It had been scarcely more than a month since the incident in the Emerald City – just long enough that Glinda didn't wake up every morning missing Elphaba, but not long enough that the opportunity to miss Elphaba terribly didn't come up at least once everyday. She was getting along alright, she supposed, all things considered.
It was a crisp, clear morning in Shiz. The hazy, early-morning sunlight was slanting through the trees as Glinda sipped her tea. Where before, Glinda could hardly drag herself from bed in time for classes, she had found a certain solace in getting up early these past weeks. It was relaxing to beat everyone else awake and take some time to be alone. Sometimes she needed to think, sometimes she just needed the solitude, sometimes she just wanted to relish in the beauty of the sunrise.
Nessa was sleeping soundly across the room. Although Glinda was getting used to the idea, it still felt disrespectful to have someone else sleeping in Elphaba's bed, living in Elphaba's space. Glinda, for her part, hadn't even touched any of Elphie's things. She thought, in a strange, irrational sort of way, that if she moved anything, perhaps Elphaba would become confused, would lose the sent of home, and thus never return, but the practicality of filling Elphaba's empty place had been glaringly apparent. And so Nessa stayed.
Looking back on it now, Glinda could see the signs of Elphaba's restlessness long before meeting with the Wizard. There were nights on the road to the Emerald city when Glinda would wake with a start and find Elphaba gone. The room was dark, and suddenly she was very cold. When Elphaba was home, she was pensive, quiet, miles away. She would hum a tune that was low and mournful, speaking volumes that Glinda could not know.
Glinda sipped her tea.
On her bedside table was her Classic Ozian Literature text – open and facedown, leaving a trailing crack along the spine. The main learning experience from this course had been that all the great stories were exactly the same. The action would build and the tension would rise until just when everything looked darkest, the hero would pull through and restore peace and order. It went as far back as Odysseus and his journey, Christ and his resurrection. It was in all the great religions, all the old tales.
Glinda had thought a good deal about it over her morning tea, and the decision she had come to was that there was something in humans that desired this storybook ending; beyond desiring it, craved it, expected it.
Not just the happy ending, but the struggle too. Glinda could remember a time not too long before when she had almost wanted something bad to happen to her – a little something dark to break the monotony of her glittery existence and make the light at the end of the tunnel seem a bit brighter.
And then she had gotten her disaster. She could remember getting off the carriage outside the gates of Shiz, explaining to Morrible, the first day of class, the first time back in their old room…
Nessarose rolled over and mumbled something in her sleep.
But hold out! Always hold out, she thought. The magic, band-aid ending was coming. And so she was waiting. But if there's one thing she learned from Elphaba, it was her cynicism. For so long she had resisted – Oh, Elphie. Always so negative. – but it seeped into her, a gradual process that continued even after being removed from Elphaba's direct influence.
Then again, Elphaba had always been a closet romantic. She believed – really believed – she would change Oz in a significant way. There had to have been some scrap of hopefulness in her. Even such as the Wicked Witch were not immune to the pull of human longings and desires.
Sometimes Glinda supposed she understood Elphaba quite a bit better than Elphaba ever understood herself.
And in spite of herself, she was rather inclined to wish Elphaba luck.