“Glinda the Good! We bring before you our newest strategy for catching the Wicked Witch!”

Glinda hid her grimace behind a wider spread of her smile. Outside the palace, the sky darkened. It had been months since Elphie disappeared, and not a trace had been found. Rumors were abundant, but no one had turned up credible sightings. Glinda insisted on sitting in on every single interview, claiming that only she could truly know if the information was true. Afterall, she had survived the Witch’s wickedness once already, she knew its signature. 

None of the crazed Munchkins or weepy Gillikins or angry Quadlings had brought anything of note. Not one could tell her the correct color of Elphaba’s eyes, or the proper shade of her skin. Her long, beautiful nails had become curved, rotting talons. The constellation of freckles across her nose were pits of missing flesh. 

Glinda had summarily dismissed them all, facing down Morrible’s wrath with an insistent “It wasn’t her. Wouldn’t you rather not waste time on wild duck chases?”

Each time she was met with an eye roll, a muttered “it’s goose,” and an escort back to her room. 

Still, with each failed sighting, the chase intensified. Just a few weeks ago, she’d been asked to oversee the appointment of new Gale Force generals and do the ceremonial breaking ground on bigger barracks. 

“Miss Glinda?”

She blinked, pulling herself back into the moment. So many of these meetings didn’t require her attention at all. Her presence was merely for show, a puppet on strings for the Wizard and Morrible to pull. 

“Yes?” She smiled sweetly, batting her eyes. 

The guard standing before her cleared his throat, eyes cutting to her left where Madame Morrible stood silently. She was positioned slightly behind Glinda, her reaction a mystery. She was a presence, a shadow, looming over the room like a vulture waiting for the inevitable death of its prey. 

Glinda widened her smile again, teeth almost bared. The guard hung his head back into a bow, his loud voice echoing off the polished green floor. 

“Presenting! The new enforcement arm of the Gale Force: the Witch Hunters!” 

Tension squeezed Glinda’s chest, freezing her to the spot as the double doors opened, pouring forth an impenetrable wall of green-clad men. They marched in perfect sync, boots clanging on stone as they advanced towards her. In their hands, each one carried a…

Glinda gasped, her head whipping back to stare at Morrible. The sorceress pinched her lips and lifted her chin. Thunder rolled in the distance.

“Remember your place.”

Fighting the urge to curl her hands into fists, Glinda turned back towards the soldiers. Two dozen new pistols stared back at her, each one gleaming in the torchlight like the shiniest jewels on a crown. 

She knew what those jewels could do. Those coveted weapons from the Wizard’s world. Expensive and difficult to make, but nearly always fatal. There had only been a few in Oz before now, wielded by only the most trusted and loyal of guards. Now, here she stood, facing down more life-ending instruments than she had ever seen in all her life. Swords and spears had nothing on the pure, body-shattering power of the pistol. 

Glinda’s mind raced. Until now, the chase had been mostly harmless. Foolish young men sent into the wilderness on a futile mission to retrieve a missing student. They had instructions to bring her back, broom and book in hand, unharmed and untouched. She’d made sure of it. 

Now, though, her words seem to have failed her. Gone were the days of wanted posters and interviewing citizens for any clue to her whereabouts. Elphaba was a target now. Prey, to be hunted and killed by men seeking glory. Men afraid of something they didn’t understand. 

The young guard at her feet stood and turned to address the crowd. 

“With the Wizard’s help. We have built an army of men willing to stop at nothing to keep you all safe!” 

The people cheered. Glinda felt sick. 

“They are armed with only the best, the most effective, the deadliest weapons in all of Oz: A device of the Wizard’s invention, made specifically to capture the Wicked Witch!”

Glinda was an accomplished liar--a manipulator ready to let honey or vinegar spill from her lips at a moment’s notice. But, even she was alarmed by how easily the Wizard lied, and how even more easily the people seemed to forget anything they previously thought. 

How many people in this room had seen the old guards who carried pistols? How many maids and cooks and house staff had passed by the chamber doors, eyes drawn to the glinting metal weapons that signified the Wizard’s personal security?

Yet, here they were, cheering and believing. Trusting in the words before them: that the guns were invented just to take down their Witch. 

Glinda smiled, the tension in her chest fit to break. Shame crawled its way up her throat, wrapping around her tongue. Morrible’s hand landed at the small of her back, firm and unyielding. The smell of rain permeated the air, once so soft and comforting, now sickly sweet and thick in her lungs.

She was trapped. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no future beyond these walls. A life on the run was not for her. She would never survive a day in those woods. Stepping down from her title wasn’t an option. Glinda the Good was the hope of all of Oz. She was their light, their savior, their security. If she left now, there would be riots in the streets. 

Morrible had done an excellent job at making her instrumental. Letting Glinda build her own public image, allowing her to go into the world and feel the adoring looks of all of Oz. Slowly weaving more Wicked Witch hatred into her speeches, turning up the temperature degree by degree. She and the Wizard had let Glinda build her own golden pedestal to stand on. 

Now she stood at the edge, on top of the world, wishing more than anything to simply drop down. 

“Pay attention.” Morrible hissed, her hand pressing a little harder. 

Glinda blinked again, trying to pull her mind back to the present. The little guard was still speaking.

“--target her weaknesses! Her magic may be strong, but we are stronger!”

Her feet carried her forward, floating weightless along the floor. 

“Weaknesses?” She heard her voice from far away, as if she was speaking with only her ears underwater. “You don’t know the Witch’s weaknesses.”

“Glinda!” Morrible’s voice hissed, but she barely heard it. 

The crowd focused on her, hanging on her every word. Their wide eyes and eager smiles made her sick. How could they want the destruction, the death, of the most wonderful person in all of Oz?

Couldn’t they see how sweet and caring her Elphie was? How selfless and thoughtful? Oh, if only Glinda could have convinced her to stay. They could have done so much good together, side by side. Never apart. 

Her steps rang out through the quiet space as she walked forward, eyes fixed ahead and heart hammering in her chest. The young guard turned back towards her, his face pinched. 

“Your Goodness?”

The injustice of it all grated at her, keeping her awake at night and pulling her to stand on her balcony. The western sky was always empty, but that never stopped her from looking. How could they drive away her Elphie like this? How could they be so cruel?

How could Glinda have helped them to think this way? How could she have gone along with the Wizard’s lies? His terrible, awful, horrendible lies about her lovely Elphie?

Did she really trade popularity and power for her only real friend?

“You know nothing of her weaknesses.” Glinda said again, her gaze hard. The poor boy shrank back, tripping on boots too large for him as he staggered away from her. “You think your ‘guns’ can stop her? Ha! She has the strongest magic that Oz has ever known.”

There was silence for a moment, the crowd shifting and rippling around her. She’d made them uncomfortable. Stepped outside her role. Broken from the script.

“What is her weakness?” A voice called from the throng. Murmurs broke out, every head turning to her for an answer. 

Outside the window, the rain started. It fell in slow, heavy drops. Streaks of clear reflections rolled down the glass, falling to the street far below. 

Morrible must be furious with her. 

“Water.” Glinda said, staring at the rain. “Everyone knows that Wicked Witches melt in water.”

If the Wizard could lie, why couldn’t she? Her life may be too embedded to start speaking up now, but maybe the citizens of Oz would arm themselves with buckets of water instead of pistols. Maybe the Gale Force would think twice before shooting, hands reaching for their water skins instead. 

If she could give Elphie even one spare moment, just one extra chance to get away…

Maybe, in the end, that would be enough.