Hey everyone! This is Meghan here! This is just a one-shot that I typed up but I might make it into a multi-chapter if you all like it! Enjoy and review! c:
"And of the Witch? In the life of a Witch, there is no "after", in the "ever after" of a Witch there is no "happily"; in the story of a Witch, there is no afterword. Of that part that is beyond the life story, beyond the story of the life, there is- alas, or perhaps, thank mercy,-no telling. She was dead, dead, and gone, and all that was left of her was the carapace of her reputation for malice."
Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West
All she could feel was the searing pain as the deadly water doused her skin. The agony was over quickly and the Witch found herself in a euphoria-like state. She seemed to be levitating, although the space below her seemed to go down for miles. All of a sudden, the Witch was plummeting at full-speed towards the ground and she didn't dare to close her eyes. She was dead, so she figured that there was nothing in her old life or the Afterlife that could hurt her now. Never in her life had the Witch felt so wrong. Her back hit the earth with a sickening crunch and she rolled over, not entirely pleased at what met her eyes. She was in the middle of a grassy field and she could see a humble cottage a few yards away.
"Elphaba, child, don't wander off!" Elphaba. It seemed like the name of someone so long ago. She was no longer Elphaba, or Fae for that matter, but simply the Witch; The Wicked Witch of the West, if you want the full glory of it. There seemed to be nothing more of her now, only a shell of what she once was and her extensive reputation for evil.
Melena's voice rang through the field, echoing through the leaves on the Quoxwood trees. The Witch turned to see her mother, with her hands on her hips, watching as the Quadling picked up her younger self. Elphaba's back stiffened, not accustomed to the feeling of being held, or even touched. Turtle Heart, that was his name. The Witch faintly recalled sitting at the kitchen table and peering around the corner to see her mother sneak off with the man, her tiny hand held in his large one. It was funny, the Witch now realized. It had seemed so odd to see her mother slither into a bed that held a man that was not her father. Was this how Fiyero's children must have felt? She wasn't sure if Sarima had her guesses about the affair or if she would even dare to tell her offspring, but she was sure that they would have felt the same way if they knew that their father had slept with a foreign woman who was not their mother.
The Witch focused in confusion as Melena and Turtle Heart became blurry as they were climbing into bed and little Elphaba began to cry and Frex rushed in from outside to comfort her. Colors whirled around her as she was whipped back and forth in an angry tornado. Just when the Witch felt as if her head was about to be blown away with the wind, the storm died down and she found herself in Quadling Country, watching as a ten-year-old Elphaba was tramping through the mud, trying her best not to get water into her stockings. Then, the scene changed and the two were sitting on low stools as Frex was doing his usual sermon. He pointed at Elphaba and said,
"Behold the gift of a demon!" It hurt Elphaba to hear her own father say such things about her, but he had convinced her that it was all an act, a show. "If the Unnamed God could love such a horrendous creature, He could certainly love you too!" At this time, Elphaba caught her cue and began to sing an old hymn (the only music that Father approved of). The Quadlings seemed fascinated by Elphaba and they unconsciously leaned forward, not to listen to her soft voice, but to take a closer look at her harlequin green skin. She didn't mind for it happened all the time. Everywhere she went; everyone stared and whispered, their faces twisted in horror. The whispers were all the same: freak, vegetable, grass. Elphaba didn't know what hurt more, the names or the fact that the skin would never go away. She could sit for as long as she wanted, scrub as hard as she could, but the ugly green skin would never wash off or fade away.
The Witch watched in sadness (an emotion that she hadn't felt in quite some time) as her younger self was objectified and harassed. If only they could see that she had hated her skin as much as they did. "I don't wish to see anymore! I just want to move into the Afterlife where I can finally take my rest!" She screamed to no one in particular. The woman knew that none of the Quadlings could hear her, nor could the Thropps, but she wanted to voice her pleas. As if someone had actually heard her, the whirlwind started up again and she was whisked away. All throughout her travels, the Witch swore that she could hear the wind echo one simple phrase: There isn't any rest for the wicked.
When the tornado finally subsided, the Witch found herself in a place she knew well. The storm had dropped her right into her dorm room in Crage Hall at Shiz University. She watched as Galinda –well, Glinda at that point- sat on her bed, fully engrossed in a conversation with Elphaba.
"Ama Clutch, she's gone. I find myself having a hard time believing such a dreadful fact." Elphaba put a green finger to her lips, gesturing for the girl to keep her voice low.
"We don't need Nanny or Nessa waking up. They're both very light sleepers." She informed her. "Well, it's true. Ama Clutch is dead, but it certainly wasn't because of natural causes."
"Well, of course not, Elphie! I put some sort of magic spell on her!" Glinda exclaimed in a whisper, clutching onto her embroidered pillow.
"I wasn't talking about that, you idiot. I know that Madame Morrible had something to do with it." The Witch saw Glinda respond, but the wind was picking up and it was drowning out any sound that the blonde was making.
By now, the Witch was quite used to the spinning motions, but she wouldn't deny that the constant movements made her want to throw up. She opened her eyes after a few moments, finding herself in the familiar corn exchange. The woman turned to the bedroll and, by the moonlight, she could pick out the figures of a beautiful Fiyero and a young, impassioned Fae. The two were moving together underneath the thin sheet and the Witch felt her heart yearn for the man. Everything felt so simple back then, even though Fiyero was cheating on his wife and she was in one of the most important seasons of her life. Even though there was a high chance that she could have been killed any day, she loved knowing that Fiyero would be there to hold her and to claim her as his (even though she would never admit it).
The Witch could feel the tornado beginning again and she reached out for her lover, not wanting to leave the scene. "Fiyero!" She screamed as the storm ripped her off her feet and whirled her away. She opened her eyes to see, not the Afterlife, but the solid stone walls of the basement in Kiamo Ko. This couldn't be happening; she was dead, for Oz's sake! How much more pain could she possibly endure?
"This is only the beginning," A deep voice echoed throughout the room and the Witch stiffened in alert. What in the name of Lurline was going on?
So how did you guys like it? Tell me and review!
