With a frustrated sigh, she slammed the door behind her, stalking angrily into the bathroom. It wasn't as if she wasn't already tortured enough, but now this?
"Ozma," she heaved while reaching for the faucet. She yanked the hot water knob and let it run straight for a few minutes until the steam became hard to bear. She then twisted the cold water gently and let her hand drift under the steady flow of water until it reached a comfortable temperature. With another sigh, she backed away from the filling tub and began to toss her clothes carelessly aside. She wasn't wearing much. She hardly ever wore much more than a simple dress and cloak any more. A remembrance of better times.
Once again, she came close to the water, almost hesitantly, though that might have been because she knew it was hotter than usual. Once hand on the wall, she lifted her leg slowly, gracefully to step in. Watching herself, she noticed for the first time that she seemed to have lost some weight. Though never plump, her knees stood out oddly against the more than visible bones of her legs. Cursing the nervous wreck she had recently become, she slinked into the water. It stung, and she recognized the sting, but she obstinately refused to acknowledge it. People told her that she had become more stubborn, more unyielding, since the death of –
No. Not now. This was a time to relax, not worry anymore. She swirled one finger delicately in the water, watching the waves. The heat rose in steam form, leaving her burning and shivering at the same time. The feeling overpowered her senses; she found she was having a hard time concentrating on anything. At first, she was slightly angry. She had thought that a good bath would ease her mind, but it felt clouded instead. No, clouded wasn't the right word. Free. She couldn't concentrate on the days ahead, but neither could she focus on the past. She sighed and relaxed into the heat of the water. Maybe this was where that saying had come from, letting your troubles melt away.
A harsh laugh escaped her. Melt. That silly rumor from the Emerald City. Certainly at Shiz Elphie hadn't liked getting wet in public, no more than Galinda had liked stray water to ruin one of her silk dresses. But Elphie didn't exist anymore. In truth, she mused, neither did Galinda. People were so ignorant. Her finger, which had become idle while she was lost in thought, now led her hand as it thrust itself harshly deep into the water. She braced herself against the hard bottom of the tub and twisted around to grab a rag, one of the better ones, pink and rough. As she grabbed it, her hand knocked some bath oils. She rolled her eyes, wondering for the hundredth time why she kept them on that precarious shelf anyway. She dropped the rag on the edge of the tub and leaned over the edge of the tub. The cold marble pressed into her chest, stinging even more than the hot water. As she began picking them up, her eyes landed on one that she had forgotten about. She smiled and reached for it. It was, like much else in the bathroom, light pink, tiny and translucent. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she had gotten the bottle that reminded her of her old roommate; then she knew. She had stolen this particular little memento from the roomie herself. She doubted that the bottle was still filled with the original oil, rose scented and skin softening according to the label.
"A sensual thrill that will leave you fresh and revitalized for that special someone," she read. A grin broke across her face, the first one in weeks. Ever since—no. She'd been through this already. Let it all melt away.
That girl. That idiot girl. The little brat. She had taken the one love that she had left. Nothing was left now. She was alone. What was that old saying – the wicked die alone. Another harsh laugh. Perhaps she was wicked. Perhaps everyone was. Well, not everyone; her roomie hadn't been. She took the bottle - it did have something in it – and poured some of the oil lightly on her rag. She rubbed her legs gently, mildly imagining other hands rubbing her. Feminine hands with long nails, painted in a deep rose red that the owner would never admit looked good on her. She chortled and the image left, returning only for short periods as she continued her wash. As she finished up, she sighed and dipped her head back, submerging completely for the first time. A pity her roommate's old oil didn't make those fluffy little bath bubbles they mass produced in Emerald City now. She would have pinned her roomie to have something like that far ahead of when it actually caught on with the masses. For a minute she stayed under the surface, mildly considering just staying under and drowning. Let the people have their melted witch.
Suddenly, she burst up through the water gasping. That was it! Let them have what they wanted. The little girl – the already labeled a witch killer – was coming, she knew that. Let the brat tack another witch to her list. She leapt out of the tub, dripping wet and barely remembering to pull the plug. She wrenched her robe, warm from the build up of steam in the room, from its hook and roughly twisted her hair into a knot. She knew she would look a mess when the girl got here, but it hardly mattered. It wasn't as though she was trying to impress anyone – especially not this brat and her odd friends. Barely dressed and leaving foot-shaped watermarks on the floor behind her, she dashed out into the empty hall to look for a bucket. That west tower had a leak in the roof – that ought to do it. Now, Elphaba mused, where had Fiyero said that trap door was…