AN I really don't know what's up with me but I somehow appear to have more stories in English suddenly than I ever intended to write... Although my German ones are longer. Some of them. Well, I hope you like it, and I'm sorry if there are mistakes...

Disclaimer: Yeah, of course, it's all mine. Didn't you know I'm Maguire? It's SO obvious. (In my dreams at least, what means it's certainly not mine in reality. But maybe there's a chance the whole Wicked thing is just something my imagination conjured up for me. But I'd better be safe and say It's not mine.)

Words Banned on Paper

Because I knew you

I have been changed... for good.

Through the tears blurring her vision, she couldn't see it, but she felt the witch's arms securely encirceling her, and automatically hugged her back, determined to never let go of her. But she should have known better, of course. Elphaba had made up her mind. And when Elphaba makes a decision, it's nearly impossible to make her change her mind. And Glinda wasn't nearly as strong as Elphaba was, neither phsically nor mentally. A strangled sob escaped her throat as the witch took a step back. Both of them could hear the soldiers of the Gale Force breaking through the door, and Glinda knew that this would be the end. It only made it harder to say good-bye if one knew it was final, but she had no other choice.

Glinda barely recognized what happened as Elphaba yanked her aside hastily, behind a curtain, it seemed. She felt something being tucked in her hand, but the next moment it was forgotten already as she saw the shadows of the soldiers fighting against her friend. She couldn't breathe. She clamped her eyes shut, but even her hands on her ears couldn't block out the heart-wrenching, pained scream the witch let out as the farm girl emptied the bucket all over her. Glinda wished nothing more than to wake up right now, safe in her bed at university, where she simply had to turn her head and her Elphie would be there, in the bed next to hers, telling her that it was just a dream and everything was alright. But she didn't wake up.

Her eyes and her throat hurt from all the tears she held back, but she wouldn't shed them and she knew it. She hadn't shed a single tear since the Wicked Witch of the West had died, no matter how much she had wanted to. She'd never forgive herself if she lost control like that.

Her pale little fist chlenched themselves around the same piece of paper as every night. It was all crumpled from her far too hard grip on it, but she didn't know what else she could hold on to. It felt as if she'd go down completely and forever if she didn't hold this paper, because it was the only connection to the world she had anymore. To her world. To Elphaba.

Glinda bit her lip harder to prevent from crying. She couldn't let the salty, watery drops leave her eyes. It would be as if she killed Elphaba all over again, just by letting the tears run over her face. Water had killed her Elphie. She wouldn't let more water in her life as absolutely necessary. She didn't drink it anymore. She had even taken to bathing with oils – just as she herself had done.

The Good Witch's bottom lip quivered as she evened out the crumples of the note and stared at it. It was just a few words, black ink on nearly white paper. She hadn't known ink was able to hurt so much. Elphaba once had talked to her of the power of words, but she had't understood back then. Now she did.

Be safe, Glinda. Be good. For me.

I know you can do that.

I love you.

Three lines. Five sentences. Sixteen words. Forty-eight letters. Three multiplied by five multiplied by sixteen multiplied by forty-eight. Eleven thousand five hundred and twenty. 11520 stabs in her heart with tiny, needle-thin knives, all turning around slowly to make the stabs even more painful.

Glinda the Good felt the pain. But it did hardly reach her. She felt empty. The emptiness scared her more than any amount of pain could ever have. She stared at the words, and although she could see them, could read them, even could make sense out of them – to some extension – at the same time she only saw black. It didn't mean anything.

Some things can't be told by writing a message, she thought and sadly shook her head. They are meant to be said personally because no paper could ever hold as much meaning as those words imply when said aloud. No paper could ever tell the true meaning of these words. It's just not the same.

Glinda knew that Elphaba had had no chance to say these words aloud – there had been no time. She had given her the note instead. Maybe she even had been afraid of being rejected, but Glinda did not know this for sure. And she would never have the opportunity to ask, because now it was too late. Time was cruel.

Paper is patient, they say, but it's also weak. It cannot hold the weight of love. I wish Elphaba could have given me her love. I wish this wasn't her last message for me. This is not love. This is nothing. Less than nothing. It's emptiness, and it hurts. Did she know? How much she hurt me, not only by leaving me, but by giving me this?

The Good Witch sighed deeply, still holding her tears at bay. She would not burn Elphaba any more. But she herself felt as if she was burning up from inside.

There are words that shouldn't be banned on paper. They lose their meaning, change to another one, somewhat, and then slowly kill you because you know what they should tell you but you can't find the true meaning anymore.

AN Like it, hate it? Mistakes that are too bad to leave them? Review =