Fire rushed over her- no, not fire, but water. Gallons of flowing, cold rain water. But to her fire and water were one in the same. She heard a scream, and on some level realized it was her own. Nothing mattered anymore. Everything ceased to exist.
This wasn't death. This was merely the final chapter. She had died long, long ago. Her spirit, her soul, her will, had died long ago. Her body had been living a half-life for nearly fifteen years. Some coherent part of her realised she had finally admitted that she had infact admitted to having a soul.
But that didn't matter. Her soul had died with her ability to love. Her heart had laid cold and dormant. Now the rest of her body was being given the chance to catch up.
The girl was utterly horrified. The Witch realised she was still screaming horrid curses at the top of her liquifying lungs, and tried to stop. It wasn't her fault really, and the Witch knew it.
The Witch died then. For a moment Elphaba returned, a look of sorrow and pity in her brown eyes. She could briefly see Dorothy as an innocent girl not so differant than she herself had once been. But then she left as well.
And the tired sack that had been her body was finally allowed to rest.