Disclaimer: Again, I still don't own Wicked the musical or Wicked the book, to which no spoilers here pertain (as there are none.) Again, I must concede that this is probably a good thing. I usually don't pay any attention whatsoever to whimsical fantasies of what could have happened, but this one just nagged me like the others don't. Usually. So this probably isn't the best stuff ever.
Please beware the randomness alert I'm giving now.
Blue eyes bored into black eyes.
She couldn't help it. She wasn't afraid to admit it; she wasn't afraid of what she would find. She was afraid of what she would find. She was afraid she wouldn't find it.
She knew she wouldn't.
Scarred eyes searched calm eyes hopelessly for something that wasn't there, grasping for the remains of something that hadn't been passed down.
More than once, they reached out to grasp only a void, empty air – when they caught sight of a curtain of spun midnight silk concealing a pale face. When they found a tall skinny body jackknifed close to itself while hidden black eyes read. When they felt the familiar unsettling, haunting, charismatic stare turned on her again.
The feeling was short lived, ephemeral in its presence, escaping through the transparency of her still grieving soul like light through a window. Old wounds she thought were sewn shut and long since scarred over and well hidden opened again, seeping blood. Her eyes cried and scarred over again, slowly turning the bluish white of the very elderly and the blind.
Wondering eyes glanced briefly into indifferent eyes, seeing that black eyes were really the darkest shade of brown. Wondering if hers had been the same way. Wondering why they had never noticed. Wondering if there was a reason.
The very things she grasped for made the difference between parent and child, failure and achievement, bitterness and contentment, resentment and will, insanity and irony, despair and determination. What they watched unravel now was a cruel, bittersweet way of eradicating justice, justifying a mistake.
Too late… not quickly enough…
Unwinding, unraveling, revealing itself as a thing of beauty, carefully constructed - something someone else had always wanted to be, something she never could have been. Blue eyes bore witness to it all. They could only watch, morbidly fascinated, angry at their relief of renewal.
Blue eyes watched black, growing older and younger at the same time.
Due to the excessive use of pronouns, this can really be set in just about any fandom. Especially with it's rather obscure setting, which is, by the way, Elphaba's daughter and Glinda. In case anyone's confused.
Please review even if you thought it was horrible blasphemy or you still don't understand. It's all loved. :-)