A/N: My, my. This is my first attempt at writing in Glinda's point of you. Bear in mind that she is not Galinda anymore; more mature, etc. Elphie rubbed off on her. Well, I am writing many oneshots lately, aren't I? But you can't bug me, no you can't. I've updated The Anarchy, yes I have. I'm intermixing (a word of mine, which I doubt exists, but nonetheless . . .) post-book and post-musical plots in here. Just read it, and you'll see. Or maybe you won't. M'k. Read the chapter. AND REVIEW, DAMMIT! Ahem.

I've also realized that some of this is very, very, VERY overdramatic and very exaggerated fluff full of angst. Bear with me. Not only am I generally like that, but Thank Goodness makes me angsty (yes, that's a word. I say it's a word.) during . . . times--when I listen to it. Yeeeah. My excuse is, Glinda's overdramatic by nature. It's true. Sure is. Yep. By the way, just to let my faithful--yet the reviews are scarce--readers know, there's more oneshots afoot.

On with the show.

Disclaimer: Suddenly I see, none of this belongs to me. . .

The choruses of "She's dead!" still echo discordantly through the emerald streets, and a large part of me wants to tell the citizens of Oz to stick their singing into quite an uncomfortable spot. But I can't do that, I can't speak out. What kind of leader would I be?

I am still sitting here, in my room at the palace, whose green walls never cease to remind me of my dear, deceased friend. I am still clutching her pointed black hat, which had been so repulsive to me back at Shiz, and now it must have been my most prized possession; the curious green bottle is under my pillow, no longer harboring a horrible, shocking secret, but a mere reminder of memories so close to my heart. I don't know how long I have been here, but it must have been a while, and I don't intend to take any time calculating how long it has been; the shock has faded a little, to be replaced by emptiness and sorrow. My pink dress is soaked with my own salty tears, and the pink skirts of it are covered with dirt from when I fell at Kiamo Ko. My make-up must be a colossal disaster, and some of it's spread all over my pillow in an oozing, black and pink mess. But the thing is, I simply do not care.

I guess she changed me more than I thought.

The palace is deserted; the Wizard has left in his fluorescent balloon; the little girl smacked her shoes--though not rightfully hers; but they are just shoes--together and vanished. Good riddance. Madame Morrible has been taken to her rightful place, in captivity, to get a taste of her own medicine. The Animals have been freed, and I am left to rule Oz by my lonesome. Those were my dreams (save for the Animals being freed, that was hers), and they had come true; but with a price. Now there is a void inside me that cannot be filled by anyone or anything. Things just won't be the same without her.

I really had been thinking, and about so much, that it would surprise anyone I knew from Shiz. Right now I find it impossible to believe I had been so silly and . . . poofy. I also can't imagine that I had ever hated Elphie (for that was who she still was to me, and always would be). I remembered that when I first saw her, I had thought she was in costume for a play or something. When I found out she was green, really green, I hated her; that was how affected I had been: I had hated someone because they were different from the social standards, of all things. That's why our friendship had been so ingenious, once it blossomed; no one would have guessed the Wicked Witch of the West was friends with Glinda the Good. But we were the greatest of friends; as shallow as I sound, none of my other friends matter to me anymore. I have a good reason: they still are--if alive--just as fluffy and pink as I had once been. I'm sure of it. Thanks to Elphie, I had seen how repulsive that was.

But I was slowly reverting back to that, now that she was gone. I just sat there, sulking all day. Not even eating--something else similar to my former lifestyle. I hear her voice in my head now and then, as sarcastic and real as if she had been right there with me:

Quit vegetating, for Lurline's sake.

I got off my bed, deciding I had to do something. But what was there to do? I had no one anymore, they were all gone, and I was quite alone; how strange it felt, but how much it reminded me of what Elphie must have felt for most of her life. A pang in my chest, nothing new: it's an aching in my heart.

Was there anything left of it? Emptiness, all of it, I was sure. He left me, for her--though I don't resent that any longer--and then she left me. I can't blame her of course, for I doubted she'd chosen to . . . die, especially like she did. But I can't reverse the damage that was done, so long ago. A week from my engagement ball, making it no less of a shock. It's one of those shocking moments when you're too stunned to do anything and emptiness . . . fills you, ironically enough. (Ha! I'm thinking about irony, for once. She rubbed off on me more than she knew, too.) I doubted he had planned the fling to assassinate any hopes of marriage (and that really was too dramatic of me to say it like that, it was much less so), but he did manage to depress me for a while. Not a little while, either.

But they deserved each other.

And what happened to them. Dead, gone, like the autumn leaves. Melted, like the powdery winter snow, children frolicking in it. She was killed by a child, after all. A child who didn't want to do any harm. She had wanted to help; I had seen it, all of it, though it wasn't something I should have seen. Dorothy had wanted to save her from her fiery fate, but maybe she hadn't wanted to be saved. She faced a watery fate, as odd as it was, instead.

Elphie had never meant any harm, either.

There was nothing to do, no one to see. I wasn't in the mood to throw a dinner party, garden party, or--this is quite odd of me--anything involving socializing. There was basically no food in the fridge. The servants were celebrating with the rest of Oz. They were both gone. A random thought burst into my head, and I decided to heed it. I would be doing something, a little something, but something to stop me from . . . vegetating.

I would make a speech.

Climbing the emerald stairs was troublesome, and I kept looking down for fear of falling. They were see through. Words could not describe how insanely ingenious this was. What kind of idiot had done that? The Wizard. Ugh. Another brilliant invention, along with his head of iron and my glorious "magic" bubble. I was surprised no one but Elphie had figured out what was behind the fearsome and wonderful facade; they would never get the chance anymore, now that he had left. They wouldn't get the chance to think for themselves.

My legs grew numb and I wanted to sit, but I saw I had reached the Wizard's former office. Deserted, empty. He was gone. It was better that way, much better. I made my way to the balcony, adorned with gold streamers; probably the Ozians' doing. I put my sorrow, my anger, my current hatred for all things Oz under lock and key. I was Glinda the Good, for Oz's sake. I couldn't mope about the palace.

"Fellow Ozians!" That got their attention. "Let us be glad"--as if they weren't already--"and rejoicify on this wonderful day! Oz can finally live in peace now that the Wicked Witch of the West is . . . dead!" I could barely bring myself to say it, and refrained from adding that Oz was actually better without the Wicked Sadist of a Wizard. A cheer rang throughout the unnaturally crowded street. "I hope to be . . . a--a leader for all, ruling with a fair hand. I would like to be . . . Glinda the Good." Another cheer. Relief flooded me. But then again, these people were used to accepting whatever the government threw at them, no matter how horrible. No, Glinda. Be positive. "Continue with your celebrations, citizens of Oz!" I said this with a smile and left the balcony.

I would make her proud, wherever she was. I would be Glinda the Good, but not for the Ozians. Not for my Mother and Father. But for her.

For Elphaba.