Archive of Our Own ^beta

Galinda Upland, nowadays known solely as ‘Glinda the Good,’ treks back to her chambers. Her steps, like the rest of her, are perfect. Slow and deliberate, almost gliding across the emerald floor. Their cadence echoing through the long empty hallway. The setting sun casts long rays of sunlight across the palace’s walls, making them shimmer with life. Glinda despised it. It's a cruel parody of warmth. The blinding light that stung her eyes.

Her eyelids were heavy, and her shoulders slumped. She let her smile falter and then vanish altogether. She was exhausted. It seemed like she was always exhausted these days.

Ruling Oz was taxing. Glinda was constantly occupied with something, from meetings and public appearances to treaty negotiations and enacting a myriad of new laws.

She was continually in motion, desperately trying to undo the unjust laws the Wizard had imposed. To restore what was broken. To fight for what Elphaba had believed in, now that she was dead—

Glinda stumbled mid-step.

‘Gone,’ she amends in her head. ‘Now that Elphaba was gone.’ She sighs in relief that no one is there to witness her slip.

Loneliness was another constant companion these days. A chilling emptiness that clung to her like a shroud. She preferred it; she’d been the one to strip the palace of all but the most necessary employees. It was better to be alone than to have to pretend.

To act like she was their sweet, perfect ruler. Like she was Good. Oz-Glinda hated that word.

And to have to smile and feign happiness, as if her heart wasn't shattered past repair. As if her best friend's death was to be celebrated instead of mourned. As if the only person in all of Oz who ever truly knew her wasn’t gone. Nothing left but a stupid puddle on an old dusty castle’s floor.

She opens her chamber door, closing it gently behind her before leaning against the cool wood. Regrets, an army of them, plaguing her. A million things she would change if given the chance. However, from those, there are only three things that ruined her life.

She prepares for bed, as the memories resurface. A relentless tide that Glinda is incapable of preventing from drowning her.

She moves swiftly to her vanity. Grimacing at the person in the mirror before sitting down to carefully undo the curls in her hair.

First, not joining Elphaba on that damned broom.

The image remained vivid, etched into her memory even after all these years. Elphaba, bathed in sunlight, her raven hair blowing in the wind. A newfound confidence radiated from her, a stark contrast to the timid girl she once was.

"Come with me," Elphaba had pleaded, her voice soft and inviting, her hand outstretched. But Glinda, young and foolish, had been a coward.

Afraid of the Wizard. Afraid of judgment. Of altering her stupid, perfectly planned life. She’d said no. Had watched her fearless Elphie fly off into the sky.

She remembers returning to Shiz afterward alone. To a private suite all to herself, that suddenly felt colder and emptier than ever. Realizing how it was far too much space for just one person. Her hands roughly pulled at the pins keeping her hair in place.

Maybe if she had gone with her, had helped, she’d still be here. Instead, she’d only helped herself.

Her hair, free, falls over her shoulders.

Instead, she had let the Wizard use her like a puppet. Leaving Elphaba alone to fend for herself.

She pushed herself up, moving angrily to her armoire and grabbing a pair of pajamas.

Second, not speaking out against the Wizard, or to Morrible. Hell, to the world itself that was so quick to cast blame on Elphaba.

Glinda all but tears off her dress, half-haphazardly laying it on her floor to be dealt with tomorrow.

She had allowed her kind Elphie to be branded a monster. To be feared and hated, rather than loved like she deserved. And Elphaba had deserved it. She’d only ever wanted to help others. Guilt gnawed at her—for not defending her. For allowing Morrible to trick everyone into believing the woman Glinda held so closely to her heart was wicked. She despised herself for her cowardice, for not possessing the courage like Fiyero did.

Her hands trembled, momentarily frozen.

Oz, she thought, poor, brave Fiyero, another soul lost to her selfishness.

She shook her head, finally pulling on the nightgown.

Now even with the Wizard gone and Morrible imprisoned. Glinda still couldn't reveal the truth.

No matter how much it consumed to hear everyone believe their lies.

No matter how much she wanted to. To scream about how wrong everyone was. To finally clear Elphaba's name, like she should have done years ago.

Because Elphaba had begged her not to. Had made her promise not to. It had been her last promise to her before—so, Glinda endured the celebrations. Smiled as the crowds cheered for the death of the woman they knew as Wicked.

The death of her heart alongside it.

She moved into the bathroom, the cool tile a stark contrast to the warmth of her room. Splashing water on her face, she tried to wash away the memory, but it clung to her like a shadow. Her hands quivered as the dripping water fell into the cool porcelain, a reminder of her mistake.

Third, the most devastating of all was causing Elphaba's death.

She hadn't meant to. It was meant to help her. Something small to help, to ease the constant worry in her chest. It was supposed to be an act for Good. Real good, like what Elphaba always did.

Morrible and the Wizard wanted to know Elphaba's weaknesses—something they could use to forever take down the witch.

They had expected Glinda to know it. She was Elphaba's closest friend after all. If anyone knew what it was, it was her. They had expected her to betray her.

She rubbed a damp cloth over her face, trying to remove her makeup. She didn't notice how hard she was pushing. Scrubbing it raw, her skin reddening from the attack.

Only Glinda wouldn't. Elphaba was—no, is—her best friend.

She would never willingly harm her. But they wouldn't let it go, and the pressure was immense. If she didn't provide something, they'd find someone else. Someone who would undoubtedly hold zero percent of the attachment Glinda had for the witch.

So, she'd come up with an idea. That she would tell them something. Some unknown weakness that only Glinda had ever been told. Something harmless, something that would buy Elphaba time if she ever were trapped. Allow her to escape.

"She's allergic to water," she settled on, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "It burns her like acid."

Morrible smiled, a chilling, predatory smile, and they believed her. Perhaps that was the only good thing to come from her years of submission—they trusted her word. Later, Glinda almost felt a perverse sense of pride as she heard the rumor spread through the town.

Her triumph was short-lived.

Tears welled in her eyes. Her hands shook, and her breaths were hard and fast. She gripped the sink tightly, cloth still in her hand. Water dripped onto the floor.

Glinda had tried! To warn her—to save her. To clear her name. To do anything! Anything so Elphab didn't have to suffer anymore.

She'd come too late.

Elphaba had told her it was too dangerous. Had given her the Grimmore and told her to leave. Glinda was forced to hide when the witch hunters came. In the shadows, she heard Elphaba's anguished scream. Rushing to the scene, she found only a hat, a green vial, and a puddle of black.

"Elphie?" she called her voice a mere whisper. Her gaze fell upon a bucket, droplets of water still trickling from its side. A wave of fear washed over her. But the scene didn't make sense. It was a trick. She had lied. She'd lived with Elphaba; she'd know if she was allergic to water. Wouldn't she? Fear and despair had clouded her thoughts, and she couldn't remember.

"Oh, Elphie," she sobbed, the sound swallowed by the desolate castle. She sank to her knees, grabbing the hat and vial before her. Clutching the remnants of her friend. Her grief was almost unbearable.

Glinda turned the water off, moving to her bed. She slipped under the covers, closing her eyes to hide from the world, if only for a moment.

It hardly mattered anyway; the result was the same. Her feeble attempt to protect Elphaba had led directly to her demise.

Now, Glinda was alone in a castle that felt far too large. In her bed, made for two. A queen adored by a kingdom that knew nothing of who she truly was. Loved by all of Oz and utterly alone.

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When Glinda dreams, she dreams of rain. Not the soft kind—the kind children sporting raincoats joyfully played in as it helpfully watered the plants. But, torrential rain.

Destructive. Hard and heavy, pelting down, flooding the ground around her.

In her dreams, Glinda stands in the middle of a poppy field. The red flowers dancing in the wind, vibrant against the green grass.

Glinda is unaffected by the rain. Beneath an awning, which itself is unattached to any building. A shield from the rain falling around her. The droplets drum against the roof in a constant, steady rhythm. The rain itself is captivating, each drop a fleeting diamond in the fleeting light, drummed a hypnotic rhythm against the roof.

Despite her safety and the rain's beauty, Glinda is terrified.

Cold dread, icy and suffocating, seized her. Something was terribly wrong

Then, a figure materialized from the swirling mist, a silhouette against the blinding rain. Clad in a pointed black hat and wielding a black umbrella, she approached. As she drew closer, Glinda recognized the vibrant green skin.

"Elphie!" Glinda cries a swell of relief flowing into her.

That's what was wrong: Elphaba had been missing, but now she was back! They were together again. Elphaba was here now.

Finally, everything would be perfect.

Elphaba approaches, slowing her pace as she nears the awning. But as she draws closer, Glinda can see her expression. It is not her familiar warm smile. The one saved just for Glinda, where Elphaba’s eyes seemed to light up.

No, her expression was one of chilling disdain.

That wasn't right. Was it?

They used to loathe each other, sure, but that was a long time ago. They’d long since grown past that. They were friends now, best friends.

“What’s wrong?” Glinda asks.

Elphaba remains silent. There’s a chilling stillness descending upon Glinda.

“Elphaba, I need you to tell me what's wrong so I can help,” she says, not hiding her concern in her voice. “Please, I want to help you.”

Elphaba doesn’t respond. Then slowly, deliberately, she lowers the umbrella.

Which made no sense. Glinda thought. The rain was pouring harder now, a violent onslaught across the meadow. Elphaba will be soaked in seconds. Which would look adorable if only Elphaba weren’t allergic to water. So instead she’d probably just dissolved-

Elphaba was Allergic to water.

Glinda realizes with a jolt, the memory of that fatal day flushing back. She goes to reach for her, but it’s too late.

She was always too late.

She watches in horror as Elphaba begins to melt, slowly dissolving into a sickening pool of black ooze. Elphaba doesn't move, doesn't even flinch. Instead, she continues to glare at Glinda, her expression a mixture of resentment and disappointment, until she is nothing but a puddle.

***

Glinda wakes with a gasp, her breath catching in her throat. A sob escapes Glinda's lips, the memory of her nightmare still sharp and painful. It surprises her a little. How much it still affects her.

It's the same nightmare she has every night since... since she became the ruler of Oz. While the crux of the nightmare was always the same, the details tended to shift. Each new variation forming a fresh wound in Glinda’s heart.

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Sometimes, instead of the cold glare, Elphaba yells at her. Furious and loud. Voice booming like thunder in the storm.

"I trusted you!" She'd scream, louder than the pouring rain around them. "You said we were friends!"

Glinda's eyes stinging with unshed tears, she would whisper, "Of course we were friends—are friends," her voice trembling. "Elphie, please, you are my dearest friend..."

"Liar!" Elphaba shouts, her voice filled with rage. "I needed you! I thought you would at least try to protect me, and instead... you killed me!"

"I didn't mean to! Everything was just so confusifying." Glinda cries, her voice lost in the deafening roar of the storm. "Elphie, please," she begs, as her knees give out. She kneels on the grass. "I was trying to help you! I promise—we were friends. I loved you..."

But Elphaba is gone, leaving Glinda alone with nothing but the echo of her voice and the crushing weight of guilt.

***

On those nights when Glinda wakes up, she works. Studies on Animal Rights. Writes pages upon pages of bills implementing protections for their rights. She reads until her eyes burn. Writes until her hands are cramped and sore. She works until Elphaba’s words are pushed out of her mind and Glinda can breathe again.

________________________________________________________________

Some nights Elphaba isn't mad at all. In some dreams, she's scared. Glinda hates those more. She vastly prefers an Elphaba angry over a frightened one.

In those dreams, It isn’t raining yet, but harsh winds blow around her. Making small goosebumps on Glinda’s skin. In the distance, she sees dark clouds are quickly approaching. Elphaba is already in front of the awning. She looks worn, tired. She’s thinner than Glinda remembers, too thin. She’s shivering visibly in the wind. Her cape is filthy, mud staining the black. Yet, even in this state, she remains the most beautiful person Glinda has ever seen. When she sees Glinda, her eyes fill with desperate hope.

Glinda wants to run to her, to wrap Elphaba in her arms, and never let go. To keep her warm, safe, and happy. But she finds she can't move. Her feet are glued to the floor as a paralyzing force grips her. Her muscles tense, her breath hitching in her throat.

"Glinda!" Elphaba exclaims joyfully, oblivious to Glinda's internal struggle. "Thank goodness you're here; I need your help."

Only then does Glinda notice the chains, golden and thick, wrapped around her wrists and ankles. Binding Elphaba to the in place, mirroring Glinda’s own invisible imprisonment. “I admit I was worried when I heard news you were working with the Wizard, but now—”

The lightning flashes closer, illuminating Elphaba's face. She turns towards the storm, her eyes widening in terror. Her breathing goes ragged, a stark contrast to her usual strength. This fear, raw and primal, is a sight Glinda cannot bear to witness. She can’t look away.

"Quick, help me get these off!" Elphaba pleads.

Glinda tries to scream, to move, to do anything, but no sound escapes her lips. A crushing weight seems to have settled on her chest, suffocating her.

"Glinda?" Elphaba calls, her voice laced with confusion, then with a hint of fear. "Please, you have to help me..."

The rain begins to fall, a relentless assault. Glinda watches in horror as Elphaba's body begins to burn. She screams in pain. High-pitched and afraid—a sound that will haunt Glinda forever. She can only watch until Elphaba is gone, her screams fading into a sickening silence. Then, as if released from a spell, Glinda can move. Her hands trembling, open, revealing a golden key. It matches the chains.

She reaches down, grabbing the black hat atop the puddle, a sob escaping her lips. The memory of Elphaba's terrified eyes, her desperate pleas, and her agonizing forever be etched into her soul.

***

When Glinda wakes up from those dreams, she can’t move. Elphaba's terror, her terrified screams in her dreams—that sound so much like the ones she heard in Kiamo Ko—is simply too much to bear. She lies in bed, whispering quiet apologies into the night. Refusing to fall asleep. The idea of reliving that nightmare, of witnessing Elphaba's terrified face melt, is unbearable.

________________________________________________________________

Those aren’t the worst dreams, however.

No, in Glinda’s worst dreams, Elphaba isn’t angry at her. She isn’t mad about how Glinda let the Wizard slander her name. Or refused to help when she needed her most.

Elphaba isn’t scared. She doesn’t beg for help as a storm she can’t run or hide from gets closer. No, in Glinda’s worst nightmare, Elphaba is happy.

In those dreams, they both stand under the awning.

Elphaba is young like she was when they first met. She wears a Shiz uniform and round golden glasses. Her hair is styled neatly into a long braid. Elphie talks excitedly to her. Her hands waving around as she rants, her laughter bright and infectious.

Glinda stares at her, a spark of light she hasn’t felt in ages in her chest.

Her eyes are bright in a way Glinda can’t remember seeing after Shiz. She looks so different here. So optimistic, still full of determination, still the passionate, spirited girl Glinda had first met.

It causes a longing in her chest, a desperate ache that threatens to swallow her whole. Her heart races and Glinda finds herself staring a bit too long. Her gaze is drawn to Elphaba's smile and to the way the sunlight catches in her hair.

Elphie glances at her, a playful amusement in her eyes. "What is it?" she asks, her voice soft. "Surely you must be used to the green skin by now."

And Glinda has the sudden urge to kiss her. A wave of dizziness washes over her as she flushes at the thought. She takes a step forward.

“Galinda?” Elphie says confused, her voice soft. How long has it been since someone called her that? Ga-linda. Elphaba must have been the last person.

Glinda puts her hands on her shoulders, her fingers tracing the delicate curve of her jawline. This close she can see light freckles on her skin and feel the warmth radiating off the other girl. Then, before she can stop it before reason can assert itself before the horrifying implications of her actions can fully register, Glinda pushes her into the rain.

The atmosphere turns as cold as ice. Glinda looks in horror as Elphaba falls onto the grass. Her eyes, wide with hurt and betrayal, meet Glinda's. A scream begins to form in her throat, but no sound escapes.

Glinda watches as each drop of water boils Elphaba's skin. Elphaba melts before her eyes, her vibrant green skin slowly dissolving into a sickening pool of ooze at her feet.

***

Those nights, when Glinda wakes up feeling sick, her heart pounding against her ribs. She finds Elphaba's hat, safely tucked under her bed, and clutches it tightly. She sobs into it, guilt and yearning choking her. She cries until her tears run dry and she is empty. Then she stares at the hat.

She tries to memorize it. The midnight black color is slightly faded from years of use. Its stitching is slightly frayed. Glinda lightly runs her hands over it, feeling the rough wool on her fingertips. She examines every small detail until the sun is high in the sky.

Only in the late morning, when a servant knocks on her door hesitantly to fetch her, does Glinda move again.

“Miss Glinda? I’m sorry to disturb you, but you have a public forum soon-”

“Oh dear, I must have overslept!” Glinda says, tone forcefully cheerful. “I’ll be down in a clock tick!”

She’ll lay there for just a moment longer, wishing the world would fade away. Then she gets up, tucks the hat safely under her bed, and begins her day. She puts on a dress, one extravagant and distracting. She twists her hair into neat curls and applies her makeup. She smiles, perfect and fake, and heads down.

________________________________________________________________

Glinda the Good Witch holds town hall meetings every week. She lets the people ask questions or air out grievances. She works diligently with the people of Oz, explaining calmly the importance of new laws and working together to find solutions to problems.

She meets with anyone who would want to, from Ozians to Munchkins, and even a few Animals, the few that remain in Oz.

She takes a single break in the afternoon. She walks to a nearby park to stretch her legs and watches an Owlet and Wolf cub play tag with the other children. She thinks of the world Elphaba had always wanted.

It’s not enough.

She doesn’t think it will ever be. Most Animals are still too afraid to return. A substantial amount of Ozians are still so openly hostile towards them. But Glinda has to try.

She works to channel every ounce of grief and regret into something good, something to earn the title she doesn't deserve, something Elphie would be proud of.

With a resolute sigh, Glinda returns to the palace.

________________________________________________________________

On the anniversary of her becoming Oz’s ruler, of her Elphie’s death, the dreams began to change.

Ozians had thrown a huge celebration to mark "The Wicked Witch's" death.

The party was loud and exuberant. Glinda had spent the entire time trying not to cry. She’d cheered with the crowd and maintained the facade of joy that was expected of her. Smiled at the festivities and made polite conversation.

She played her part perfectly.

She hadn’t even flinched when they’d revealed a statue, crudely made with straw, sporting a long black cape and pointy hat. Even when a wave of nausea washed over her. The urge to flee, to disappear so overwhelming that it made her legs shake.

And when someone presented her with a torch, she had wanted to scream—cry—tell everyone they were wrong!

About Elphie—who had always fought for the voiceless, who had dreamed of a kinder Oz. About herself, who had stood by and done nothing. Who let her best friend die. Who tricked them all into believing the wrong witch was wicked.

Instead, Glinda lit the horrid statue on fire like they wanted her to.

She’d watched it burn and ached.

Yet, she said nothing.

Because she promised. She promised the most important person in her life she wouldn't say anything. So, even as it killed her inside, she smiled and celebrated with the rest of Oz the death of her dearest friend.

Now, she walks alone to her chambers, exhaustion, loneliness, and a terrible, suffocating sadness weighing heavily on her. The cheers just outside the palace seemed to mock her, a constant reminder of her tragedy being their greatest accomplishment.

She undid her curls, the familiar movements a mechanical act, and changed into her pajamas. She removed her makeup.

She didn't cry, but she did carefully take Elphie's hat from its hiding spot. She held it gently to her chest, running her fingers over the soft felt, the scent of dust and forgotten memories clinging to the fabric.

“I'm so sorry, Elphie,” she whispered into the black fabric as if it still held Elphaba's spirit inside. “I miss you.”

She imagined her, lying next to her, sleeping a mere inch away. As if Glinda could just reach out and hold her.

She fell asleep with the hat still tucked next to her heart, the weight of her grief a heavy anchor pulling her down.

________________________________________________________________

Her nightmare starts as normal. Under the awning, in a meadow of red flowers. The rain pouring hard and fast around her.

Then the world seems to jerk, throwing Glinda off balance.

The storm, which had always been a relentless, unforgiving force in her nightmares, begins to subside slightly. The raging downpour softens, easing into a lighter shower.

Confused, Glinda reaches her hand outside the cover, letting the raindrops collect in her hand. In the distance, she sees someone appear. She's without her hat, but the green skin and black cloak are unmistakable.

Elphaba.

She looks different too. Older, perhaps, less sharp-angled? It’s hard to tell in the distance. She looks perplexed, as if she's lost, her gaze sweeping across the storm-swept landscape. Then she turns her head, her eyes widening in shock as they meet Glinda's.

"Glinda?" she asks, her voice laced with a hint of disbelief.

Then, without warning, Glinda is yanked back into the waking world.

________________________________________________________________

She wakes up still holding the stupid hat, her heart pounding in her chest. A strange mixture of confusion and unease churning in her gut. She turns onto her side, holding the hat to her face and closing her eyes.

She'd think about it tomorrow. When it wasn't the anniversary. When it didn't hurt so much to think of her.

If Glinda wasn't so upset, she might have looked at the small book on her desk.

If she wasn't clutching Elphie's hat to her face, she might have noticed the book, the Grimmerie, was open. Words glowing softly in the moonlight.

If Glinda wasn't already back asleep, she might have heard the book snap closed once more, the glowing words disappearing as quickly as they appeared.

But Glinda was upset, with a pointy black hat over her face, and successfully back asleep, the weight of her grief and the lingering echoes of the dream a heavy blanket over her mind. So the book went unnoticed, its spell lost in the night.

________________________________________________________________

In the morning, Glinda lies in bed and ponders the odd break in her dreams. Her nightmares, horrendable and heartbreaking as they are, were usually consistent. The relentless storm, Elphaba's chilling death, and Glinda’s own paralyzing fear—these were constants in the recurring nightmare. This break in the pattern unnerved her.

The Elphaba had looked strange too. Completely unlike any past version of her friend that Glinda could remember. She had seemed as confused as Glinda was about being there. And she woke so suddenly—before Elphaba had even reached her—as if abruptly yanked from a deep sleep.

Maybe it was grief. Glinda’s mind, in the wake of the Anniversary, was conjuring up an entirely new version of Elphaba to haunt her. Distorting her dreams into something unrecognizable. Imagining an Elphaba that was alive. Whose life wasn't stolen from her—one that Glinda hadn't ruined.

Glinda shakes off the dream and gets ready for the day. The nightmares return to normal for the rest of the week. She chalks it up to the anniversary messing with her already fragile heart. A one-off event to push down with the rest of her mourning.

Until it happens again.

________________________________________________________________

The dream, usually a suffocatingly familiar nightmare, felt different. Foreign.

This time, Glinda was acutely aware she was dreaming. Could feel the dream's constructed nature, as if the very fabric of the illusion had frayed at the edges.

Elphaba was already nestled beneath the awning, seemingly lost in observation. Brown eyes darted around curiously, scanning the unfamiliar surroundings as if in a daze.

Glinda took the chance to study her. Up close, she could finally see all the details of Elphaba's face.

This Elphaba felt different too—less sharp-angled, softer. Her dark hair cascaded down her back, framing a face that seemed somehow…gentler. She still wore the black cloak Glinda had gently tied over her shoulders, the hood pulled up to shield her from the rain.

It took Glinda a moment to realize Elphaba had stopped staring at their surroundings and was now looking at her. Amber eyes widened in disbelief, fixed on Glinda with a mixture of awe and something Glinda couldn’t place. Her lips parted slightly as if struggling to contain a gasp. Glinda thought she had never seen Elphaba look so stunning.

"...I'm dreaming," Elphaba says slowly, not as a question, but as a realization dawning upon her. The words are enough to jolt Glinda out of her reverie, to shatter the fragile illusion. To remember that this was just a dream.

That her Elphaba was gone.

Because Elphaba couldn't dream. It was one of the many facts Glinda had learned about her friend during their time at Shiz. It was one of the reasons Elphaba joked that she didn't have a soul. (Glinda wondered briefly if Elphaba had truly believed herself soulless. If she couldn't see the passion that burned within herself.

Glinda smiles sadly at her, shaking her head. “No,” she explains softly, 'I'm dreaming. You're dead.”

Elphaba stares at her blankly for a moment, processing the words, her face scrunching in confusion. Tilting her head, she seems to be wrestling with a particularly difficult puzzle. Glinda can almost see the gears turning in Elphaba's mind, the moment of understanding finally clicking into place.

A wide, shaky smile spreads across her face, tears pricking her eyes. Glinda doesn’t have time to process the reaction, as Elphaba pulls her into a hug. Gripping her tightly, as if afraid she might vanish.

“I’ve missed you, my sweet,” she says, her voice gentle and warm, a stark contrast to the chilling anger of her previous dream appearances.

And this must be the cruelest dream of them all. This version of Elphaba, who was still alive. Who had missed her.

Still, Glinda can't help but lean into the imaginary touch: her heart a frantic drumbeat against her ribs. Elphaba feels warm and comforting, and Glinda misses her desperately, the longing so profound it feels like an open wound. Pulsing painfully with every heartbeat.

They remain entwined, time seeming to cease to exist. The only sound is the rhythmic patter of the rain against the awning. For a fleeting moment, a sense of peace, a tranquility she hasn't known in years, washes over Glinda.

Then, as abruptly as it began, the dream shattered.

________________________________________________________________

Glinda wakes in the morning, alone in a bed unfit for one person.

The sense of loss that washes over her leaves her feeling cold and utterly desolate. The memory of Elphaba's touch, the warmth of her embrace, lingering. A phantom sensation that only serves to amplify the emptiness she now feels.

________________________________________________________________

It quickly spirals into a pattern.

Every night, Glinda would find herself dreaming of a field littered with flowers. Her Elphie would be there waiting, sheltered from the rain by a tiny canopy. She wouldn't go into the rain—wouldn't melt.

Instead, she sits with Glinda as though they were still just two students at Shiz. Roommates and inseparable friends.

This Elphaba is kinder and always happy to see Glinda. Yet, a glimmer sometimes flickers in her eyes, a sadness that Glinda doesn't understand.

"What have you been up to lately?" she asks one night, idly twirling a poppy flower between her fingers. Her gaze, though filled with affection, is one Glinda doesn't deserve. Not from her. Glinda tilts her head, confused. "What do you mean?"

Elphaba opens her mouth to speak, then hesitates, reconsidering her words.

"Haven't you heard?" she ultimately asks playfully, "Glinda the Good has implemented more protections for Animal rights than any ruler before her."

Glinda tries not to flinch at the title. She truly detests it.

She had earned it by betraying her friends, by letting the Wizard mold her into the perfect mascot. "Good"—what a cruel joke.

She remembered when she changed her name, how much praise she'd received for simply shortening it by one letter. How she’d only done it to impress Fiyero, and, she can admit now, probably Elphaba too. Elphaba, who had fought her whole life to help others, had been deemed wicked for it.

She scoffs. "Please, it's nothing like what you did,” the venom in her tone escaping out of her control.

Elphie seemed to notice, her expression easing. “You're right,” she nods in agreement. “You've done more in a few months than I did in five years.”

She gently tucks the poppy behind her ear. “You sell yourself too short, my sweet.”

“I'm just trying to do right by you,” Glinda confesses, looking away. “Something you'd be proud of me for.”

Elphaba touches her cheek, her hand surprisingly warm and real, gently turning her head to meet her gaze. “Do you know what

poppies symbolize?” Elphaba asks, after a moment. “They mean hope for a peaceful future.” “I am so proud of you, my sweet.” Elphaba pulls back, but Glinda can still feel the warmth lingering on her cheek.”

________________________________________________________________

When Glinda wakes up, her hands instinctively reach for the small red flower Elphaba had tucked behind her ear. A pang of disappointment washes over her when it's not there. Of course not. It was ridiculous to expect it.

Glinda rises and prepares for the day. Afterward, she heads directly to the library. There, she delves into the gardening section, searching for a book titled 'The Language of Flowers.' She sits with the book, flipping through the pages until she reaches the section on poppies. Later that same day, she requests over a dozen red poppies to be planted on the "Wicked Witch's" empty grave. "For hope for a better future," she will explain, one of the many white lies she will tell that day.

Only she will know the true reason: remembrance.

________________________________________________________________

These odd, heartbreaking dreams continue to plague her, becoming more frequent. More vivid. As the days bleed into weeks, Glinda grapples with these increasingly complex dreams, desperately searching for meaning in their shifting landscapes.

“Hello, my sweet,” Elphaba says, her voice a melody that washes over Glinda.

No, Glinda reminds herself, her Elphie is gone. This is just a dream—some twisted part of her mind creating an illusion, a figment of her own grief-stricken imagination. She knows this. She does. It's just… this Elphaba feels so real. Her touch, scent, and the warmth radiating from her feel impossibly lifelike—a phantom limb that refuses to accept its absence.

“Elphie, there you are! I missed you.”

And she does miss her. She misses her so much that it hurts, a constant, throbbing reminder of her loss.

So, Glinda allows herself to pretend. To make believe, just for a fleeting instant, that this was real.

"Have you been eating enough?" Elphaba asks, stepping under the awning. Glinda gives her a vexed, almost guilty look, avoiding her gaze as she responds pitifully, "I've just been busy."

Elphaba crosses her arms, unimpressed. "You promised me you'd stop doing that, remember?" Glinda did remember.

***

It was during the midterms at Shiz. Stress had been gnawing at her, leaving her forgetful, even of basic needs like eating. She hadn't thought anyone noticed—she hadn't even noticed, too caught up in the whirlwind of studying.

Then Elphie had practically stormed into their dorm room. "Here," she'd declared, practically hurling a strawberry muffin at Glinda. Glinda wasn't sure what expression she'd worn, but Elphaba had quickly averted her gaze, her cheeks flushing a deep emerald.

"You haven't been eating properly," Elphaba had chided. "You won't score well if you're dying of starvation during the tests."

"So you got me a muffin?" Glinda had asked, holding it gently.

"Two actually," Elphaba had replied, holding up a small paper bag. "Promise me you'll stop skipping meals?"

"Promise."

***

“That was a long time ago, and—” Glinda's voice caught in her throat. "I only promised that to you," she finished curtly, "and now you're gone."

She instantly regretted the statement when she saw the other flinch. It wasn't Elphaba's fault; it was hers.

"I'm sorry, I'm just...hungry," Glinda says. Then trying to lighten the mood, he adds, "So no muffins this time, then?"

She meant it as a joke, but Elphaba got a thoughtful look on her face. She held up her hand with a playful smirk. She closed it, and when she opened it again, a pink strawberry muffin appeared.

She handed it to Glinda gently.

"How did you do that?" Glinda asked, holding the muffin in her hand.

“It’s a dream,” she shrugs. “You can do whatever you want.” She points at the muffin. “Now eat.”

Elphaba was wrong, Glinda realizes as she slowly eats. She tries to clear the skies, but the rain persisted.

She tries to get Elphaba to kiss her, but the witch only gazes fondly at Glinda as she devours her meal.

***

In the morning, Glinda was too preoccupied with meetings to dwell on the fact that her appetite from last night had vanished.

________________________________________________________________

She'd cling to this fake, imagined, hollow dream version of her friend rather than face the abyss of forever without her.

However, each day, her heart broke a little more. It felt as if she'd been stabbed anew each time she awoke alone in that sterile castle. The morning light would pierce the emptiness beside her, mocking the illusion she'd briefly held of Elphie sleeping peacefully beside her, black hair scattered across the pink pillows. The shattering of that illusion, the sudden, suffocating emptiness of the bed, would leave her gasping for breath, her heart aching with a fresh wave of grief.

Sometimes, she'd retrieve Elphie's hat, clutching it to her chest. She'd bury her face in the soft felt, inhaling the faint scent of dust and forgotten memories, each one a tiny, excruciating fragment of joy and loss.

At night, in her dreams, she’d whisper past regrets to the Elphaba in her head. They’d sit beneath the awning, Glinda leaning against her side.

One night, she whispers, “Let’s tell each other something we never told anyone before. I’ll go first.”

Elphie would turn to look at her, attentive as always.

“I was in love with you,” she’d confess, her voice trembling slightly. “If you were still alive, I think I would have married you.”

She feels as Elphaba flinches back, her eyes widening in shock. She leans back, staring intently at Glinda. Her expression is a complex mixture of surprise, disbelief, and a flicker of something that might have been guilt.

For a moment, there’s no sound except the relentless drumming of the rain.

Finally, Elphaba takes a breath, her voice trembling slightly. "I'd say yes if you asked," she whispers, the confession hanging heavy in the air.

Glinda opens her mouth to reply, but Elphaba raises a hand to silence her. "That's not the secret," she says, her voice dropping to a hushed tone. Almost a whisper as if she didn’t want Glinda to hear her.

“The secret is, I shouldn't be here. Not in your dreams. I know I should have prevented this, kept you safe, but I... I couldn't resist. I missed you too much.”

Which is ridiculous, even for a dream.

She'd risk her safety to be with Elphaba any day, even if it was just in her dreams. She'd much rather see an illusion of her, even if she's angry, screaming, or dissolving. Even if the dream is so heartbreakingly realistic that Glinda wants to cry when she wakes up. Because the alternative is never seeing her again.

She can’t find the words to tell her this, so instead, she whispers, “Stay anyway.” “I’m sorry,” Elphaba says, lifting herself off the floor. “I shouldn’t—”

Glinda cuts her off, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re always leaving me alone,” she pleads. “At least in my dreams, stay."

She hugs Elphaba, her arms clinging tightly around the woman’s chest. And miraculously, Elphaba does. Hesitantly, green arms wrap around Glinda’s chest.

“Okay,” Elphaba whispers, the word a soft sigh against Glinda's ear.

Glinda allows herself to forget that this dream is nothing more than a figment of her imagination. Allows herself to forget about cold, empty beds and friendless dawns. She breathes deeply, savoring the warmth of Elphaba's embrace, the scent of woodsmoke, and something indefinably Elphaba clinging to her.

***

Then, she's awake, the memory of Elphaba's embrace still lingering, a ghost of warmth against her skin.

Glinda longs for Elphaba in her dreams. That much was true. But these dreams, so gentle and romantic, were tearing her apart. They chipped away at the carefully constructed walls she'd built to contain her mourning. So, she did what she always did.

Pretended.

She continued to rule Oz with the same outward affection, offering reassurances to her staff while pushing herself harder than ever. Sleep became a distant luxury, and though she never skipped meals, the food tasted like ash in her mouth. She diligently masked her anguish from the citizens, mostly successfully.

However, some staff members exchanged concerned glances when they thought she wasn't looking. She starts to avoid them, finding solace in the solitude of her chambers, the silence a welcome respite from the forced cheerfulness that surrounded her.

________________________________________________________________

Still, she can’t avoid sleep forever, and when she sleeps, she still finds herself underneath a gray awning.

Glinda scanned the familiar field of poppies, a slight disappointment washing over her when she didn't spot the familiar green figure. The only sound was the rhythmic pitter-patter of rain against the awning. Then,

"Boo!"

Glinda shrieked, her heart leaping into her throat. Elphaba materialized behind her, a mischievous glint in her emerald eyes.

To Glinda's annoyance, Elphie erupted in laughter, a melodious sound that sent shivers down her spine. She tried to glare at the other woman, but the effort only made Elphaba laugh harder. Despite her best efforts, Glinda's stern facade crumbled, and soon she was giggling along with the witch. Elphie's laughter was undeniably contagious; Glinda had always secretly thought she didn't indulge in it enough.

Finally, their laughter subsided, and Elphaba turned to look at her, her expression now more serious.

"You're not sleeping," Elphaba observed. She was trying to look stern, but Glinda could see the undercurrent of worry in her features.

"I'm fine," she tried to wave off, her voice strained. "It's just been so busy, running Oz and all—" "Don't lie to me, Glinda. You can fool the rest of Oz, but you've never been able to fool me." Her voice was hard but still underlaid with a tenderness that made Glinda want to cry.

Glinda remained silent, and Elphaba sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"I'm worried about you," she says finally, her gaze sweeping across the field.

"You're not. Not really," Glinda said, absentmindedly picking at the seams of her dress. "You're just a dream. My Elphie, the real one, is dead."

She watched Elphaba struggle to find the right words, starting and stopping sentences repeatedly.

Glinda, unable to bear the silence, tacks on, “Besides, you wouldn't care about me now anyway.”

That seems to ignite something in Elphaba. "That's not true! Glinda, you are my best friend. I'll always care for you!"

"Some friend I turned out to be," Glinda mutters, the words laced with bitterness. "I should have gone with you that day."

"I'm glad you didn't. I'm glad you were safe. I don't know what I would have done if anything happened to you." Elphaba grabs her hands, her grip tight. "Glinda It was an awful experience. A failed revolution. You wouldn't have survived. I almost didn't—"

Glinda cuts her off, her voice sharp, "You didn't. You didn't survive."

An oppressive silence filled the room.

“It’s always raining in your dreams," Elphaba observed, attempting a lighter tone. Glinda watched, a knot of dread tightening in her chest, as her friend foolishly reached out towards the storm, her hand outstretched as if to touch the falling rain.

Panic surged through Glinda, a cold dread gripping her. She couldn't bear to watch her melt. Not again, not now. Not this version of Elphaba. The thought of reliving that horrific moment, of witnessing the worst tragedy of her life replayed, was unbearable.

“No!” she screams, her voice raw with terror, clutching Elphaba's arm. “Don’t, please, no! I can't watch. You can't leave. Not again.” Words tumble from her lips in a breathless torrent, her body trembling uncontrollably. Elphaba, in response, pulls Glinda close, wrapping her arms around her in a desperate embrace.

"Hey—it’s okay—”

“IT’S NOT OKAY!” she yells, pushing herself out of her arms. Tears well up, blurring her vision. “It’s not okay! It will never be okay again! Because it’s my fault—”

“What, Glinda—” Elphaba tries to interject, her voice gentle and soothing. But Glinda doesn't hear her. Elphaba grasps her again, holding her tighter.

“I killed you!” she cries, burying her face in Elphaba’s shoulder, sobs wracking her body. “I told everyone that your weakness was water—and I didn’t know, Elphie! I didn’t! I was trying to protect you! Then that wretched girl threw that bucket, and—’"

"Glinda," Elphaba calls again, her voice stronger but still laced with concern.

"And now you're dead, and I'm alone!" Glinda cries, her voice muffled against Elphaba's cloak. "I killed you," she whispers, the words heavy with guilt. "I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

“Galinda, look at me,” Elphaba said, her voice firm yet gentle. Gently lifting Glinda’s chin, she compelled her to meet her gaze. Perhaps it was the use of her real name, one she hadn’t heard in almost seven years, but Glinda complied.

She looked into Elphaba’s hazel eyes and saw unwavering love and a deep, abiding worry reflected there. Elphaba looked a little heartbroken, but there was also an unwavering determination in her gaze—the same kind Glinda had witnessed all those years ago.

A gentle smile graces Glinda's lips, tears still welling in her eyes. Elphaba tenderly wipes them away with her thumb. "You've been so patient, my sweet," Elphaba murmurs, her voice a soft balm, filled with a quiet strength that surprised Glinda. "Hold out, just a little longer."

***

Glinda wakes up still crying, the memory of Elphaba's embrace—her warmth, her gentle strength—a fleeting comfort in the chilling emptiness of her bed.

Strangely, for the rest of the week, dreams elude her.

________________________________________________________________

For perhaps the first time in her life, Elphaba Thropp experienced a semblance of peace.

Each morning, she awoke in a scratchy hay bed, one of two in a small, rustic cottage. Her days were filled with the simple pleasures of tending to a small garden, wandering through the surrounding forest, and occasionally exchanging words with the few other runaway neighbors. Fiyero, a late riser, would join her for a simple meal before venturing out to gather food. She tried, often in vain, to banish the memories of her pink and blonde roommate from her mind.

Life wasn't idyllic, but it was peaceful and uncomplicated.

A year into this routine, Fiyero and she celebrated with a small cake. He'd even managed to locate two small bottles of wine for the occasion. And it was a lovely evening; truly it was. Yet, a pang of longing tugged at Elphaba's heart. She found herself wishing she was celebrating with someone else.

That night, as she drifted off to sleep, she wished for Glinda to be lying beside her.

***

Elphaba awoke with a jolt, disoriented and drenched by the sudden downpour. She found herself standing amidst a vibrant field of poppies, a sense of bewilderment washing over her. An inexplicable pull tugged at her, guiding her gaze towards a figure in the distance.

A woman in a flowing pink gown, her hair a cascade of golden curls, stood gazing out at the storm. "...Glinda?" Elphaba whispered, her voice hoarse.

***

The world snapped back into focus. She was sitting up on a twin mattress in a small cottage, Fiyero hovering over her, concerned.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his straw hand resting gently on her shoulder. "You were shifting around a lot."

"I was... elsewhere," Elphaba tried to explain, a shiver running down her spine. Fiyero looked just as confused as she felt when she described the strange sensation.

"Sounds like you were dreaming," he suggested.

That made sense, logically. Only Elphaba couldn't dream. Hadn't been able to since birth. Just another unfortunate quirk to add to the list of her "defects"—like" her green skin and her sharp teeth.

"Maybe you just can now?" he said. "I mean, stranger things have happened." He gestured towards himself, his body composed entirely of straw.

She nodded in agreement, letting it go. But… it had felt different. Almost magical.

Then it happened again.

________________________________________________________________

This time, she found herself beneath a gray awning, the rain a constant, monotonous drumbeat.

Vibrant red poppies encircled her feet, a splash of color against the dreary gray. When she turned back, she nearly jumped, finding Glinda the Good already there. Surprise mingled with something else—something Elphaba couldn't quite decipher—in Glinda's expression.

Elphaba blinked, still slightly disoriented. "I'm dreaming," she murmured. Glinda shook her head. "No, I'm dreaming. You're..." Her voice faltered, "dead." Elphaba studied the Glinda in front of her. And then it hit her.

Oh.

Elphaba realized something. Glinda was right. Elphaba wasn't dreaming. Somehow, she had found herself within Glinda's dream.

This is such an invasion of privacy. Elphaba thought, her heart pounding against her ribs. She couldn’t be here. Glinda couldn’t know she was alive. It wouldn’t be safe for either of them. But Glinda was here. They were together, at least in this dream. And Elphaba had missed her terribly these past seven years, the absence a constant, painful void.

So, she allowed herself this selfish indulgence, just this once. She hugged her best friend tightly, burying her face in Glinda's hair, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender and sunshine. Refusing to let go until she once again woke up in her cottage.

________________________________________________________________

She glanced at the scarecrow snoozing on the dual cot before slipping quietly out of the house. One of their neighbors, an Owl who had once been a librarian, had taken many of her books with her. Elphaba knocked on her door.

"Good morning, Miss Fabla," the Owl greeted, fluttering her wings as she settled on a branch. "You're up early. What brings you to my door?"

"Do you have any books on dream sharing?" Elphaba inquired, straight to the point. "Dream sharing?" The Owl tilted her head, intrigued. "Whatever for?"

"No particular reason," Elphaba lied, offering a casual shrug. "Just curious, that's all." The Owl tilted her head, a curious expression on her face. Elphaba avoided her gaze, feeling a blush creep up her neck.

"Give me one moment," she said, quickly flying back inside.

She returned a minute later, talons clutching a small book.

"Thank you," Elphaba said, taking the book from the Owl.

"Of course, happy reading, dear," the Owl replied, a knowing glint in her eyes that Elphaba pointedly ignored, pretending to be engrossed in the book's cover.

She spends the entire morning engrossed in the book, only pausing to quickly conceal it whenever Fiyero enters the room. She remembered his strong opinions on the subject—the dangers of anyone knowing they were still alive—a point of conflict early in their companionship.

______________________________________________________________________

The next time, she finds herself in a dream of a rainy poppy field, with Glinda waiting for her. Elphaba, having read enough about the nature of these shared dreams, knows she should sever the connection.

Cut it off now before they get hurt, before she hurts Glinda any further. But the urge to see her, to know if Glinda was truly alright, proved too strong to resist.

"Are you happy?" she asks, the words catching in her throat.

Glinda lets out a laugh, a brittle sound that betrays the pain beneath. "What do you think, Elphaba?" The question hangs heavy in the air, unspoken.

Glinda should be happy, Elphaba rationalizes. Glinda has everything she yearned for in their youth: power, magic, and a kingdom that adores her. Yet, she looks miserable.

That simply wouldn't do.

Elphaba reaches out, her hand outstretched. "Come here," she whispers, her voice smooth and inviting. When Glinda takes it, Elphaba pulls her close, their bodies swaying gently to an unspoken rhythm.

"What are you doing?’" Glinda asks, a playful lilt entering her voice after a beat.

"We're dancing,’" Elphaba replies, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"‘Elphie, there’s no music." Glinda scoffs, but her lips twitch upwards, unable to suppress a smile.

Elphaba thinks for a moment, then begins to hum an old song, her voice a melodic counterpoint to the silence. They dance for a while, moving gently back and forth, their bodies swaying in rhythm to the invisible music.

"I remember dancing like this at the Oz-Dust," Glinda says, as Elphaba spins her gracefully. Elphaba breaks her hum, a soft "Oh?" escaping her lips.

"It’s one of my most cherished memories," Glinda confides, her voice hushed.

Elphaba's eyes soften at the admission. "Mine too. That’s the night you gifted me my hat, you know."

Glinda buries her face into Elphaba's shoulder, a sigh escaping her lips. "Don't remind me." Elphaba chuckles softly. "I'm serious. That hat is the reason we became friends."

Elphaba often wondered about the fate of her hat. Abandoned during her forced disappearance, she hoped Glinda, recognizing its significance, had kept it safe. The thought of it becoming mere firewood for some Munchkin hearth was unbearable. She fantasized about sneaking back to retrieve it in moments of deep longing.

Glinda opens her mouth to reply, but the dream shatters and vanishes before she can utter a word.

________________________________________________________________

It's tragically easy to fall into old patterns after that. To tease the blonde just to see her face flush. To steal quick glances at her when she’s not looking, her heart pounding a little faster each time their eyes meet.

Elphaba continues to see Glinda in her dreams. The dreams, where she’s caught in a storm and Glinda appears. The dreams that are not hers. She withholds the truth from Fiyero and continues to let Glinda believe these were simply dreams.

________________________________________________________________

About a month into this new routine, Elphaba was woken by a knock at her door. The Owl stood there, a satchel overflowing with books slung over her wing. She nodded in greeting, a book tucked neatly under her beak. Extending a wing, she nudged the book towards Elphaba.

Elphaba accepted the book with a skeptical eyebrow raised.

"I hope I didn't wake you," she cawed. "I just wanted to come by before I left to give you a parting gift."

"Parting gift?" Elphaba questioned, "You're leaving? Where?"

It wasn't safe for most Animals in Oz. It's why many had gone into hiding. Where would... "Emerald City."

Elphaba's jaw dropped. "What?"

"My son still lives there," she explained, "And with all the new laws being passed, I figured it was safe enough to—"

"What laws?" Elphaba interrupts, her voice sharp.

"You haven't heard? Glinda the Good is enacting new laws." The Owl rummages in her bag, pulling out a newspaper.

And sure enough, there she is—her Glinda. The Owl gives her that same knowing look. "I figured you might enjoy this book, along with your other book about dreaming," she winks. "Dreams can tell you a lot about a person. Take care, dear."

With that, she spreads her wings and soars away.

Elphaba heads back into the kitchen, a smile gracing her lips as she gazes at the blurry black-and-white photo, unmistakably Glinda. As she reads the article, detailing all the amazing things Glinda has started to integrate into Oz, a wave of warmth washes over her. Pride swelled within her; she was so incredibly proud of her friend.

So engrossed in the article, Elphaba didn't notice Fiyero already awake, sitting at the small coffee table.

"What's that?" he asks, reaching for the newspaper.

She tries to shield it from him, but it's too late. He snatches it from her grasp. "The Owl next door gave it to me," Elphaba says, "She's moving back to Emerald City to be with her son."

"Glinda did all this?" he asks incredulously, skimming the first page.

"You give her far too little credit," Elphaba says in her defense.

"I suppose you'd know," he teases. "You knew her best after all."

"You were her husband," she jabs back, a touch sharper than intended.

"Briefly," he jokes, "you were the one in love with her."

The accusation makes her freeze. He softens his tone, "You are in love with her, aren't you?"

"Yes," she admits quietly.

"It's too dangerous to see her, you know that, right? She may be getting rights back for Animals, but you're Oz's biggest enemy."

"I know, Fiyero."

"I'm sorry," he tells her sincerely, giving her a side hug before heading out.

Elphaba watches Fiyero go, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach. She carefully unhides the book. The recurring dreams, where she’s caught in a storm and Glinda appears—dreams that are not hers. She doesn't tell Fiyero about them, not yet. He has enough to worry about. Instead, she reads the book cover: Dreams and Their Meanings.

________________________________________________________________

Elphaba finds it equally easy to succumb to old worries.

Glinda is thinner than before, her face drawn and pale. It's impossible not to notice when Glinda is all but clinging to her constantly. She remembers how easily overwhelmed Glinda could become, how narrow-minded her focus could be. Elphaba tries to gently remind her to eat, her voice laced with a concern that even surprised herself.

She delves into both books from her old neighbor with fervor.

She learns all she can about dream manipulation and lucid dreaming, desperate to create experiences that would bring a genuine smile to Glinda's face. A real smile, one that reached her eyes, so radiant it could illuminate a room. A rare smile that never failed to ignite a warmth spreading through her chest, a warmth that had been missing from her life for far too long.

Then, one quiet night, Glinda confesses she was in love with her. Says if she were still alive, she would’ve married her.

And Elphaba is suddenly painfully aware of what she's doing.

She is intruding upon her best friend's mind, allowing Glinda to believe she is dead while still slipping into her dreams at night. She should leave and never return. Let Glinda live out her life happily, without becoming a ghostly presence in her dreams.

But as she watches Glinda, her face etched with a mixture of longing and despair, Elphaba finds herself utterly unable to tear herself away. The guilt, the regret, the overwhelming love she felt for Glinda—it all threatened to consume her.

And so, when Glinda begs her to stay, Elphaba, weak against the tide of their shared history, finds herself unable to resist.

________________________________________________________________

Then the dreams stop.

Elphaba finds herself plagued by dreamless nights, devoid of Glinda's presence, for almost a week. The lack of dreams stresses her out more than it should. She never used to dream, and sure, she's been in Glinda's for a while. But that doesn't mean Glinda isn't sleeping, or that something is wrong, or—

Fiyreo notices something is amiss when, for the third time that week, he is the first one awake. He brings her breakfast, raising an eyebrow at her questioningly. Elphaba merely shakes her head at him in dismissal.

He drops the matter, for now, waving her goodbye silently. Elphaba is thankful for his silence, though she can tell his own share of worry remains.

________________________________________________________________

Then a week later, Elphaba falls asleep.

Only to awake with a start, disoriented, and find herself standing in a field of vibrant red poppies. Flowers crunch beneath her feet as she rushes towards the awning, an urgent need driving her forward. Glinda, beneath the shelter, looks terrible, even by Glinda's own exacting standards. Her hair, usually a cascade of perfect curls, is now a disheveled halo around her face. Dark circles shadow her eyes, her face pale and drawn, a stark contrast to the vibrant, radiant woman Elphaba had come to know in her dreams.

Elphaba tries to ask her about it, her voice laced with concern. When Glinda only becomes more upset, a wave of worry washes over her, her heart clenching in her chest.

Instead of pressing, she tries to understand the dreams. Dreams about rain usually symbolize good fortune, but it's not just rain. It's a storm, almost torrential. She tries to remember what that might mean—loneliness, perhaps? Despair?

“It's always raining in your dreams,” she says lightly, her gaze sweeping across the field where the water floods the ground around them. She reaches out a hand towards the rain, a strange longing pulling her towards the storm.

“No!” Glinda screams, clutching Elphaba’s arm. Firm enough that nails dug into her skin. “Don’t, please, no! I can't watch. You can't leave. Not again.”

Elphaba had never seen Glinda like this: terrified and erratic. Her eyes were wide with a terror that mirrored Elphaba's own, her body trembling violently. A surge of protectiveness, a need to shield her from this unseen torment, washed over Elphaba.

Confused, unsure of the source of these strong emotions, she nevertheless tried to ease the blonde, wrapping her arms around her in a comforting hug.

"Hey—it’s okay—”

"IT’S NOT OKAY!" she yells, pushing Elphaba away from her. Elphaba stands still, worried and unsure of what to do. "It’s not okay! It will never be okay again! Because it’s my fault—"

"What, Glinda—" Elphaba tries to interject, bewildered by Glinda's outburst. But Glinda doesn't seem to hear her.

"I killed you!" she cries, burying her face in Elphaba’s shoulder. Sobs wrack both of their bodies. "I told everyone that your weakness was water—and I didn’t know, Elphie! I didn’t! I was trying to protect you! Then that wretched girl threw that bucket, and—"

Shit.

"Glinda,” Elphaba tries again, her voice catching in her throat. Unsure what she would even say if she could speak.

“And now you’re dead, and I’m alone!” Glinda cries, her voice barely a whisper, muffled against Elphaba’s cloak. “I killed you,” she whispers, the words heavy with guilt. “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

Elphaba’s heart aches with a profound sadness. Her brilliant, compassionate Glinda is consumed by guilt and self-blame.

“Glinda, look at me,” Elphaba says sternly, gently lifting her chin so she can meet her gaze. When their eyes finally connect, she sees the raw pain, the deep-seated guilt, and a love so profound it almost takes her breath away.

She has to fix this. Properly. Not through some fleeting, illusory dream.

Elphaba tenderly wipes tears from Glinda’s eyes. "You've been so patient, my sweet," Elphaba murmurs, her voice a soft balm, filled with a quiet strength that seemed to surprise Glinda. "Hold out just a little longer."

Then, with a gentle touch, she severed the ethereal thread that bound their dreams, granting Glinda a few nights of peaceful slumber. And with a shared will, they both returned to the waking world.

________________________________________________________________

She began to plot her escape. It took several nights of careful planning, mapping out routes, and identifying the best moments to slip away undetected while her straw roommate slumbered.

Finally, Elphaba devised a plan. Pretending to be asleep, she waited until the rhythmic snores from the bed beside her confirmed her roommate's deep slumber. Then, with a practiced grace, she slipped out of bed and crept towards the kitchen, snatching her cloak as she passed.

She slipped it on. The old, familiar fabric felt comforting against her skin, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. Grabbing a ratty old broom, its handle worn smooth from years of disuse, she crept towards the door.

The lights flickered on, startling Elphaba. She whirled around to find Fiyero's straw figure staring back at her, its expression a curious blend of amusement and concern.

“I have to see her,” Elphaba declared, her voice firm, resolute. “I think she needs me, and she thinks my 'death' is her fault. I'm going, regardless of your opinion.”

“Everyone in Oz hates you,” he said, not unkindly, simply stating the brutal truth. “I heard they even torched a statue in your image.”

“I love her,” Elphaba responded, her voice filled with a conviction that surprised even herself. Loving Glinda was as instinctive as breathing, as natural as the beating of her heart. She couldn't abandon her, not now knowing the depths of Glinda's suffering.

Elphaba steps outside, Fiyero following close behind.

“This is a horrible idea,” he says, his straw limbs waving frantically in the air.

“I know,” she admitted, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes. “But I have to try.”

“Tell her hi for me,” he said finally, sounding exasperated though with a hint of amusement. “And please try not to get caught.”

Elphaba flashed him a quick, knowing smile. “I'll try,” she promised. And with a final, lingering look at her old friend, she mounted her broom and soared into the night sky.

The wind whipped through her hair as she flew towards the Emerald City, a thrilling sense of purpose coursing through her veins, a desperate hope fueling her flight. She was going home.

________________________________________________________________

Glinda sits at her desk in her room, scribbling furiously in her notebook, deciding to study instead of sleep. Exhaustion weighs heavily on her, a constant ache beneath the surface. She hasn't dreamt all week. No fields of poppies, no Elphaba, no heavy rain—it's strange to suddenly lose them. Sensation akin to losing Elphaba again. The silence of her nights feels deafening. She's canceled all her appointments except for one:

***

Boq, now a man of gleaming metal, had requested a meeting. Glinda almost outright refused. Boq, one of the witch hunters, had been one of the ones with that girl. Along with the lion—Brrr—and the Scarecrow, who had vanished. They were the ones who had killed Elphaba. But Boq was a hero to the rest of Oz. Bitterly, Glinda agreed to meet him. The thought of facing him, of sitting across from the man who had been complicit in Elphaba's death, filled her with a simmering rage that threatened to boil over.

They sat awkwardly at a small conference table. She had insisted on no guards at the door, unwilling to risk any overheard whispers. She offered him a smile, not a kind one, but a chillingly polite one, the kind a predator offered its prey. Boq flinched, the polished surface of his chest gleaming uncomfortably in the light.

"What do you want?" She inquired, her voice as sharp as shattered glass. "I'm extremely busy, as you know."

He nodded in agreement, the motion accompanied by a jarring scrape of metal against metal. He made no move to speak, fidgeting nervously with the chain around his neck, his metallic fingers trembling slightly.

Glinda's patience finally snapped. "Spit it out," she demanded, her voice sharper than intended. He finally stuttered, "I feel bad. About the whole… Elphaba situation. She was your friend." Glinda's gaze hardened. "She was your friend too," she said, the accusation hanging heavy in the air. "And you assisted in her death."

"I know," he conceded, "I was consumed by anger. I didn't realize until much later the true reason for Elphaba's curse. I believe she saved my life. Did you know that?"

Glinda nodded. She didn't know the specific reason why Elphaba had transformed the Munchkin into the Tin Man, but she had always sensed a deeper purpose behind her actions. Elphaba never acted without a reason.

"To her or to me?" Glinda asked, her tone carefully neutral, though a flicker of pain crossed her face.

"Both. She was meant more to you than just a friend, wasn't she?"

Glinda avoided his gaze, the memory of Elphaba's laughter, her touch, her fierce intelligence, washing over her in a tidal wave. "What would you do now?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject.

"You can't tell anyone the truth, can you?" he said. "You would have done so already if you could."

"I promised," she says simply.

Boq nodded, already knowing who Glinda had made that promise to. “But I could,” he offered with a lopsided smile. "Rumors spiral after all."

Glinda saw the loophole in her promise. She wasn’t the one clearing Elphaba’s name. This time she wouldn’t even be the one spreading the rumor. Elphaba would be horrified, but Elphaba wasn't here to object anymore. And all of Oz celebrated it as if it were a triumph. And all of Oz celebrated it as if it were a triumph. Elphaba deserved better than to be remembered as a villain.

Glinda nodded, a genuine smile gracing her lips for the first time since their meeting began. It was a small victory, a tiny crack in the wall of lies that had been erected around Elphaba's memory.

***

A crack of thunder shatters her reverie. Rain. She glares out her balcony window. The downpour mocks her, a constant, unwelcome reminder of the storm that had taken Elphaba. She can't dream, but the stupid rain still haunts her. Each drop that falls over Emerald City seems to whisper her friend's name.

She, as she so often does, often wonders about Elphaba.

How did she navigate the world in the rain, given her allergies? Had she ever been caught in a storm like this? Had she been burned by one before? Surely, if she'd had it, Glinda would have seen it.

After all, it only took a girl and a bucket of water to melt her completely.

A shudder wracks her body, the memory of Elphaba's dissolving form searing through her heart. She takes a deep, shaky breath, the scent of rain and ozone filling her senses.

Suddenly, a vivid flash of lightning illuminates a figure on her balcony, startling her so much that she tumbles from her chair.

There was someone on her balcony. A dark shadow against the flashes of lightning, their form indistinct in the pouring rain. They seem to be shivering, huddled against the storm.

‘How did they even get up here?’ Glinda wondered, a hint of idle curiosity piquing her interest. ‘And more importantly, why are they here? An assassin, perhaps? Some disgruntled Ozian upset about the new laws, here to slaughter her?’

A strange calm washed over her.

‘Let them,’ she thinks. ‘But surely, an assassin wouldn't simply stand there after being discovered, would they?’

They stared at each other for a moment in a silent staring match, the only sound the relentless drumming of the rain against the windowpanes. Then, cautiously, the figure's arm reached out to knock on the window door.

"Oh, it's locked," Glinda muttered, walking to the door, her heart pounding frantically against her ribs. Who would take her body if she died? All her family and friends were dead, after all. Maybe it would go to a museum, or to-

Glinda's eyes widen, her breath catching in her throat. Staring at the figure, she can see more clearly now: the pale green skin shimmering in the moonlight, the familiar raven hair. A gasp escapes her lips.

“...Elphie?”

Her voice comes out as a small, trembling whisper. Elphaba, for her part, looks nervous, like she doesn’t know what to do. It reminds her of the Elphaba she first met at Shiz, her silly, awkward roommate.

The only difference was how wet- Elphaba was getting wet!

With a speed and force that surprised even herself, Glinda pushed open the door. Elphaba jumps at the sudden movement, her eyes widening in surprise. Glinda can't focus on that. She pulls the other woman inside quickly, her arms instinctively wrapping around Elphaba, holding her close.

“Glinda—” Elphaba tries to speak, her voice a breathless whisper.

Glinda ignores her, frantically checking for any injuries. Her hands tremble as they trace the contours of Elphaba's face, hair, and arms. Tears welling in her eyes blur her vision. She swears if Elphaba came back to life just to die in front of her again, like in her nightmares…

The thought makes her pause. She stares at the Elphaba in front of her. This Elphaba looks about Glinda's own age, a little softer, black hair falling haphazardly over her shoulders. She wears a long black cape and a black dress, soaked from the rain. Her dead friend, who had melted from water, is standing before her, drenched.

"I'm dreaming," Glinda says slowly, to herself. Of course, she was. It's raining. And the ghost of her dreams had just appeared right on time to haunt her.

"No, Glinda. I'm here," Elphaba coos; her gentle voice washes over Glinda.

Suddenly, her knees buckle. Elphaba cries out, rushing to catch her as Glinda collapses to the floor with a strangled gasp. Looking up at the green-skinned girl above her, Glinda wonders if she's gone mad. Has her loneliness grown so profound that she's begun to hallucinate her friend?

"Whoa, hey, easy, Glinda..." she hears the dream whisper, or perhaps she doesn't; everything is rushing. "Breathe..."

A sob escapes her lips, a wrenching sound that mirrors the storm outside. Tears stream down her face, blurring her vision.

She feels Elphaba's arms encircle her, pulling her close to her chest. Gentle hands rub rhythmically across her back.

"Shh... Shh, my sweet..." Elphaba whispers, her voice a low rumble against Glinda's ear. "I'm here now. Not leaving ever again, not if you'll have me."

Though Elphaba is still soaked from the outside storm, Glinda finds solace in the embrace. Even if it's a figment of her imagination, and she'll soon wake back to her lonely life, Glinda can't resist leaning into Elphie's arms. Her heavy eyelids flutter closed as her sobs begin to subside.

"You're okay, Galinda," she hears murmured. "You can rest. It's okay."

She feels herself being gently laid down on the soft bed, the comforting weight of Elphaba's body beside her. The arms abruptly withdraw, but Glinda doesn't even have time to reach out or whimper before they're back around her. She belatedly realizes a blanket has been laid over her.

She drifts off, feeling a kiss on her temple, clinging to the fleeting memory of someone she thought was lost, the sound of the rain a gentle lullaby that soothes her aching soul.

________________________________________________________________

Sunlight streams through the window, awakening Glinda with a temperate insistence. She shifts, trying to cling to the lingering warmth of sleep. For the first time in months—possibly years—Glinda feels truly rested. She's warm and comfortable, her head nestled on a soft pillow.

Then the“pillow” shifts beneath her, and memories from last night come rushing back. She jolts upright, startling the woman sleeping beside her. A low whine escapes the woman's lips. Glinda stares at her in disbelief.

Elphaba... She looks peaceful like this, asleep. It reminds Glinda of when they were roommates and she used to find herself inexplicably drawn to watching Elphaba sleep. A quiet contentment washed over her. A contentment she wouldn't fully understand until it was far too late.

Tears welled in Glinda's eyes, a complex mix of disbelief, joy, and a profound sense of relief washing over her. This was hers. Unmistakable. Lush green skin contrasted starkly against the bland white of the sheets. Her Elphie.

Alive.

Breathing steadily on her plush bed. Who was here somehow, not melted into goo or a haunting figure in her nightmares. The Elphaba who was dead. Who Glinda had missed dearly. Mourned deeply. Who was alive this whole time—and hadn't bothered to tell her for over a year.

Her grief gives way to a surge of rage, a primal, animalistic fury she hadn't felt in years. She harshly shakes the girl, who blearily stares up at her for a moment, her eyes still half-closed, a look of confusion and sleepiness clouding her features.

Glinda doesn’t let her heart stutter at the way Elphaba's eyes, when they finally land on her, light up with a spark of recognition. Then it seems she processes the situation, and Elphaba is suddenly sitting up, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and apprehension.

"How are you alive?” Glinda demands, her voice trembling with disbelief, a fury so potent it threatened to consume her entirely.

I faked my death,” Elphaba explains hesitantly, her voice a mere whisper. “It was just an illusion—I didn’t think…”

“I thought you were dead!” Glinda screams, the sound echoing through the room. “I heard you… dissolve. Do you have any idea what that felt like? To watch your best friend cease to exist? To believe you were responsible for it?”

Elphaba’s face contorts, a mixture of sadness and guilt. She struggles to find the right words, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. “You weren’t supposed to be there.”

Glinda’s anger erupts, a volcano of fury. “You still were going to leave me to assume that you’d died?” she demands, pushing Elphaba back with the force of her words. “How could you be so cruel, so callous? So utterly wicked!” The unspoken question hangs heavy in the air—Did our friendship mean so little to you?

“I thought you’d be better off…without me,” Elphaba responds softly, her eyes brimming with a mixture of sadness and fear.

“That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard,” Glinda scoffs, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “How could you even think that?”

“This is the life you always wanted, isn’t it? Popular and adored by everyone in Oz. Glinda the Good Witch,” Elphaba says, her gaze filled with a profound sadness and a hint of regret. “I thought if I were gone, your life would be perfect. No one to hinder you, no one to complicate things.”

Elphaba rubs her arms, a nervous tic Glinda recognizes. And Glinda is seething, a rage that will probably simmer within her for a long time. But Elphaba is here. She’s returned to her. Who is the smartest person Glinda knows? Who is so incredibly stupid to think Glinda would choose anything over Elphaba?

She pulls Elphaba into a hug, her arms wrapping around her tightly, holding her close. Elphie freezes for a moment, then slowly relaxes, returning the embrace with a hesitant warmth.

“It’s hollow without you,” Glinda whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “Everything is.”

Elphaba’s arms wrap around her hesitantly, holding her close. And she’s warm, alive. Tears well up in Glinda’s eyes. Instead of crying, she pulls Elphaba’s face to hers, their foreheads touching.

“My life will never be better off without you,” she says sternly, tears escaping despite her resolve. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again!”

Elphaba wipes a tear away with her finger, her thumb tenderly brushing against Glinda’s cheek. "Never, my sweet.”

“And you can’t leave,” Glinda whispers, burying her face in Elphaba’s shoulder. “Not without me. Please, I can’t—”

“Never,” She promises, “Not until you tell me to go.”

Glinda lets her fluttering heart settle a little, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Careful, or else you’ll be stuck with me forever,” she teases, though the words are laced with genuine hope.

Elphie smiled at her, a genuine, heartwarming smile that lit up her face. “I’d be okay with that.” She played with Glinda’s hair, her fingers tangling in the golden strands.”

"It’s quiet for a moment. Elphaba whispered, "I'm so sorry, my sweet. I never meant to hurt you. And I definitely wouldn't have used the water rumor if I knew you started them." Her voice was husky with emotion.

Wait, what?

"Elphaba, how did you know that?" Glinda exclaimed, her eyes widening.

Elphaba flushed a deep emerald, embarrassment, and guilt swirling in her eyes. Glinda narrowed her eyes, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

"Elphaba Thropp," she demanded, "How did you know that?"

"It was an accident," Elphaba began, her voice barely a whisper, which did little to quell the anxiety surging through Glinda's veins.

Glinda racked her brain. She never told anyone about the rumors. Not even Fiyero. She couldn't risk anyone tracing them back to her. She only ever said it out loud once... in a dream. She stiffened, her body trembling slightly. She studied Elphaba's face, the same one that haunted her dreams.

The exact same one.

"YOU—"

"I didn't mean to!" Elphaba interrupted, her voice rising in panic. "It just happened. And once I knew what was happening, I'm sorry, I should have stopped it. But—" she stammered, "I just—I just wanted to see you. You're my best friend. And I missed you so much."

Glinda's cheeks flushed a deep crimson. "I said I loved you! I said I'd marry you!" she exclaimed, then whispered, mostly to herself, "You said you’d marry me."

She turned to her best friend, whose cheeks somehow turned an even deeper shade of green. The Wicked Witch nodded slowly, her eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and a surprising tenderness.

"Well?" Glinda asked, her voice trembling slightly with impatience and a nervous flutter.

Elphaba jolted, her eyes widening with a mixture of uncertainty and something that might have been… affection. "Of course, I love you too, Glinda," she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Glinda's breath hitched. In that instant, the weight of her grief—the years of pain, the crushing loneliness—seemed to vanish. A wave of overwhelming joy, a surge of relief so intense it stole her breath away, washed over her.

She looked up at Elphaba, her eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and a burgeoning hope. Anger, yes, anger should be there—a potent force in the tornado of emotions swirling within her. Elphaba had intruded upon her dreams, a ghost from the past. But now she was here, alive, and she loved her.

Instead of succumbing to the anger, Glinda chose to focus on the kiss, a desperate need to feel Elphaba's lips against hers, to anchor herself in this impossible, exhilarating reality. Later, there would be time for explanations, for apologies, perhaps even for groveling, if Elphaba felt it was necessary. But for now, Glinda was content to cling to Elphie, who had impossibly returned to her.

As their lips met, a spark ignited between them, a fierce, passionate fire that had been burning within them for years, finally finding its release. It was a kiss born of longing, grief, and joy. A love that defied not only death but the very fabric of reality. The world melted away, leaving only the two souls longing for each other, finally reuniting after an eternity of separation.

In that moment, amidst the chaos and confusion, a profound sense of peace descended upon Glinda. She knew, with a certainty that transcended words, that everything would be alright. They had each other, and in that shared moment of ecstasy, nothing else truly mattered.

***

“Fiyero says hello, by the way.”

“...WHAT?”

________________________________________________________________

Time seemed to melt away as they poured their hearts out to each other, a whirlwind of emotions – cuddling, tears, and passionate kisses – until the weight of their secrets finally lifted.

They lay entwined in Glinda's bed, their haven away from the world.

“I really thought I killed you,” Glinda murmurs, face nestled between the other girl's arms. “Oz, Elphie I felt so bad.”

“You saved me Galinda,” Elphaba reassures. At Glinda’s questioning look, she adds, “I don’t think I’d been able to trick all of Oz without your rumor.”

"You tricked me too, and I'm still quite cross with you about that, you and Fiyero!" Glinda pouts playfully.

“I know, I’m so sorry that wasn’t fair to you. But look at all you’ve accomplished here.”

“I did it for you.”

Elphaba showers Glinda's face with a flurry of light kisses until the Good Witch is giggling helplessly, her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue.

"You did so good, my sweet," she whispers.

________________________________________________________________

It ends like this.

Glinda dreams of sunshine. She lies in the sun-kissed grass, twisting a small red poppy between her fingers. In the distance, she sees her lover, her future wife, walking towards her. She wakes to find that same woman asleep beside her, hours later. Glinda gently kisses her awake, then rises to get ready. She dresses, curls her hair, and applies her makeup. Elphaba leans on her tiredly, and Glinda watches amused as her wife completes her own morning routine in a half-asleep daze.

They walk together to the dining hall. Glinda pours Elphie coffee, adding two sugars and a pinch of cream. They eat breakfast together, and then Glinda departs for her meeting while Elphaba heads to the library.

It ends like this.

Glinda listens as people gossip, their hushed whispers intended to remain unheard.

“I heard the Wicked Witch of the West wasn't wicked at all.”

“I heard she was framed by the Wizard.”

“I heard our great Glinda was in love with her.”

A slow smile spreads across Glinda's face.

She meets Boq's gaze across the room and gives him a small, knowing wave. He winks back at her, a silent acknowledgment.

It ends like this.

Elphaba's reintroduction to the people of Oz was a gradual process. It began with subtle hints—rumors spread by the Tin Man and the Scarecrow, two of Oz's celebrated heroes. Slowly, Galinda added to these rumors, a carefully orchestrated campaign of ambiguity that left the Ozians unsure of what to believe.

Finally, at a public gathering, Glinda brought her green-tinted lover. Whispers erupted among the Ozians, but Galinda paid them no heed. Glinda had made her move, a bold kiss that silenced the room, leaving the Ozians breathless.

She cherished the memory of Elphaba's starstruck look as the crowd erupted in cheers.

It ends like this.

Glinda, or Galinda to those closest to her, walks back to her chambers alone. The Emerald Palace shimmers in the light, reminding her of their love. She quickens her pace, eager to reach her room.

Elphaba is already there, lounging comfortably on Galinda's pink settee. She rises gracefully, her emerald eyes sparkling, and kisses Galinda lightly on the cheek.

"What have you been up to?" Galinda asks, basking in the warmth of Elphaba's presence.

Elphaba's emerald eyes sparkled. "Nothing much, just reading and missing you terribly," she replied, emphasizing her last point with a lingering kiss. "How are you, my sweet?"

Galinda sighed contentedly. "Better now that you're here," she whispered, burying her face in Elphaba's hair.

"Come on, let me run you a bath," Elphaba murmured, her voice a low caress.

It ends like this.

Galinda relaxes in the steaming water, feeling the stress of the day melt away. Behind her, Elphaba's gentle hands undo her curls, then massage her scalp with a fragrant shampoo. Elphaba recounts her day in a low, soothing voice as Galinda listens, drifting off into a peaceful haze.

Afterward, she feels pliant, like warm wax. Everything feels hazy and warm. Galinda would be content to remain in this blissful state forever. Elphaba moves to face her, a soft cloth in hand, gently wiping away the last traces of makeup. Galinda leans into the touch, sighing contentedly.

"Fiyero wrote us," Elphaba says, her voice a silken thread. "He's coming to visit soon."

"Hmm," Galinda hums sleepily, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Bedtime for you, I think."

Elphaba drains the tub, wrapping a fluffy pink towel around Galinda as she lifts her effortlessly from the water. She dresses her in a silky nightgown, then settles beside her in bed.

"I love you, my sweet," Elphaba whispers, her breath warm against Galinda's hair.

"I love you too, Elphie," Galinda murmurs, already drifting off. "Sweet dreams."

It ends like this.

They marry in the spring, amidst a vibrant field of red poppies. A small, intimate ceremony with only their closest friends and family in attendance. Fiyero, with a gentle smile, officiates the heartfelt exchange of vows.

As the first drops of rain began to fall, Galinda burst into laughter, a joyous sound that echoed through the field. Elphaba giggled, her eyes sparkling, and pulled her close. They danced in the rain, lost in the moment, their love a vibrant hue against the graying sky.

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