Glinda smiled faintly at the painting of herself. It was a beautiful like ness of herself; it captured her beauty, her charm, but something was missing. Something Elphaba had described to her more than once; during those occasional arguments that took place late at night when they were both fed up with one another. She only vaguely remembered what The Witch had said so many times, something about the ice between her warm eyes; they chill in her voice and in her airs. Elphaba had said it so many times, and, despite herself, she had begun to believe it, which was something she swore she would never do; allow some one else's opinion change her own self image, especially someone of lower birth. But this seemed to be the only easy thing to do in Glinda's life; it had gotten her to her current title: Saint Glinda.
Just the sound of it, even in her thoughts, made her smile and sigh to herself. She seemed to do that more often since Elphaba had left, though she sometimes wondered if it was because of Elphaba that she had come out of ruins on top. She was Holy. Close to Godliness. Or at least in the image of her followers, who were ever so faithful to her, though she herself knew that inside of her there was hardly a Godly speck. But she had let and led the trusting people of Oz to believe in her, and how could she have told them otherwise, as they were so evidently pleased in having a beautiful, perfect figure to worship. A queen. A God.
Glinda knew that she had grown darker; somewhere during her time at Shiz, she had abandoned her slavery to fashion and beauty and yet still linked herself to it. She read, she listened to Elphaba, she watched her as she slept. She had slowly become corrupted as Elphaba had been corrupted by Her own skin. If anyone knew her true and deepest, most violent thoughts, they would see; she was power-hungry, she was slowly being driven mad; secretly into an awful Queen, beautiful and wonderful, and…wicked. Just as the hideous and the deformed were wicked. Evil at its worst is in disguise.
Why was Elphaba born without faith and trust in God, when She above all others should have been strictly religious? Why had She been chosen to stand out from all others to be deprived of a proper upbringing and the joys of the flesh, then replaced with an unhealthy sense of self and terrible yet intense spirit, in a time and place when such virtues were frowned upon? But in Glinda's life and current situation, she sat on a reserved seat in her Church, gazing with utter vanity at a depiction of her own self, she begged God to answer her, if there was a God, when did the faith in an Unnamed God that she was, and most are born with vanquish?
When she asked God, she was returned with nothing. She knew he must not exist. So she asked her own self. She supposed her faith must have slipped away on one of the late mornings when lust in the form of awful, wonderful Green hands roamed over her own pale skin. Glinda suddenly was made uncomfortable, and shifted thusly, looking around suddenly at the people around her, afraid that somehow, someone was watching her and knew her deepest thoughts. Her seemingly innocent eyes searched the room for the source of this sudden awful feeling, and her gaze rested upon the red curtain that was held tied loosely by thick, golden ropes at one side on the stage at the front of the Church. A disturbing Green hand held the curtain from the unseen side for one moment, then dropped behing the curtain and disappeared. Glinda's heart stopped and she stood and her eyes widened in utter shock. She held her tiny hand to her waist as she stood for a split second, wondering. She made to run towards the curtain, when her bejeweled, blue hand rested suddenly on her shoulder.