Just a depressing little semi-fic, that I wrote when I was listening to 'On My Own' from Les Miserables. I realised when I was writing it that I imagine far too much!
Disclaimer: Naaap. Not yet. Don't own it.
Alone again. Alone, and lonely, with only my book of magic for comfort. A book that I could barely read.
I flipped through the pages of the Grimmerie, stopping briefly to lift out one dried flower. A red one. A poppy. One of the poppies that…he had given me, before I left for the Emerald City that day.
That fateful day. The day that I cursed with every fibre of my being. The last day that I had believed that absolutely anything was possible; that I was going to do some good in the world. The day that ended badly, the day that saw me become the very archetype of wickedness.
A sudden flicker of almost dormant range burst into being in my stomach, and I moved my fingers to crush the flower, before stopping myself. I gazed at the beautiful red petals in my verdant palm, conflicting feelings of yearning for the past and disgust at myself burning in my veins. Feelings were of no consequence to me, as I now tried to be ruled by logic alone.
The heart be damned.
But sometimes my heart refused to let me alone, and I could see why the Ozians proclaimed me utterly, completely, raving mad. Even to myself, I seemed to gave gone entirely round the twist. I, Elphaba Thropp, the Wicked Witch of the West, was developing an imagination on the account of having a heart.
At first, my imagination simply let me wonder what would have happened if I had not made the sacrifices that I did, and had not become a martyr to a cause that gave me no real profit other than freedom for Animals. I wondered if Glinda would have kept her name as it was, and if we would have stayed best friends for the rest of our lives. And then I wondered about Nessarose, and if Boq would have learned to adore her with the intensity that she adored him.
All of my imaginings were half formed and stunted, so confused that they barely even made much sense to me. The only figure that would ever form itself perfectly in my mind was that of him. Of Fiyero.
Whenever I reached my lowest points, especially at night, Fiyero would creep into my mind and keep my fear at bay. What that fear was, whether it was of the danger awaiting me at every turn, or the area surrounding me, or even the person that I had become, I could never say. All I knew was that when my imagination conjured Fiyero, I felt a little more at ease.
It wasn't even as though we had known each other very well. I had never been the kind of young woman who ever felt the need to indulge in sentimental fancies, but no matter how shallow and self absorbed Fiyero pretended to be, I could tell that we were on the same page. He felt the same passion for the world that I did, only he didn't know how to show it. And he was as lonely as I was, and he felt what I felt!
I stupidly allowed my heart to rule my head, going against all of my natural instincts. And look where that got me.
The heart be damned!
I laughed at my own inane internal ramblings, placing the poppy back inside the book and closing the brown leather cover. Running my hands over the distorted material, I was shocked to see another pair of hands, larger than my own, resting on the opposite side of the table. I looked up, and saw his face, illuminated by the flickering light of my single candle.
"Hello, Yero," I smiled softly, eagerly taking in every detail of his face.
"Hello, my love," Fiyero replied gently, his voice a little distant. He reached for my hands, taking them within his own, pulling me to my feet.
"I've missed you, dearest." I sighed, as he bent his head to press a tender kiss to the corner of my mouth.
"I know," came the simple reply, and his dark hair flopped lazily into his ethereal cobalt eyes. My heart danced at the sound of his voice, and I smiled again.
"What news of Glinda?" I asked happily, glad of his soothing company. His eyes twinkled, and he laughed.
"Glinda is Glinda, Elphie. She was at a ball last night in the most 'hideodeous' green frock, a colour that she never wears. I think she was wearing it as a little tribute to you. And, she has a fiancé, some rich banker from the Gillikin."
"And Nessa?"
"Oh, Elphaba! You should have seen Boq with Nessa last week. They are so in love! I must admit, I feel a little jealous of them."
"Why?" I asked incredulously, "You can have any girl you want!"
Fiyero sighed heavily, and his eyes gained a far away look. "The only girl I want isn't there for me to have," he muttered, catching me by the waist and pulling me in for a sweet, expressive kiss. I pulled away too soon, the logic that I depended on catching up with my wild heart.
"What are you frightened of?" Fiyero asked a little while later, letting his long fingers dance comfortingly on my thigh. I sighed.
"I don't know. I think that I'm just shaken up because of my latest brush with the Gale Force, and the fact that they took an innocent Pfenix's life just to find my whereabouts," I turned away from him, closing my eyes in my distress. "Or perhaps it's because I'm afraid that you're just a figment of my imagination. Are you a figment of my imagination?" I asked shakily. I knew the answer.
No reply.
I turned, and saw the chair he had been sitting in was empty. "Oh, heart!" I murmured, allowing a single, inconsolable tear to slide down my cheek.
Alone again.
Baaach. I know it was depressing. So shoot me :D I'll try something light hearted...one day.