The journal entries begin 10 years after Elphaba's "death" and 15 years after she "defected" from Oz. The dates are based on the 1939 movie, so the date Glinda is writing from (1949) is ten years after Elphaba's death.

The story that is told is told from the POV of an OC, Teryn, and it begins 28 years after Elphaba's death, or 13 years after Glinda's journal entries begin. For those playing at home and doing math, Teryn is 13.

This is crossposted on ao3.

-/-

Journal 1

It had been long, hard hunting trip, full of narrowly missed shots and fires that would not start, and Teryn just wanted to return home. But the winter was coming, and if he returned home empty handed, his family would not eat for the next month.

He knew there was a lake nearby that was fed by snow melt and a few natural springs. Perhaps he could nab a deer who stopped to drink. He packed up his camp, took up his bow, and started his long hike down the mountain, following a happy burbling brook until he cleared the trees. He stuck to the tree line, an arrow nocked on his bowstring, watching the swaying poppies ahead of him for the telltale sign of deer.

Seeing nothing, he looked around, debating between climbing a tree and curling up to wait, or hiding in the poppies. Eventually the tree won out. He scrambled up it with all the dexterity of a Monkey, then settled down, a new arrow nocked. Teryn could see all the way across to the lake, and for a moment he watched the dying poppies sway in the breeze before turning to scan the area.

All of was quiet and normal—except for a box in the middle of the poppies. It was dark and square and Teryn was insanely curious as to what it was doing there. Was it a trap? Had he stumbled into the hunting grounds of someone else? What would you catch in such a box? It was too small for deer or bear…perhaps raccoon?

Despite his curiosity, the boy stuck to his tree. Hunting was more important. Nightfall was approaching and twilight was the best time to hunt deer. However, no deer came to the lake that night, much to Teryn's displeasure. He slept fitfully in the tree until dawn when he decided to cut his losses. He slid down the tree then, because the curiosity still burned inside him, went to go inspect the box.

He pushed through the poppies, their drying stalks crunching as he walked. Eventually he found the box, only to discover it was not really a box at all. It was an apiary.

The boy had seen them before—the beekeeper of his village had a cluster behind his home. But it was obvious this one was old and disused—the wood was weathered and gray, and some animal had broken into it, scattering the bees to the wind. A shame, Teryn would have loved some honey.

Curiosity mostly sated, the Fliaan started towards the other side of the poppy field. He had just begun to walk along the game trail that wound its way up the hill when he heard a growl. He froze, hand tightening on the grip of his bow, and looked toward where the growl had come from.

A huge black wolf was standing a bit up the path, hackles raised, staring at him with yellow eyes. Teryn held back a squeak of fear. He'd never been so close to a wolf before.

"H-Hello?" he called, hoping to the Unnamed God that he'd encountered a Wolf. "Are you a Wolf, or a wolf?"

The wolf—for it did not respond, so he figured it must be just a wolf and not a Wolf—stared at him for a long time. Then it slowly settled back on its haunches and turned, walking back up the path. Teryn watched as it walked to the top of the hill—barked—then continued over and out of sight.

The boy could not believe that had just happened. Cautiously (and probably with incredibly stupidity) he crept up after the wolf, hand still firmly on his bow with an arrow nocked. When he topped the crest of the hill—which he later realized was actually just a swale- he saw a small house nestled along the tree line.

The house must belong to the owner of the apiary! Teryn realized excitedly. He hurried across the flat area, past an abandoned stable and chicken coup, to the side door. It was wide open, and instantly the Fliaan realized something was wrong. Who left their door open like that?

"Hello?" he called then held his breath, waiting for someone to answer back. Nobody did. He tried again. "Hello? Anybody here? Excuse me?"

Again nobody answered.

With a sense of foreboding, Teryn pushed the door open a little farther with his foot. When nothing happened he cautiously entered the room on the other side. It was a small kitchen, with a door and ladder to a loft directly opposite him, a stove to his left, and wood cabinets and countertops to his right. It was neat and orderly, if a little dusty. Obviously it had not been used in some time.

The Fliaan saw there was a doorway to his right so he walked through it and into a front room—two chairs and a table sat by the front window, while two armchairs sat by the empty fireplace. The walls were lined with bookshelves, obviously hand hewn, one filled with books, the other candles and trinkets, and still others jars and bottles of Oz Knew What. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling, cloaks by the door, and an axe, shovel, and fishing equipment leaned in a corner.

It was a beautiful little sitting room, Teryn thought, but it still did not explain why the house was empty. Surely the owners of the house—for there must have been two, with such a set up—would not leave such a well-furnished house without locking it up.

There was a whine and Teryn looked to see the wolf sitting in the doorway he had just entered. The wolf looked almost sad, and when they made eye contact the wolf whined again.

"Why are you here?" Teryn asked the wolf. "Did you know the people who lived here?"

Another whine, and the wolf walked out of the doorway, towards the secondary side door. Teryn followed, and was amazed to catch a glimpse of the large, black wolf vanishing up the entryway into the loft.

"Am I supposed to follow you up there?" the boy asked, already putting his bow around his neck and climbing.

When his head cleared the port, he caught a glimpse of another bookshelf, a small writing desk, and several baskets, but his attention was immediately drawn to the bed—and the two skeletons that lay entangled there.

Instantly, Teryn felt bile rise in his throat and he had to look away.

The owners of the house were dead in their bed!

He began to back down from the ladder but was stopped by a sharp bark. Before he knew what was going on, the wolf had grabbed him by his tunic and tugged him fully into the loft. A whine, more tugging, and Teryn found himself at the edge of the bed.

The boy forced himself to look up at the bodies. They were both completely skeletonized, to his relief. They had obviously been dead for some time. Skeletons he could deal with—partially decomposed human bodies he could not. He respectfully inspected the two. They entangled in each other—one large one and one obviously much smaller one, half covered by dust-covered and moth-eaten sheets. They must have been lovers, for neither one wore clothing.

"Who are you?" Teryn asked the two skeletons, as if they could answer back. The last people he knew of living in this area had been mauled by a crazed bear before he had been born. These two could not possibly be the same, for they looked like they had both passed away in their sleep, rather than had their limbs ripped limb from limb.

He turned to the rest of the room for answers. The woven baskets held clothing—neatly folded (if dusty) cotton dresses in one, a mixture of dresses and mens work clothing in the other. Not much to say there, no names written inside, so he turned to the bookshelf. As he looked through the books he noticed the wolf had curled up on a flattened and derelict cushion of some kind beside the bed.

Who keeps a wolf as a pet?

While all the books on the shelf were interesting—spell books and herb books and books on healing and even a few on architecture—they held no names or marks of identification. Frustrated, Teryn turned to the writing desk.

It opened at his touch and revealed several pots of ink, pens, and a row of neat journals along the top. The leather of the journals was green and slightly faded, with dates written on paper and then posted along the spine. Teryn reached for the first one, dated almost thirty years prior, and opened it to the first page.

In curling script along the middle of the first page were the words 'This journal is property of Lady Glinda Upland.'