Disclaimer: Wicked? Mine? Maybe someday … over the rainbow (pfft, couldn't resist). Wicked is not mine. Also, this is musical-verse, as I have yet to read the book (due to the slow reading of my older sister), so if I've made any mistakes, I would appreciate any corrections. Oh, I don't own the book either. :)

Wishing

Unsurprisingly, it didn't rain on Galinda Upland's sixth birthday. It was almost as if even the heavens themselves were working to make the day as perfect as possible for the blonde child, who had insisted upon an outdoor party. Her parents, naturally, were unable to resist.

And so, things went according to plan. As the servants and adults slaved over the preparations and kept the young guests in check, the children swarmed the Uplands' back gardens, and the birthday girl, pretty in pink, was the centre of attention.

It was only when the cake was pulled out, and the youngsters began charging towards the table, that things began to go, ever so slightly, the tiniest bit … wrong. Of course, it wasn't a technical error—that was all taken care of—but more a subtle change of heart made by the guest of honour herself.

For when she fought her way to the main chair, and gazed at the eyes staring back at her, Galinda found herself wondering just who these people were.

They certainly weren't her friends—at least, not real ones—they were more the offspring of important ladies and gentlemen, people advantageous to her family's advancement. Their political progression, after all, was incredibly important, a fact that had been drilled into her head since … since birth.

This brought about the second realization for young Galinda. You see, part of her—the part of her that was aware that she was six, still a baby—wanted so badly to just stick one finger out and swipe a tiny bit of the pink icing, marring the elegant symmetry of the cake. Yet, a second part of her, in her mother's voice, firmly reminded her that people were watching. What would they think of her, and of the people who raised her, were she to do something so barbaric?

She was still a little girl, for Oz's sake! After all, no-one had ever heard of a six year old lady, had they?

"Make a wish, dearest!" Mother crooned, oblivious to her daughter's emotional confusion. Blue eyes blinked up at her, and then directed up towards the matching sky, cloudless.

What would it be like, Galinda wondered, to fly? Away from here, where no-one wants me to grow up?

Thinking this made her think of a story her nanny had told her long ago—of a boy and a girl who flew away somewhere magical, just over the rainbow, where they never had to grow up. Could she even dare to imagine such a world?

Of course, she hadn't seen that nanny in two years. Stories weren't for young ladies.

But still, the wonder of a world like that made Galinda shiver hopefully. Perhaps, if this world existed, she could forget about propriety and advancements. Maybe she could just be herself—maybe she could have someone who wanted to know who "herself" really was.

I wish that someday, Galinda vowed, I could fly.

And she blew out the candles, a sealed deal.

"Glinda! Come with me. Think of what we could do—together."

A hand extended towards her, dark eyes beseeching. A few little words and the blonde was taken back to that summer's day, when a young girl had earnestly wished to fly. That hand, that chance reaching out to her, was her wish coming true. It was her first, her only opportunity to soar, with the only friend who truly matter to her. Elphaba—God help her—was like a lifeline, her last connection to a life not yet lived; she was the only passage into the world she had so often dreamed of, like the stem of a flower, supporting and nurturing the heavy head of petals.

But twelve years was such a long time! Galinda the girl had become Glinda the woman, and now she had responsibilities—a reputation—to uphold. She had come to understand her parents' obsession with their progress, and learned to forget—or at least conceal—her ridiculous fancies. No matter how much she yearned to take the green girl's hand, no matter how much she agreed with her motivation, this was no time for childish fantasies. Glinda Upland could not, and would never defy gravity. The wish had come true far too late; this particular bud had to be nipped before it could become a weed.

Tears pricking her eyes, she backed away, hands raised defensively as if this opportunity were not so thoroughly tempting, but a poisonous snake, which may just bite her if she got too close. Elphaba's shoulders slumped, but her features schooled into indifference as she spun away and prepared to leave.

Desperately, Glinda wished that this chance had come years ago—and that she had Elphaba Thropp's courage.

"I hope you're happy," she whispered mournfully, "Now that you're choosing … this …"

Am I talking to Elphaba, Glinda wondered, or myself?

Don't wish, don't start
Wishing only wounds the heart ...

…yeah. :D Please—this is my first Wicked story, so if I got any characters OOC or any details wrong, I would love some constructive criticism! Flames, however, are to me like water is to Elphaba. I melt. :) Thanks for reading!