest of the steps, legs burning. Through a large window, she could see the Emerald City and the surrounding towns, the green fields. It seemed to go on forever. People and Animals in their cottages and houses, going about their day. Pouring themselves a cup of tea from a heavy pot or opening a book or polishing spectacles.

“Levitation,” Elphaba muttered. The Grimmerie’s pages rustled again. The sweet smell of rain spread throughout the room. Rain, and then a sharpness like lightning had just struck. Holding her hands over the pages, Elphaba closed her eyes.

“Stop,” Glinda begged. “We’re a mile up. Please, not that hideoteous levitation spell again.” Wings twisting out of Elphaba’s back. Her delicate shoulders flung inward.

Elphaba’s voice was a murmur that wormed its way into Glinda’s ear, layering itself over the grooves and ridges of her brain.  It was almost comforting. Glinda’s shoulders slumped. It was tempting to let go… to stop fighting.

Then she remembered Chistery’s screams.

“Stop,” she told Elphaba, swaying back and forth like a thin tree in a storm. Glinda grabbed her by the shoulders and shook, but could not break through her trance. The book hummed. Desperate, she kneeled and slid the book away from Elphaba, slamming it shut. “Enough, Elphaba!”

“Glinda!” Elphaba opened the book again, frantically turning pages. “Why would you do that?”

Glinda closed her eyes, wincing, waiting for Elphaba to fall and thrash around in pain.

Nothing happened.

Carefully, Glinda opened an eye. Elphaba was not on the ground or screaming silently. She sat with her arms crossed, glaring at her. It was such a welcome sight that tears sprang to Glinda’s eyes. “Oh,” Glinda gasped in relief. “Oh, Elphie. You don’t have wings. Maybe it’s not possible. Maybe you’re not as powerful—”

“You didn’t let me finish the spell,” Elphaba hissed.

“Pardon me for not wanting you to get mutilated—”

Glinda fell silent as she saw something rise behind Elphaba.

“What is it?” Elphaba reached a hand towards her back, feeling up between her shoulder blades.

“Look.” Glinda pointed. “Is that—”

It was the broom that Elphaba had used to barricade the door. A well-made broom, not that Glinda was an expert on brooms. But it looked solid. A broom meant for honest work, to lie comfortably in a callused hand, to rest against a door or in a cupboard before sweeping dirt off the floor.

And yet it floated as if it had accepted the challenge to fly willingly, joyfully.

Elphaba’s hand closed around the handle. She turned the broom so that it was level to the floor. She smiled, fondly, at this thing that was not meant to fly and still, somehow, did.

Faintly, Glinda took a step closer.

“Are you coming?” Elphaba was backlit by the fading sun. The broom was suspended in the air between them. Her hands reached out for Glinda, searching, waiting.

“Coming?” Glinda echoed weakly.

“We could do anything together,” Elphaba said. She took Glinda’s hand between both of hers, threading them together as closely as possible. “We could go anywhere. We could tell all of them the truth and—”

For a moment, Glinda saw it. Was it a vision, or just a desperate hope? She felt the ground, rough and cold under her back at night, a stone pressing into her shoulder as she turned into Elphaba for warmth. She saw Elphaba shivering as she struck two stones together in the vain hope that a spark would light a pile of sticks on fire. Elphaba looking back at her and reaching out a hand to help her over a rushing river, the squelch of wet between her toes.

She saw Elphaba speaking to a crowd, voice growing louder and more desperate, Glinda nodding and hiding behind her like a child afraid to greet an older relative. People shrinking away as she reached out to them. She saw Elphaba duck her head down and smile, and her cheekbones grow prominent as they lay hungry in barns, huddled against each other for comfort.

It was all tolerable. Not pleasant, but tolerable.

But through it all there was a terror grown through it, like a tree that comes up with rot in the center. And try as she might, she could not imagine getting on that broom. It seemed impossible. Like brooms or poppies, she was not meant for it. Not now, at least. Given a few years, perhaps. But now—

“I need more time,” Glinda whispered.

“You have about five minutes before the guards get up here,” Elphaba said.

“No.” Glinda felt her bottom lip tremble. “I need time.”

“I said I wouldn’t leave you.” Elphaba’s voice cracked. A tear ran down the side of her face. “Please, Glinda.”

Stay, Glinda wanted to say. Would Elphaba have stayed? The pictures shifted again—they weren’t visions, they couldn’t be—of Elphaba coming back down the stairs with her, adopting a downcast gaze for the Wizard, shuffling her feet in shame. Handing over the Grimmerie again. Resuming her lessons under Madame Morrible, sitting in the highest courts of Oz to espouse opinions. In this fantasy, Elphaba’s smile grew dimmer and dimmer by the day, until she withered into a soulless husk, as cold as the emeralds in the palace.

If Glinda had asked, would Elphaba have stayed?

She would have liked to think so. But she didn’t ask and Elphaba didn’t stay, and it was better like that.

“Your visions,” Glinda started.

“What about them?”

“They’re good, right? Happy visions?”

Elphaba nodded.

“Promise me they’re good visions,” Glinda said, her voice breaking.

“I promise,” Elphaba said. She seemed so sure. Glinda knew her face so well then, all the angles and edges and the way she moved her mouth.

“You better not be lying, Elphaba Thropp.”

“I’d never lie to you.”

Elphaba had visions and Glinda could try to have faith. She moved to hug her, but the broom was between them. “Move, you dirty old mop,” she whispered.

Elphaba laughed through her tears. The broom, obedient if it was nothing else, slid out from between them.

Folding herself into Elphaba, Glinda tried to memorize what she felt like. The curve of her waist, her jutting hipbones. How her chin nestled into the crook of Glinda’s neck. Glinda hat watched her dab perfume onto her neck that morning, with the soft inside of her wrist. Now its scent surrounded her completely so that they could have been standing in their dorm room, wrapped up in each other like always. Before she pulled back, Elphaba moved her arms up so that her hands rested under Glinda’s shoulder blades. She remembered that very specifically, even as the rest of the details faded.

“Do you have everything you need?” Glinda asked, fussing over Elphaba’s dress. “Of course you don’t, they took your suitcase to the hotel. Oh, Elphie.” She fanned her face, trying hard not to cry too much. “You don’t even have my sweater. You’re going to get so cold; you’re trembling already.”

Shaking her head, she pulled away from Elphaba and looked through the pile of ancient clothes and fabrics on the far side of the upper level. Cotton—no, that wouldn’t do. Linen was too rough. She needed something thick, not too garish, not too stiff. Finally, her hands found something soft and warm. Black, but that was appropriate for the occasion. It went with the hat. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision.

Returning to Elphaba, she shook out the sheet, grimacing at the layer of dust plastered onto it. “It’s not very fashionable, but what can you do,” she said, unable to stop the tears from running down her face. “Here, put this around you.” Her fingers brushed the soft skin of Elphaba’s neck, coming to rest at the notch between her collarbones. How many hours ago had she kissed Elphaba there softly, interrupting the rise of her chest as she breathed? The memory was faint, and could only grow fainter still.

She tied the edges of the sheet in a neat knot, wishing she could do more. Could give her more. Could give her everything she needed, or would ever need or want.

“It’s okay,” Elphaba said. She smiled sadly at Glinda. “I’ll be okay.”

“I hope you’re happy,” Glinda whispered thickly.

“How can I be, without you?”

Glinda looped her hand behind the knot and pulled Elphaba in, kissing her desperately. A last gasp of air before diving down into water. She held on even as the door to the attic banged open and dozens of guards streamed into the attic. Her eyes roamed over Elphaba’s face as she drew back. “I love you,” she said. Oh, how it felt to say the words out loud. Before Elphaba could reply, she kept talking. “Now go. Before they get up here.”

“Glinda—”

“Go,” Glinda repeated, wanting to be kept in blissful ignorance.

They did sound close.

“Stand back,” Elphaba told her as she held her hand out towards the window. It cracked once, then twice, then into a fine web of fractures that dissolved in on itself. “Glinda, are you sure?”

“No,” Glinda whispered, “but I’m not sure either way. And shouldn’t I be sure, if I leave with you?”

Elphaba seemed to accept this as she turned and mounted the broom. Her cloak fanned out behind her. Her hat sat securely on her head. Glinda watched as she became something that was simultaneously Elphaba and not-Elphaba, familiar and new, the next iteration of a beloved thing taken apart and put back together.

Oz, she was beautiful.

Glinda could think of nothing else as the guards finally reached the top of the attic and swarmed over her, wrenching her back.

“Leave her alone,” Elphaba spat at them. “She has nothing to do with this.”

“She could be an accomplice,” one of the guards shouted. “I saw her—”

“She’s no one,” Elphaba said, making eye contact with Glinda, a thousand apologies in the furrow of her brow. “She’s nothing. It’s all me.”

“They’re dangerous!”

Elphaba’s eyes glinted. She turned and blocked the dying sunlight, cape billowing out behind her. Look at me, Glinda thought, please, just look at me.

She did not look. At least Glinda didn’t remember her looking.

She leapt securely out of the broken window and despite herself, Glinda couldn’t help but scream—they were so far up. Impossibly far up. So far up that it would take seconds for her to reach the ground if she fell.

Elphaba tumbled out of sight, into what looked like a straight drop down.

Behind Glinda, a guard guffawed.

Glinda could only stare in open-mouthed horror, counting the seconds.

“Guards…”

There was the Wizard’s head-voice again. Glinda felt numb, sick, like she would never be able to eat or sleep again. She could barely stop herself from heaving and vomiting all over the attic floor at the thought of Elphaba’s broken body below. The guards had slackened their grip a bit, but it still hurt, the way their thumbs poked and prodded at her.

“The fugitive is airborne,” the voice continued.

Glinda was flooded with such relief that she would have fallen to her knees, if the guards hadn’t had her upper arms clenched between their fists.

“We must—”

There was a squawk of static, then blissful silence.

“I have a message for the man who calls himself the Wizard of Oz,” a voice boomed out of the air around them. Elphaba’s voice. Elphaba’s voice, which was not only a part of the wind but the wind itself. It teased at Glinda’s hair, at the guards’ horrendible collars. “The people of Oz deserve the truth,” she continued. Where was she? Glinda tried to spot her, tilting her head up at the sky. It was nearly completely dark now, though the night was clear. “I have the Grimmerie. I see your palace burning from here.”

A pause. Glinda wondered if Elphaba was perched on her broom, or nestled against a ledge somewhere. Then a swell of thaumaturgic energy smacked into her. Her entire body vibrated with it. Did the guards feel it, too? They looked up at the sky with distinctly queasy expressions, but perhaps they were just afraid. And though Glinda felt a fear, running up and down her arms like tiny ants, the thrill made her nearly laugh out loud.

“Your orders mean nothing to me.” Below them, Glinda could see the lamps in the entire city flickering. Her heart flickered, too. “I am free of you. I am free of—”

Of me, Glinda thought sadly, disrupting the euphoric feeling of magic in her chest.

“—your expectations, your lies. I will see to it that the people of Oz get what they deserve. And until then—”

There was a clap like thunder, though there still wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

“Let’s negotiate,” the Wizard’s metallic voice said. “Just come down—”

“I will not.” Somehow, Elphaba’s voice became louder, until it thrummed out of every surface. “Not for you. Not for anyone.”

There was a flash of sparks from behind Glinda. A roar of energy rushed over the city. One by one, the lights sparked out.

“Oh God,” the Wizard said. “Please…”

As everything powered down, his voice faded into a metallical whine.

The attic was plunged into darkness. The only source of illumination were the day’s last rays of sun, barely lighting the area in front of the window. Was that Elphaba, rushing across the sky? Or was she only imagining it?

“Galinda,” someone said behind her.

One of the guards curved his fingertips into the bone of her upper arm, turning her towards the voice.

“It’s Glinda.”

Madame Morrible stepped out of the shadows. “Well, whatever your name is.”

Glinda waited.

“I think you should come with me.”

--

I tried to rethread what I knew about the past.

The rough shape of history could stay the same. Monkeys forever changed, the historic wing of the Wizard’s palace destroyed. Guards who were trapped as it burned, some living the rest of their lives with scars and aches, some not living a life at all. A green woman flying into the sky on her broom with Oz’s most dangerous weapon in her possession.

And yet none of it was the same.

For a moment, I pitied the schoolchildren who had lovingly learned every detail of contemporary Ozian history and who would almost certainly have to relearn it entirely, if the truth about this ever came out. The adults would be free to misremember, to stay vague about dates or shrug and say I read an article about that, but I’m not sure what it said anymore. But the schoolchildren—I imagined hearing about the Wizard’s version of the story one year in school, then this version the next. I was having a hard time as an adult.

“He could have just let you go,” I said quietly.

Glinda shrugged. “She was too powerful for that.”

“But she didn’t want to do anything dangerous.” Despite the fear her words had slashed into Oz. The transcription of that speech was the stuff of newsreels, headlines, ghost stories.  

“She was dangerous to the Wizard.” Glinda’s voice was reedy. “That was enough.”

I felt exhausted, like a leech had sat between my shoulder blades and drained me dry as Glinda spoke. “Was that the last time you ever saw her?”

Glinda’s shoulders dropped.

Oz, here it comes, I thought, dreading it. Here was the break. The girls in the field, tumbling apart at last, set on their opposite trajectories.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said instead. “Of course not.”

I cleared my throat. “Oh.”

Staring out of the window at the setting sun, a haze came over Glinda’s eyes. Retreating back into memory, into herself. A place I would never see completely. “I knew we’d see each other again.”

I moved forward, rested my elbows on my upper thighs. “And when was that?”

“Nor.” Glinda exhaled. “I’ve made quite a few concessions already. Basic linear storytelling is not one I’m willing to consider.” Her gaze softened, almost like she was about to apologize. Then she blinked and it was gone.

“Right.” I looked down.

“Besides,” Glinda said, her mouth twisting, “the next time I saw her, it broke my heart.”