Her throat ruined and raw from screaming his name, screaming the spell, screaming, screaming anything, her cheeks covered in seared tracks from the flood of helpless tears, Elphaba let out another loud, grief-filled sob, her shaking legs finally giving out, exhausted from the strain. She sat there, defeated, mumbling chant after chant of worthless gibberish she didn't understand. The Grimmerie sat open in her hands, her flingers flipping through page after page, running across the ever-changing text in one last desperate attempt to make any amount of sense of the spells.

"Fiyero," she whispered uselessly, her body shaking from the sudden and intense release of emotion after emotion. "Fiyero, where are you…?"

All the green witch could think about was her lover, battered and bruised by the very men who claimed to be his comrades, hanging there lifeless on those dreadful poles, how she'd failed so miserably to save him.

Sometimes she wondered, why her? Why was she doomed to a life of such misery and pain? Why was she forced to fight through this wretched existence of hers? Why was everyone she cared for cursed to be hurt, or even killed? After all, all she'd wanted had been to do good, right?

Defying the Wizard, it had been to save the Animals, to help them, to liberate them. Enchanting her sister's shoes, that had been to give Nessa happiness, fulfillment, the gift of independence that had before been just a fleeting dream. Turning Boq to tin, that had saved his life. Even something as far in the past as rescuing that shivering Lion cub from class, that memorable day at Shiz, hadn't she done more good than harm? Everything she'd tried had been for good, hadn't it?

She was beginning to believe that less and less.

Her arsenal of so-called good deeds hadn't accomplished a damn thing on even the spectrum of good. Her defiance and utter naivety had resulted in a chain reaction of disasters she could never undo. Glinda despised her, along with the rest of Oz, Dillamond was who knew where, trapped, helpless, or, for all she knew, dead, along with her sister, and now, most likely, Fiyero. The bodies of Elphaba's loved ones were piling up around her, and she was struggling to stay afloat, drowning in a sea of blood, regret, and guilt.

After all this time, had she truly been seeking good, or had all of her deeds simply been a desperate cry for attention, a selfish attempt to be seen in a positive light—for once—that had, when all was said and done, ended up backfiring so severely it was almost amusing?

The thought of how her undying efforts to do good, as well as be seen as good, had resulted in the exact opposite, giving rise to the moniker "the Wicked Witch of the West", caused a loud cackle to fly past Elphaba's lips, as she threw the Grimmerie across the room, startling Chistery when the thick book fell with a loud whump beside him.

The Wicked Witch of the West.

How ironic.

Well, so be it.

"So be it then," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

She had fought tooth and nail, given up her life, her happiness, her soul for these people. She'd dragged herself through hell and back, doing all she could to help, and where had it gotten her?

Alone, lost, choking on her own tears, her only companions a crowd of speechless Monkeys.

So why bother? Why give up her own sanity for these ungrateful people who would never give her so much as a thank you? If all of Oz was so hell-bent on labeling her as the wicked witch, then why in the name (or lack of one) of the Unnamed God was she still trying to fight it?

"Let them all be agreed, then," the green witch spat, her fingers clenching into fists by her sides. It was over. She was finished. Finished sacrificing what she couldn't afford to sacrifice for the very people calling her wicked in the first place.

Enough, then.

Let it be known to every corner of the wretched country of Oz, that she was wicked, through and through.

If the people so demanded a wicked witch, then a wicked witch they would get.

Funny, how they'd thought she was wicked before, and it was that very sentiment that would be their downfall.

"Oh, my dear Oz," Elphaba cackled softly, those eyes that once glowed with such hope darkening into a stormy rage. "I'll show you wicked."