Liir knew he shouldn't be looking into the looking glass, after all it had belong to his dead mother, Elphaba Thropp, the infamous Wicked Witch of the West. And yet he couldn't stop staring at it, for the image had a choking grip on him.
It showed a young Elphaba- only sixteen, perhaps seventeen- lying naked on a bed, her mouth twisting with silent pleasure, while the other occupant of the bed kissed and massaged her bony shoulder.
But the bed's other occupant was not his father, it was not Fiyero. Nor was it some other man. The being who was making Elphaba thrash about in pleasure, with such a simple act, was a female.
And not just any female, a young Glinda, her eyes alight with passion and-was that love?
Suddenly the looking glass went blank and Liir started into its empty depths.
And then he knew. He knew that although Fiyero had been his father, his mother's heart (and perhaps body) was Glinda's first.
And he knew something else too. He knew that Glinda had fallen in love with Elphaba. She had once loved his now dead mother.
And realized also; she still did.