Alone, she travels the halls of the castle. It's up to you, Elphaba had told her, but Elphaba is gone now, as are Fiyero, Nessarose, Boq, even the Wizard and Madame Morrible.
Everyone she knew— Gone.
She is not a good person, no matter what Elphaba believed. She loved it all too much, the attention, the parties, the jeweled gown, bubble and crown. Elphaba should have been the good. Elphaba was the one that changed things. Elphaba was the one that cared, that saved Animals. She was the one that mattered.
The green girl reviled as witch.
Glinda is just—the blonde bubblehead. Trying too hard, failing where it really matters.
Elphaba was never wicked. (Glinda was never good.)
Because she promised, she stays quiet. She appears happy. She does not say a good word about her, does not try to clear her name.
(She does not say a bad word either—she does not deny being her friend. She'd like to think she has learned something.)
Glinda will try to earn her title her whole life long. She will never understand why people look to her, but she'll answer their questions as best as she can. Glinda will be good, and will never believe she is, as much as it will feel she is betraying her friend by not believing it.
Elphaba changed her—for good.
No one mourns the wicked, the people chant. They celebrate.
No one mourns the wicked. So quietly, privately, slipping and unsteady-
Alone.
Glinda mourns.