Author's Note: This piece takes a cue from Porcelain, as well as 'A Beautiful Lie' by 30 Seconds to Mars. It can therefore be regarded as a continuation of Porcelain or a stand-alone one-shot; Musical-verse, though book-verse inspired.
Disclaimer: Whilst I now own a lovely hardcover copy of the novel, the rights to Wicked in all its incarnations were not in my Lurlinemas stocking.
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'It's a beautiful lie
It's a perfect denial
Such a beautiful lie
To believe in
So beautiful'
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'Lady Glinda had a bad night, a night of shakes and regret and pain; she guessed it was the early signs of gout from her rich diet. But she sat up half the night and lit a candle in a window, for reasons she couldn't articulate.'
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Glinda the Good woke with a start in the inky blackness of her palace chambers, haunted by far-too-vivid dreams; visions conjured by a guilty conscience and grieving heart, a tumultuous sea of anguish, agony, and guilt. She lit the lamp on her bedside table with trembling hands in an effort to banish the shadows that lingered in her mind, the memories that she had locked away behind the façade, as she forced down the bitter taste of each necessary lie on her tongue. Here in the darkness, behind locked doors and closed curtains she could mourn, away from prying eyes. When the sun rose she would primp and powder and curl, no tears then—no; this mask a painted face for battle, to hide away the pain where none could see, yet another necessary lie. When the sun rose the grieving Glinda melted away replaced by her Goodness to whom all of Oz now looked for guidance. It was her Goodness who waved demurely to the masses, charming them with eloquent speeches, a complete and utter denial of all that was, however beautiful. She was one more necessary falsehood, her duplicity and integral part of her own survival.
She sat at her vanity, with all its tiny brushes and powders and jewel-colored bottles lined up in neat little rows, golden curls spilling over her shoulders. All her little tools of deception lay out before her in the flickering light, which when combined with her mastery of the art could create a lie so striking that it would render even the greenest of girls beautiful. Her eyes stung at the memory as she gazed into the diamond glass. The ghost of her younger self smiled back at her, an awestruck Elphaba at her side, the shadow of a smile on her face as she at last realized her own beauty. The candle sputtered, and her once-smiling Elphie's face was now etched with grief eyes, narrowed at her former friend, 'do you think cyclones just appear—out of the blue?' The bitterness of those words cut her like a knife, and the weight of guilt settled on her heart. 'Use her sister…' Her own words whispered to her in the darkness 'Nessa…forgive me.' The light shifted again, and there was Boq before her, sweet and earnest. 'Miss Galinda' he had called her, desperate to win her favor. Then Nessarose, tragically beautiful Nessarose, her face alight with joy, never once suspecting that Boq's affection for her may have been false, and she no more than a pretty pawn. Again and again the candle flame flickered, throwing the twisted specters of her past upon the glass. Nessa, utterly changed, fingers fastening themselves around Glinda's throat 'you took him from me' she hissed, she became Elphaba, whose voice was cold and cruel as she echoed her sisters words. Madame Morrible, choking her, forcing her to swallow lie after lie 'you wanted this' she spat. Fiyero, battered and bloody, the ghost of his voice in her ear 'Glinda, I'm so sorry…'
So sorry….
So sorry….
Over and over his words reverberated in her head, echoed by her own heart. She was frozen before her mirror, terrified, desperate to block out the hissing accusations, her fingers digging painfully into the wood. She shut her eyes against the horrible visions of face after face that materialized out of the shadowed glass.
She ground out something between a sob and a shriek through her clenched teeth, half hoping some servant would hear and come rushing to her aid.
Stop. Stop. STOP.
Desperate, she willed her hands to move and smashed them once, twice, three times against the glass, heedless of the pain.
Silence.
She looked down at her hands, covered in fine, glittering shards.
For a fraction of a second, she could have sworn that they had been covered in blood, but she blinked, and the vision was gone.
She raised her face to the ruined mirror, her own tear-stained reflection distorted by the spider-webbed cracks.
Glinda Upland wept.
Her Goodness smiled.
The candle went out.
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'If she fell asleep again, she would be prey to that vision of earthly destruction, and she would rather die.'
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2. Author's Note: Most likely ridiculously overdone, but not too shabby, if I do say so myself. I do hope this all made sense; I have a tendency to get a bit loopy at one in the morning.
Reviews are love, my pretties. It lets me know I've been missed.