Author's Notes: Parts of this fic reflect the Wicked Witch's life, but I have not based this story off the book Wicked by Gregory Maguire nor the Broadway musical, Wicked. In all seriousness, Wicked is just fanfiction, it's just someone's interpretation about how the Witch of the West became wicked. This fic is merely set in the The Wizard of Oz universe, with no references or intended indications to Wicked at all. Also, this story is extremely dark. It is a deeper and darker look into the mind of the Wicked Witch of the West, with hints of insanity and schitzophrenia. Y'all have been warned. (And if y'all feel that I have added too much detail to this fic, then please tell me. Adding lots of detail in my fics is a bad habbit I'm trying to get rid of, and any nice critique is appreciated! Thanks!) Finally, I do not own The Wizard of Oz nor any of its characters. They all belong to L. Frank Baum.
By Not Thy Grace Nor Thy Glory
For so long I had waited, I had listened, I had possessed a strange patience that had always been misunderstood. It was a patience that had been drained from my core, from my very center, ripped away quickly and violently. Where there once was patience, hope and happiness, now there was only emptiness. Hate. Scorn. Unadulterated contempt. I would forever be disgusted at the beauty that the world beheld.
I tensed, stifling a laugh that rung in my throat. Beauty. It was difficult for me to comprehend that I had once believed in beauty…in the brightness of all things. All that was once dazzling and lovely to me was now dead, fallen, just as I. Life and light had been chased away, had vanished. No longer was there hope in my spirit, which was buried in the shadows, feasting upon the darkness that now consumed my entire being, a shell of who I once was.
No words could describe this strange hollowness, this…repulsion…this shadow, that devoured me now. But I supposed that it was what I deserved, yes?--for guilt to linger within me, for my colorless eyes to cry burning tears which would become my undoing. To suffer, to fade: for my eyes that gazed into darkness, my disgusting green skin that did not feel the warmth of the sun, nor the cold brush of the wind. For such pleasantries were not granted to the wicked, nor to those who strayed from righteousness and goodness…but, I say, define "righteousness." Define "good."
I scowled, shaking my head. What an irony! I mused sarcastically as I paced, alone, sauntering about in one of the many idle stone rooms in the western tower of my citadel.
Was there such a thing as a good deed? An escape, a heaven beyond this oblivion, a light that strives to shine so brightly? Did evil truly exist, if not in the mind of the villain, but the victim, as well? I lowered my eyes, reminding myself that good and evil were a point of view. Wickedness was a question of character. Goodness was just as questionable as it was unattainable.
Perhaps I was wicked, truly wicked, just as those impish Munchkins declared.
Or perhaps you are not, an age-old voice hummed slyly. A voice which would be eternally concealed within my memory, a mysterious chant.
Let them say how wicked I am! I challenged. Let all of Oz come for me, let them capture me, let them feast their eyes upon the poor, ugly Wicked Witch of the West!
They can do you no harm, the voice assured. No one would dare.
Brainless, indiscreet Munchkins! I mumbled irritably. So they think they can harm me, eh? Along with that dense farm girl and her band of sing-song skipping friends? Think they can stand against me? No, no, no…they can't! They are pathetic, just as all of Oz, just as that vile Wizard!
And suddenly, I shut my eyes, unwilling to continue this absurd dispute.
Idiotic bickering! I shrieked. I grew tired of this constant debate, this argument that writhed deep within me. "Too much, too much," I muttered, scowling as I strode…so illicitly the silence pulled me farther into oblivion, and I, a victim to a darkness greater than all else, so terrifying. I breathed deeply and closed my eyes, basking in the cold of this room, this place, entombed in such beloved, dark sanctity of my citadel, my domain.
My shoulders slouched and once again an irritated sigh left my lips. My mind was overshadowed by the venomous thoughts which had drove me to this point of breakage. You will have revenge, a tiny voice whispered from the deep within. Just be patient. Vengeance will come in due time. I smiled faintly, my emerald green lips scraping against my crooked yellow teeth, in an indescribable grin. I had vowed from the start that I would have that girl, that I would reclaim what was rightfully mine.
"They belong to me!" I growled, scanning the room all about me, glaring at the darkness. "Those ruby slippers are mine! Do you hear?" I clenched my teeth, seething, enraged as I pictured that wretched little farm girl prancing throughout Oz, wearing my sister's shoes…her pretty little feet secured tightly within those beautiful, glittering crimson heels. My shoes…I deserved them, I had earned them! That stupid girl had had no right!
Troubled by the vehemence, the wrath, which flooded my heart and soul, I hissed furiously, and darted across the stone room. I rushed to the single window which overlooked the dim mountains far beyond. I glanced menacingly out the window and peered down at the Yellow Brick Road, a single golden thread which veered and bended throughout the Oz, spiraling throughout wheat fields and glades and magnificent rivers. And in the gloom of my cold gaze, I could vaguely spy the figure of that imprudent girl, skipping beside her three companions, singing merrily in unison, though their voices echoed afar.
I will kill her, I pledged lividly. I swear I will kill her…
My blood boiled as I observed the four friends for a moment before grunting angrily and reeling around. I stomped across the room once more, resuming my pace of heavy footsteps which echoed loudly against the stone.
"She will die," I said darkly, shaking my head, my bony hands balled into fists. I muttered cruel, inaudible curses, fuming madly. "They are mine, they are mine," I repeated sternly, my eyes searching the emptiness. "All mine. They always were. Damn that Dorothy, damn the Wizard, damn goodness!" my voice was a crackling hiss, burdened by a shrill laugh that rose and rang in my throat. "I shall have those shoes soon enough!"
In sickening delight I brought my hands to my mouth, and stifled crackling chuckles. A malicious smirk stretched across my face as a masterful plan began to formulate in my mind.
Muffled laughter seeped from between my skeletal fingers as I whispered my dreadful plans to the darkness which no longer listened, into the gloomy hours of the night.
Only I never knew that the true darkness was that which I had become.