A complication of emotions tried the present to the past; tried reality to fiction. The unfathomable reality of gruesome proportions and imagery took place in one's sub-conscious and then, proceeded to take hold of her body. Her unsteady mind kept producing dark obstacles for her to pass. Many of which, included a certain dark ruby red liquid running over her fingers... it brought back beastly memories and battered and bruised. She did her best to ignore the sensation, but gave in each time and collapsed against a wall.

She called these random bursts of brain malfunctioning, Knives. The illusions cut into her mind and scraped and nicked her bare, thus: Knives. These Knives had taken hold of her and reduced her to nothing more than a fragmentary of what she used to be: strong, sharp, and unstoppable. Now, all she wished to be was dead and gone. She still had her stinging retorts and talk, but she no longer had a soul—not to say she ever knew she had had one. She kept the Knives to herself, no doubt, and bottled up all pain and suffering inside. Only Elphaba Thropp knew about the Knives. Only she knew and no one else.

This woman, this soulless viper of a woman, wandered up to a vacant square and sat on a stone bench, recollecting herself after another spastic episode with the Knives. She pulled down the hood of her weathered cloak and allowed her eyes to flutter about, so as to make sure nothing else would come up and surprise her. It would be like her mind of deceive and hurt her when she was already weak and least expected it. Taking care to turn her head all ways, she stood up, attempting to steady herself and her head likewise and took a deep breath. Once steadied, she continued her walk toward the house—or Shrine, rather—of Saint Glinda. The Shrine—the residence—of Glinda, our beautiful Saint; Glinda, our Savior; Glinda, our queen; Glinda, our phony.

—"I'm on the outside
I'm looking in—

Using a vine entwined thickly around the building, she skillfully scaled the wall, and crept carefully onto the balcony, then hiding behind the outstretching wall. She took deep breaths, and suddenly felt sick to her stomach, and wondered why she was choosing to do this. She was feeling as if all sanity she had once possessed, if any, had fled her body. She let her back slide down the wall, until her scrawny bottom touched ground. She swallowed and took another deep breath, waiting for her only chance. She needed the perfect moment, the perfect chance, the perfect breath of fresh air…

For minutes on end she listened to the bustling of skirts and varies other articles of clothing on the other side of the wall. She guessed that her feminine quarry was getting ready for another peaceful night of sleep. How surprised she would be to see this one here! She would respond just like another person; another person turned agog by the other's presence. Just like a normal person. This was her goal: to show who she really was and what she was really doing. She would gaze into her deep blue pools and tell her off. After all, someone needed to. And who better than an old chum? She grinned; a facial expression long forgotten.

Soon after, the rustling and clattering stopped, to be replaced by soft footsteps that drew closer each second. The woman lain against the crusty wall, drew in a sharp breath and scuttled father away from the other lady. Her dark hair, tucked up in a crooked hat, started to fly free from the sudden movement, and fanned out in front of her face dark as a storm cloud, but delicate, soft and womanly like a fan. In this instance, it cloaked her face, taking away the ability for her to see. She clawed at her hair, and accidentally knocked her head against the opposite wall.


In an instant, the blonde woman once transfixed in the moon, was gaping at the other, shadowed in the corner of her balcony. Her flaxen curls, now dulled with gaining age, twirled around her head like a golden halo, as her garish culottes did when she turned suddenly, stricken. Her blue eyes widened in shock and she took careful steps backwards, swallowing the bile that rose in her throat. She obviously had no idea who this cryptic person was, and judging by the look on her face—in which our darkened lady saw when she finally looked up—she didn't wish to know who it was. Elphaba Thropp would soon change that.

—I can see through you
See your true colors—

The bedraggled person crumpled on the ground laughed throatily. Her head shook back and forth while she laughed, exposing differing glimpses of her face. She stopped, and, still engulfed in darkness, spoke, "You don't know who I am, do you, Miss Glinda?"

Glinda's eyes twinkled in a naïve manner. She hadn't changed one bit. "No, I don't know you. You look foreign… how could you possibly know who I was?"

"Quite easily," she bit back, and pushing herself up to a standing position. "How could anyone not know who you were, even if they were foreign? They talk enough about you in this damn city anyway."

Glinda recoiled, causing her curls to once more bounce about. "How dare—"

"How dare I?" she said. "How dare I? I daresay: I dare because you need to be taught a lesson."

"A lesson?" Glinda squeaked. "Who are you, and why are you here?" Glinda looked as though she was readying herself to flee into her room once more. Elphaba stepped in her way, but not before lowering her hood once more, in an action to conceal her identity a little longer. "You do know me, Glinda," she responded icily, with a grin. "We haven't seen each other in a long time, but I can assure you; we're old mates… really old mates."

—'Cause inside you're ugly
Ugly like me—

Glinda's face froze in a straight frown. "I most certainly do not know you, or would ever make associates with someone like you."

"Oh, but you did," she retorted. "And of course, people do change, you know. But only on the inside… and you know their outside stays the same…?"

"Of course… but we also grow older. Lower your hood and maybe I can decipher who you are despite an age difference from who you used to be."

Elphaba shook her head. "You'll know who I am instantly."

"How can you be so sure?"

"That doesn't matter. And it never will. All I'm here to do is make you see truth. You are out of your own control..."

Glinda shrank back from this statement and gasped. "I am not! I am Glinda—"

"I know you're Glinda. You're the marvelous Glinda the Good Witch of the North. I've heard it all before. But you don't know who you really are and I do. You're a fraud, a phony."

Glinda stared at her vacantly. "I think I do know who—"

"You pretend that you love it here; that you love the Emerald City, your husband and all the people. You just pretend all the time and you are never yourself. It's frivolous and stupid of you to kid yourself all the damn time. It's pathetic, weak, and idiotic," she said. "You're smarter than that. My Lord, you're so much smarter even if you may not know it…" She stopped and gazed at her, as if transfixed, while her eyes shimmered, almost angrily. "You're not perfect, Glinda. You're just not and you know that. The people here don't know that because they don't know you and never will, because they're stupid. You are as screwed up as the rest of us. You're as scared, as uncertain, as ugly—"

Glinda ran forward and ripped off the other girl's hood angrily. It flew back, and crashed against her back with a thudding sound. The shadowy dame, now without a hood, almost stopped breathing. She just stood there and stared at Glinda steadily. She gulped. "I-I told you we were old chums, Glinda." And, hesitantly, she reached out an emerald hand, laying it tenderly on Glinda's shoulder. "You're as broken as the rest of us, and you're not flawless. You're not perfect and wonderful. The truth is, you're just like the rest of us," she said. "But you can't handle that, can you?"


—I can see through you
See to the real you"—

—That has got to be the closest thing I've ever written to an AU. There were things in there never mentioned in Wicked, et cetera, so I'm sorry if you thought it was OOC. But I was quite upset yesterday for unfathomable reasons… even almost unknown to myself, so I needed the comfort of angst and I thought it was a good idea. You could call this a song fiction, because of the saying/quote from the song 'Outside' by Staind scattered throughout it. If you haven't listened to the song, do so and be sure to listen carefully to the lyrics. It's a beautiful song and kind of sad.

I thought that it fit things quite nicely, so it needed to be written. And I believe this is the most serious thing I have ever written. I hope you enjoyed it, and please review. –Faba