To Whomever is Reading This,
I do not know who you are, and I never shall, because if you are reading this, my most closely guarded secret, than I am most certainly dead. And you are most certainly celebrating my passing. You are most likely wondering why you should be celebrating my death. It is because nobody ever celebrated my life. The point of this is not to make you pity me, however; no, it is simply to make you understand my life. My real life, that is. You see, I am the Wicked Witch of the West to the public. To a very select few, I am Elphaba Thropp; daughter, sister, friend… lover. I have been so very alone for so very long. I suppose that this is simply my way to make someone understand. Please do not put this letter down. Please continue to read; I can assure you that it is not so wicked as I.
I suppose that I should begin with the beginning; my childhood. Actually, I shall start with my birth, or at least what I have been told of it. Which is very little, and all from my Nanny, who was already old at this time, and was much older when I thought to ask her. Father ordered Nanny to leave with me. From there, it was discovered that I was allergic, intolerant, whatever, to water. It was raining when I was born, and Nanny took me outside as Father had ordered. My Nanny eventually had the presence of mind to cover me with a sheet, woven with wax resins to repel the rain when I was sent out. I would use a similar sheet for much of my adult life as a cloak; I needed it to fly through the clouds. But, before I digress further; my early years. They were not altogether horrible, as my mother came from money. However, my father… he was not an understanding man. He saw my green-ness, my abnormality, as the punishment for his sins. He told his parish that if the Unnamed God could love me- which, if my later life says anything, He did not- then He could love anyone. He would pour a cup of water over my hand sometimes if my skin, or even Nessa's infirmity, did not sway the crowd, which, thankfully, was very rare. He behaved when Mother was around; she would always say that if she had to go through the pain of getting me into the world, she would not see someone else take me out. Those words should not be comforting, but, somehow, they were. So, for the first few years of my life, I was secure in the knowledge that only one person on this world could kill me. When Mother died birthing Nessa, my one protection was gone. I said goodbye to my single doll, my room, and kissed my sorry life goodbye until I realized that Father did not have any (immediate) plans to kill me. I feel like I should counter my Father's apparent psychosis by saying that I was never once hit, pushed, starved, or otherwise abused for the entirety of my time under his roof. Nessrose was obviously the favorite, but I was clothed and fed. The only thing I could ever say I wanted in that house was love, a sort of caring that was evident in Nessa's upbringing and made her all the prettier that I so evidently lacked for my entire life. I shrank into my books with an almost religious fervor, trying desperately to find a story where the sad girl finds her own way and succeeds in her life. I was disappointingly let down; while many young girls in books go on to do great things, they are insanely abused and eventually their true love saves them. I knew that this would never happen for two reasons, even as a child. For one, I was green, and nobody could ever love anyone that was green. My own family didn't so why should a stranger? For another, I wasn't sure I wanted to be abused in order to become famous. Books also became my refuge. I could hide both emotionally behind them and physically. Our library was quite extensive.
The next part of my life is my teen years. These, while embarrassing for all, are rather important. I should say now that I am slightly uncomfortable right now. I am a highly private person, always have been. However, I realize that as I am dead, my embarrassment won't come into play at all. Now, back to the teen years. When I was fifteen, almost sixteen, two very important things happened. One, my menstrual flow started. It was irritatingly irregular for the entirety of my life; I have always been skinny to the point of almost too bony. The second thing that happened is that I fell in love. Yes, you read that correctly. I should amend that slightly; I believed myself to be in love with, perish the thought, my sister's tutor, who lived with us for four years. He was twenty, a student from Shiz University. He had graduated a year early, somewhere in the middle of his class, but very handsome. He brought out my inner rebel, my inner girl. I began dressing in more revealing clothes, using my newly budding breasts to my advantage. He, apparently, had no qualms with looking; at least, none that he shared with me. My little sister, only thirteen, did not notice or know what I was doing, and my father didn't pay enough attention to me to notice what I was doing. The tutor, apparently, also had no qualms with my skin color, a first for me. I was head over heels for this man. I took advantage of him one morning when I was about seventeen and he had wandered into the kitchen for an early breakfast. I was the cook and housekeeper by this point, in addition to receiving lessons of my own from an old hag who lived down the road in a mean hovel. She was educated, but I think Father was trying to get me to see that an education with an ugly face wouldn't amount to anything. But that is relatively unimportant. Master Kern- I shall leave out his last name, as he is a man of good character, and he would help me later in life- had clearly not been expecting someone to be in the kitchen at five in the morning (it was baking day), as he was clad only in his sleeping trousers. I was similarly dressed, because I, too, was not expecting anyone in the house to be awake at five. The sun was not up at five. But I digress again. It has always been my biggest, least obvious, flaw. As I was saying, we were both scantily clad. After my initial greeting, I turned my back to him, allowing a smile to creep across my face. He was a man that could only stand so much, and we both knew it. Five in the morning became our meeting time. We talked- flirted, more like- and exchanged increasingly heated kisses.
I lost my virginity on the kitchen table a year later to him. We lasted for nearly four years in this sort-of-relationship. A few months into the more intimate part of our relationship, I came to realize that it was not Kern's brain that I was attracted to, it was his body, and, to some degree, his whole-hearted accepting of me for who I was. He was a good man. We lost touch shortly after I left Shiz, for obvious reasons. Sometimes wish I could thank him for his teachings of how to respect my body, that it wasn't so different from any other. However, we made a no-strings relationship for nearly three years. Sex when one of us needed to relieve the tension. For a bit I worried about finding my self in love with him, but that fear never came to fruition, thank goodness. Father found out in the spring of my twenty-first year. It was the first, possibly only, time that I could truly say that I was scared. Kern had recently found new ways to pleasure me, ways that could make it last longer…. I had no objections about it until one morning when I was making duck for a fancy dinner. Kern managed to distract me to the point of the bird burning. We did not notice, but Father did. I have no regrets about this relationship, about giving my virginity to Kern. I have him to thank, too, for teaching me everything about the physical side of love, to be used when I found the emotional side of love.
The Shiz years, as I shall call them, hold some of my fondest memories. I got there and for the first time in my life, was not expected to be at my sister's beck and call twenty-four/seven. It was practically heaven. Of course, there was the small bump in the road that was Galinda Arduenna Upland of the Upper Uplands. I do not think that I can give any emotion that Galinda, later Glinda, and I felt for each other. For the first part of our relationship, we could not stand each other. It was one, two steps above loathing. She called me 'frog', 'celery', 'green bean', and, my personal favorite, 'artichoke'. In return, I dubbed her 'cupcake' and her legions of fans 'the icing army'. I believe that one of my notebooks has an amusing doodle of me, with a giant artichoke as a head, chasing after Galinda, who was a giant cupcake, with little bits of icing flying off her head... er, frosting and attacking me. This lasted for a year, until Fiyero Tigelaar, Prince of the Arjiki Clan of the Vinkus, showed up with his OzDust party. After the party, we didn't hate each other. Galinda liked me well enough- she changed moods like that. Her motto was 'forgive and forget'- but I was wary of her. Having never been deemed a friend to anyone without sex entering the deal, I did not know what to A) do with said friend and B) expect from her. I also knew that her mood changed quickly; for several months, I waited on edge for her to decide that she no longer wanted to be my friend. I thanked her silently every day that she didn't until we parted ways. It is really quite ironic that it was me, not her, that caused our duo to part ways. I wanted her to leave with me after the Wizard's betrayal, I wanted for her to follow me so badly. I even stayed in the area for several days after I left, hoping that I would see her running from the Wizard and Madam Morrible's clutches. I stayed with Kern for those days. He and his new wife were kind to me- Kern more so than his wife- but it was obvious that his wife did not trust me, and the Gale Force was looking for me everywhere. I had to leave eventually.
My relationship with Fiyero must be mentioned, for he is… was the last man I would ever love. Had Kern been ten years older, Fiyero would've also been the first man I ever loved. He was the only man that I was ever in a meaningful relationship with. I met Fiyero after he nearly ran me over with his cart on his first day at Shiz; hardly a conspicuous start. He did redeem himself slightly in my eyes after accepting me at the OzDust, not even flinching when Galinda made us all dance together. Our paths did not cross all that much after, only breifly in a shared class or as he was waiting for Galinda to finish primping herself for a date. He was more of an acquaintance than a friend. I never thought… but that is for later. Our first real interaction was the day that Doctor Dillamond was forced to leave. The day that we saved the Lion cub. The day that I fell in love with Fiyero Tigelaar. And, although I can't say for certain, I think that it's the day that he fell for me, as well. Looking back on it, at least. At the time, I knew for sure that he would never pick me, the green bean, over Galinda. And even if he did, how could I be with him after he broke Galinda's heart? It was surprisingly easy, honestly, looking back. However, with all the innocence- nay, naïveté- of a schoolgirl, I told myself to not look into the brush of feelings that I could've sworn I had felt. After all, nothing would come of it. I only really let myself hope that he might actually like me back the day that I left for the wizard, when he gave me flowers and told me as well as he could with Galinda (or Glinda, very shortly after) there that he thought about me… about us. However, fate decided to separate us for many years.
This brings me to the next chapter in my life: the fugitive years. These are the years with the least amount of… stuff happening in them, shall we say. It's almost a little sad how I can sum up most of it in a short paragraph. I roamed Oz, reaching out to Animals in danger, fending off humans that would hurt them, and finding sympathetic humans to provide shelter, transport, or work for rescued Animals- and, on rare occasions. My main residence was in the Emerald City, which gave me a small thrill. I was living right under their noses and wasn't getting caught. And then, after about two and a half years, I visited my sister. And accidently turned Boq into the Tin Man. There was a reason for it, however, and a good one. Yes, I regret it, but how else was I supposed to save him after Nessa vanished his heart? I suppose I should make this make more sense to you, reader. And I would like to thank you for reading this far. Back to my story, though. I asked Nessa to get father to help me… by this time, he had already died, and his death blamed on me. I admit, I felt no ripping sense of loss about Father's death, but I did feel guilty for never thinking of Nessa after I had left Shiz. So I enchanted her shoes with a spell that enabled her to work. I waited for her thanks, her gratitude, anything that would show the world that I had, for once, done something right with my magic! I was sorely disappointed when she rang for Boq. Boq, her boyfriend, her slave since Shiz. The poor man… he was still in love with Glinda and tried to leave Nessa now that she had less use for him. She took his heart as he had taken hers. And the rest is history. He is on the hunt for me now… hardly surprising, really. The Lion is also out for my blood, blaming me for his cowardice. It is true cowardice to not face up to your own shortcomings and choose to blame others for them. He should be thanking me for saving him from the Wizard all those years ago. I am surprised that the Wizard let him in the Emerald City, what with all the Anti-Animal legislations floating around. Anyway, once I left Rush Hallows, I went to the Emerald City to free the monkeys that I had been tricked into enchanting when I still worshipped the Wizard. I freed them, and almost took the Grand Vizier position until I saw Dr. Dillamond, mute and dumb. And then the guards came in, and I thought that that was it, that I was going to be killed. But Fiyero saved me, at the cost of his relationship with Glinda and his position as Capitan of the guard. Glinda, how I wish I could apologize to you… for everything. She looked so hurt when Fiyero said that he was leaving with me, easily rivaling my surprise. Fiyero had chosen me, over her. The impossible had happened. I half-expected the Wizard to start claiming that I was his long-lost daughter and give me a full pardon right then and there.
However, that did not happen, thank goodness. Fiyero and I left, and spent the happiest three months of my entire life together, married in all but name. I loved Fiyero more than I could ever hope to convey to you, and when he died, so did I. The fact that it was my fault that he died, that I was the one to fall for the trap that Glinda- my former best friend, who had been closer to me than my own sister- had set for me, hurt even more. She was most likely working with Morrible and the Wizard, but the fact that she was there, that she was in the know, pains me so much more than I can convey. In one day, I lost my sister to a 'twister of fate', my best friend to betrayal, and my lover to my own stupid mistake. And so I broke. That was a year ago. I am still not quite recovered. No, I said I would tell the truth in this. I break a little more each day. I cry, scream, beg, plead, wish, chant, go mad with hope. I have gone mad, yes. I recognize it, I do nothing about it. I have become the name that you have created for me; I am the Wicked Witch of the West.
I thank you, reader, for staying with me. I know that you will most likely not believe me, but I have to ask you to at least consider it, mull my story over in my head. I have no control over what you do now.
Signed,
Elphaba Thropp, daughter of Melena and Frexspar, sister of Nessarose, friend of Glinda, and lover of Fiyero.
A/N: Love it? Hate it? Want more, or should I leave it as is? Happy New Year! This time next year we could all be dead.
Drop a review, please!