So, some actresses portray Elphaba as falling pretty much to pieces after the Nessa/Fiyero deaths, causing quite a few screws to come loose which are then replaced by Glinda during For Good, and of course with the help of Fiyero's letter. I know not everyone sees Elphaba this way, which is absolutely fine – but this oneshot most definitely follows this more unstable, bookverse version of Elphaba, from just after March of the Witch Hunters.
She killed Nessa.
I stand, breath heavy and fast. She, creature, girl, Nessa, checked-blue-and-white, terrified, sweet face, stands also. Trembling, trembling. She is frightened. So frightened. And oh, feels so good to see her frightened. See her cower, tremble, tremble like Nessa must have trembled before that house crushing flat upon her, Nessa, oh Nessa, Nessa, Nessa…
I tell her how long she has to live.
Come now, Elphaba, you can't promise that. You can't kill the little girl. Little Dorothy. Nessa's murderer. Little Nessa.
Downstairs again. Pacing backwards, forwards, hands twisting. Waiting. What am I waiting for? Chistery. Need Chistery. News of him…news of Fiyero…the name hurts…oh Nessa the name hurts, want to scream, shriek, smash every window. Little murderer still crying. Crying like Nessa would cry, nightmare, comfort, sing lullaby, sleep. She won't stop. Still won't stop.
Ugh. Sick of it. Furious.
Over at the trap door. Yank it open, hiss at her to stay quiet. Maybe I'll kill her. Right now. Choke her with bare hands. Something to do. Pass time. Feel good.
You won't kill her. You can't kill her. She's crying. Like Nessa would have cried, if she were just as frightened.
Snarl at her again. Get those shoes off her feet if she wants Auntie Em. Hate her. Hate her. Little murderer.
Need Chistery…
Sound of wings, fluttering wings. Chistery. Back at last. But no news. Need news. Though news will hurt. Hurt like Fiyero.
Want to shriek again.
Oh Nessa it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.
"Elphie!"
Whip round. See a beautiful lady, all blue and white, glinty, glindy, Glinda…Oz, I can't deal with this now.
"Go away," voice says.
"They're coming for you!"
So frightened, just like Nessa, little Nessa, my pretty Nessa, murderer, my pretty.
"Go away –!"
"But they're coming for you –"
"Then let them come!"
Shove past the thin frame of her, reach my cloak, sling it round shoulders. Warm. Safe. Dark. Turn to trapdoor, rip it open. Yell over bawling little murderer.
"One more snivel, you brat, and I'm coming down there, do you hear?!"
Half-yell, half-shriek; horrible sound. Clutching at ears with one hand. Sick of it. Sick of her. Sick of it all. Sick of life…
"Elphie –"
"Don't call me that."
Name hurts too much, burns like memories it brings back.
"Elphie –"
"I said, don't call me that -!"
"Elphaba, please!" woman is begging, Glinda begging, and Oz, she looks so beautiful, creamy white, forget-me-knot blue, golden curls…
I stare, panting. She talks, jabbers. Don't hear. Won't hear.
"Elphie, listen to me, you have to let her go, she's only a little girl, and poor Dodo's barely more than a puppy, you really don't know what you're doing –"
"I know exactly what I'm doing," voice snaps from my mouth, but the words aren't true, know they aren't true, because I don't know, I just want, I just need, I just…
Nessa…Fiyero…
…and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.
"Elphaba," Glinda says. Reaches for me, hands to take mine. Whip them away, glare, glower, searing hatred. Perfect blonde. Loved. Adored. Hate her. Loathe her. "Elphaba, please, listen to me – this isn't you, you're not thinking straight, you are out of control –"
"I am nothing of the sort!"
Not true, and I know it.
"You can't do this, Elphie -!"
"I can do whatever I want," voice mutters. Push past her again, dresses brushing, pretty blue and sparkles instantly dirtied by filthy clothes, and when was the last time I washed, or changed, or anything…? "I'm the wicked witch of the west, I can do whatever I want, I can have whatever I want, and I will, I'll get those shoes if the last thing I -!"
"But why, Elphie, why?! Oz, they're just shoes!"
The girl sniffling, snuffling. Loudly, too loudly. Stamp hard on the trapdoor, snarling, want her to shut up.
"Elphie –"
"Don't call me that -!"
Voice almost a roar. Roaring anger. Fury. Pain…
"Elphie –"
"Shut up!"
"Elphaba, please," she chokes, pretty face crumpling, eyes watering, tears trickling… "Please, just listen to me a moment, let me help you!"
"Help me!" I spit, and then laugh; cackle, hurts, throat grating, because help is weakness, help is giving up, help is to trust, to trust, never, never, never again…
"I mean it, Elphie!"
And she reaches, reaches, pale little hand towards me. Skitter back. Fear. Anger at the fear. Don't want to be touched. Can't be touched. Untouchable, unmentionable, taint, abomination, distortion, wicked, wicked, wicked.
Sneer at her. "You want to help me…"
"Yes, Elphie, I mean it, I mean it!"
And her face lights, shines, glowing sapphire eyes…
More laughter, rasping up throat. Breaking out. Rough. Harsh. Bitter. Ugliest of cackles.
"Get them for me, then!"
Voice is all wrong. Trying sarcasm. Disdain. Humour. Failing utterly.
"Elphie," she chokes, tears again. "I can'tdo that for you, you know I can't –"
"Then get out."
"Elphie," she sobs, face red, eyes misty, hands reaching again. Slap away. Won't be, can't be touched. "Tell me, why, why those shoes, just stop a moment, think, why do you need them, why do you want them, what is it about them -!"
No, no, no, no, can't answer, won't answer, won't think, won't feel,won't let her know, can't let her know -
"Get out."
"But Elphie –"
"I saidget out,Glinda –"
- Glinda –
"Please, just t-tell me," she sobs, trembling, shaking, hands grasping, tears streaming, oh Glin, Glin, Glin… "Please, Elphie, just w-why, why the shoes, are they – are they – powerful, or – or – enchanted – do you need them for the Resistance and the Animals, or the Wizard, or Fiyero –?!"
"- NO!"
"Elphie," she gasps, and shock now, horror, but can't see it, can't feel it, just feel the agony, the burning, the hatred, my fault, all my fault…
…Fiyero Tiggular, Winkie prince, Captain of the Gale Force, beautiful, brainless, perfect, stupid, wonderful, love, love, love…
…it hurts…oh Oz, it hurts…
"Elphie…"
Hand on my shoulder. Shake it off, get it away, slap away, magic spell, words spring to lips.
"Oh Elphie, what's happened to you…"
…hurts so much…
…Fiyero…
…Nessa…
…all my fault…
Hand on my neck. Warm, gentle, soft. So soft. Glinda. Every time, Glinda.
Glinty, glindy, Glinda…
...little girl still blubbering, still wining, still wearing…my…shoes…
"…my shoes…"
"What? Elphie?"
"…they're…my…shoes…I…I need them, Glinda…"
Sniffing. Choking.
Little choking blue-white-checked voice…
"Why, Elphie? Tell me why, please, can you tell me why…?"
"…Nessa…"
Oh, it hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
My lips are moving. Speaking. Letting Glinda touch…touch the abomination, stain, wretched, vile distortion of nature…
"…wanting to give her something…something wonderful…nothing good enough…"
Could see the spell book. Grimmerie, polished wood floor. Floor of mansion. See the words, mouth the letters…
"…perfect gift…give the wearer, the beholder…what they wanted…"
Glinda gasping. "Whatever they wanted?"
"…heart's desire…most desperate, most raging, most…want…need…"
"And Ness – your sister's…?"
"To walk…" my mouth hissed, word twisting, snarling, burning. "To walk."
Don't want to keep going. Don't want to let words come.
Reach up. Touch hand on my cheek. Warm. Glinda.
"But…" she murmurs, face creasing, little frown. "But…Elphie…"
"Now they're mine."
"But you said Nessa -!"
"Don't say her name!"
"Elphie -!"
Away from hand. Away from Glinda. Up on feet, breath rancid, too fast, gasping, chest so tight, too tight.
"…Elphie…!"
"I have to have them!" my voice gasping, crying, broken, won't tell, have to tell, someone, someone… "I have to have those shoes!"
"And for what?!" she chokes, sobs, pleads. "For what, Elphie? What is it? What's your heart's desire, your want, your need, that you would have the shoes for, what, Elphie,for Fiyero -?!"
"NO!"
No use, no use, Fiyero, dead, gone, too late, too late, and my fault, hands round my stomach, in hair, tearing, ripping, want to scratch and tear and claw out every last strand…
"For me! For Fiyero, for Wizard, Nessa, and everything, for everything! For life! For the reason – the cause – the distortion, the stain, the abomination, the vile, hideous, the this, Glinda, THIS!"
Hands clashing, slashing at each other, at neck, at face, at colour, at stain, at distortion, at vile, at hideous skin, skin, skin…
"Get it off! Get it away! For me, selfish, selfish, worth me, worth Fiyero, beautiful, worth something, worth anything, anything, and Nessa – my fault – my fault, always my fault, Galinda -!"
- Galinda, Galinda, wrong name, but right name, and Upland, and Shiz, and little white uniform, and pink flowers in lank hair and dances at ballrooms and whispered secrets at night and books and libraries and lessons and Fiyero and love, happiness, perfect, nothingness, no more faults, no more mistakes, no more death…no more hurt…
No more pain…
"…oh Elphie…"
…no more pain…
"…Elphie…"
…water…pricking at the back of eyes…
No…
Don't cry. Never cry. Haven't. Won't. Never. Never. Water gathering, building, flowing…trickling…down, down, down cheeks…
And hands. Arms. Round waist, shoulders, hands stroking my hair, holding me, touching me…touching the vile…the abomination…the distortion…
Golden curls against my face, cheek, soft, sweet-smelling…
Bury my face in them. Wipe tears. More come. More. More. Too many to wipe.
Knees buckling. Trembling. Falling. On the floor, now. Held. Warm. Safe. Pale little arms. Glinda-arms.
And it hurts. It hurts. It hurts…
"Glinda…"
"I'm here," voice is saying, choking, biting back own tears. "I'm here, Elphie, I'm here, it's all right, it's going to be fine – oh Elphie, don't cry, please, don't cry…"
No use. No use at all. Crying already, tears streaming, soaking, matting golden curls…
Want to close eyes. To feel. To be held. To be warm. Safe. To be with Glinda.
And then…
Oh Oz.
Want to stop hurting. Want to end all.
Want Nessa. Mother. Father. Fiyero. Oh, of all of them, all of them, all of them…Fiyero…
Want to die.
Yes.
Ready now. Ready.
Ready…to die.