It was almost embarrassing if she thought about it. Certinaly she had asked herself why she was green, but never why she was green. Thinking on the subject, they were actually entirely separate questions. Green was an odd color, unlike any other. Blue signified serenity or calmness, red was anger and lust, yellow was happiness, pink was love. A peachy flesh tone like Glinda's meant health. But green – green was different. Green was the color of growth and the color of decay; the color of life and sickness; the color of power and corruption; of wealth and of greed. Green was a color of controversy, a color of harmony, a color of intensity and a color that could never seem to make up its mind.
Almost odd how it should fit her so well, as though her skin had conformed to her personality, or perhaps vice versa. She could never know.
She stared down at the green on her fingers, flexing them and testing their hue. What else could green mean for her? Almost anything, she decided, almost anything at all. Green would be new life this time, not death. She would not decay into the earth, falling pale to its contagious mossy tones – no. No, she would spring forth, less like the well ordered grass, and more like a weed – bright, vibrant, uncontrollable.
She turned and stared out the small window. Emerald city. More green. More irony. A city so beautiful, and so poisonous. People told rumors of poisoned poppies to the east, red as fire and spreading twice as fast. But red wasn't the color of poison – green was. And the Emerald City was certainly growing faster than any poppy field, poisonous or not, could hope to. The city brought order and beauty to those within its walls. It sparkled as though it were truly made of the fabled Glikkun gems rather than plaster and paint like any other city. It sparkled high over the ruined anarchy of Munchkinland, over the tired remains of Quadling Country, over the warring realms in the Vinkus – which were about to be casually swallowed by the sparkling towers and the Gale Force within. She shuddered. Only Gillikin would survive unscathed, whole. Only Gillikin had not fought back. Gillikin knew the power of shining gems long before the city was built. Gillikin knew better. Stones could never be trusted.
She sighed and turned, shaking, back to her hands. Green and smooth to the touch – for once they seemed lovely. She had been told that they were, long ago – but no one looked anymore. She was vaguely aware of someone calling her name. The voice was distant and she ignored it as long as she could in favor of the single confused color in front of her.
"Lady Glinda? Would you like to purchase those gloves? They do go ever so nicely with your eyes."
Glinda's eyes, shining with memory and glazed with thought turned on the shop clerk. They looked her over, clearing slightly, enough for their emerald tone to become piercing and sharp, then glazed again and fell back to the satin emerald gloves. Glinda never made eye contact these days.
"Yes," she replied dreamily, "yes, I think I would."