DISCLAIMER: I do not own Wicked or any of its characters, nor do I own the script or lyrics from the musical Wicked, on which the following story is based.
A/N: This story is pretty much a recount of Wicked, the musical in my own words. I appreciate and understand that this is unlikely to interest people who want to read new stories, so I'm just letting you know what to expect in advance:-) I realise that what I am doing has been done before, probably many times, but I'm doing it because I'm a big fan, I'm enjoying it and it is good practice where style and organisation in my own writing are concerned. All R&R is greatly appreciated and taken on board and many thanks to those who have already helped me out so much! Hope you enjoy…
No One Mourns the Wicked
1.) No One Mourns the Wicked.
It was as if the spirit of the now somewhat useless, wet and bedraggled Wicked Witch's broom itself had leapt up in its usual giddy fashion, but for once as a result of elation at its retirement from fearful submission. It was as if it had danced through the unusually clear night sky, spreading the mood of festivity in a domino effect, from the Vinkus through the entire land. Neither news nor rumour had ever travelled so quickly throughout Oz, and an almost instinctual relief swept through the newly liberated air. A mood of joyous celebration seemed to spread of its own accord, faster than the Good Witch of the North could have spread it herself, despite having a highly talkative nature and her most splendid magic bubble as a means of transportation. She couldn't have dispersed a feeling of such peace and wellbeing even with the use of the most powerful book of spells in all of Oz in her possession, which of course, she now had.
As one would have expected, the most boisterous and vivacious celebrations of all were held at Kiamo-Ko, the scene of the glorious event itself. The initial uproar and surprise at the eventual success of eliminating the Wicked Witch of the West had created an inimitable triumphant atmosphere. When the Good Witch had confirmed the death, even she, a well accustomed public figure, had seemed overwhelmed to the citizens of the Vinkus. The crowd had cheered, cried, sang, laughed and questioned her:
"No one mourns the wicked!"
"Exactly how dead is she?"
"Now at last she's dead and gone, there's joy throughout the land!"
"Glinda, how does wickedness happen?"
Glinda had, as always, been so good as to reassure, explain, comfort and help but for the first time, she had not quite managed to keep up her previously invariable manner of address. No, she had been so very happy that there had been tears in her eyes as she announced the good news, they said.
When rumour reached Munchkinland, a ceremony was performed whereby the inhabitants poured thick paint, made by mashing the greenest (and therefore, most poisonous) leaves of the Deudellia bushes, around the doorstep of the shrine of Saint Dorothy, in an effort to depict the grotesque mess that they imagined the witch's remains must have left behind. It had not yet been recounted to them that, according to some witnesses, the witch in fact melted quite eerily into non-existence. Some believed she was soaked up into the soil. Nobody knew for sure. Either way, she had definitely melted and she had melted downward-as things that melt tend to do, and that meant that she was down below, where she should be and where she would stay. Some prayed to the un-named God, giving thanks for blessing them with Dorothy's presence, and for that of Glinda too, and their wonderful Wizard. They prayed that he and Dorothy would go safely on their travels. Others sang, chanted and danced, thirteen at a time, around the towering (to a Munchkin at least,) miracle house, for the Good Witch had reported that it had been at the lucky thirteenth hour that the melting had occurred.
"Reunited in death, that's how it's best,
The Wicked Witch sisters of the East and West!"
In Emerald City, festivities could have been considered, as always, the most spectacular in a formal sense, but, as always, the most predictable and the least original. Huge firework displays streaked through the darkness, each burning fleck dazzling with the splendour of a detached jewel from the magnificent shoes that Dorothy wore as she was magicked home, seemingly creating a luminous path to light the way for the Wizard (wherever he was headed…) The spectators delighted in the beauty of the displays and in the idea and certainty of Dorothy and the shoes, like the fireworks, heading way up, up, almost as high as the heavens and even over the rainbow, like Dorothy had once described. There, the Wicked Witch would most certainly never have had a chance of finding them, even if she had been alive.
The entire city seemed greener than ever, as if the emeralds themselves were prouder to shine now, no longer being of a colour associated with the face of such evil. Glinda completed her spell and checked that she felt quite sure that the dear little girl and her even littler dog would be safe. She had done well to travel from Kiamo-Ko and give official word at the Emerald City so promptly. She was quite exhausted and gave a smile and a wave as she announced her retirement for the night. Once escorted back to a private headquarters in one of the largest and most ornate palaces of the city, she felt relief that she could finally rest. The downside of this however, was that she had to take in what had happened now that she wasn't busying herself and she couldn't help but fear the responsibility that she now faced. She had such immense duty to the citizens of Oz now-more so than ever before, but she also had duty to a promise that would be hard to keep and she didn't know how she would be true to both. The two were destined to cause her moral conflicts in her authority for a very long time-a struggle between the truth and what was best and which was appropriate. This dilemma of ethics had begun already, earlier at Kiamo-Ko. One of the questions which had been called to her there plagued her tired and troubled mind as she fell into a rather restless sleep from such emotional exhaustion. It was the first challenge she had publically been given, and the first question from her subjects to which she hadn't known what response to offer.
"Is it true that you were her friend?"
"I…well…yes!" Glinda had at first replied. The response was met with a fluster of gasps and muttering and the Good Witch saw immediately that this wouldn't do at all. "Well, it depends on what you mean by friend!" she clarified hurriedly. "I did know her, that is, our paths did cross, at school. But you must understand that that was very long time ago, and we were both very young…"