A/N: This was written in a response to a writing challenge, and is companion-ish to Beautiful, one of my earlier pieces. It is set after "No Good Deed," right before Dorothy and company arrive at Kiamo Ko. Read and review!
Elphaba would sit on the rooftop of Kiamo Ko for hours at a time.
It wasn't that she needed to be alone to collect her thoughts at the end of the day. It wasn't to watch the Winkie sunsets, which were purported to be the most beautiful in all of Oz. No, Elphaba sat deliberately with her back to the western sky; her eyes fixed on the darkening eastern horizon, in the direction of the Emerald City and, beyond that, Munchkinland. The Wicked Witch of the West was looking desperately for some spark of hope.
She didn't expect it to ever come to her. The only thing that came from the East nowadays was the occasional angry mob looking to smite the Witch and rid the land of her evils once and for all, and she could scare them away with flashing lights and loud noises. Damn the Wizard and his lies, they had caused her all of this pain. He was the reason she was up here, isolated from the rest of the world with no one but the Flying Monkeys for company. But now the Witch, as she was called, had almost stopped blaming him for her misfortunes and was instead attributing all of her disasters to herself. Well, she thought she had earned it.
And to think, barely more than a week ago she had been so…unscarred. Oh, certainly, she had been riding around on her broomstick preaching Animal rights, the object of so much hatred that she didn't deserve. But that hadn't marked her in the way the other recent events had.
First there was Doctor Dillamond. A teacher, another advocate for her cause, and to some extent, a companion. He understood what it was like to be different more than anyone she had ever met. He knew what it was like to be alone, unloved, isolated. She could talk to him, and he would always be able to relate. He was one of the few who spoke the pure, unadulterated truth. And now he was condemned to silence by a power-hungry administration, while Elphaba, his pupil, had been too late to save him.
Then there was her sister, Nessarose. It would be strange to an outsider to think that anyone such as the Wicked Witch of the West could feel love for a sister, and yet she did. Nessa seemed to be everything that Elphaba was not: tactful, pretty, more normal. Oh, she was not without her flaws, of course. Nessa had everything that she needed, but she still wanted more. And Nessa couldn't see past her own desires to glean what repercussions they might have on others. But even near the end, when "the Wicked Witch of the East" was stripping the Munchkins of their rights, Elphaba loved her. Nessa was her sister, how could she not? And then she was killed, for no reason other than that she was Elphaba's sister. Her father's last instructions rang out in her ear every time she thought of Nessa, who died too young: Elphaba, Take care of your sister. Take care of your sister.
And Fiyero, at the same time one of the best and worst things that had ever happened to her. It hurt to think of Fiyero, and yet she had to, for every time she sat on the rooftop she had to remember that it was his castle, and that he had probably watched the same beautiful sunsets she turned her back upon. There was so much more to him than anyone knew, sides of him that no one else had seen. He was sensitive, caring, and in those earlier days at Shiz, funny. He was cleverer than anyone, including himself, accredited him to be. And he had had everything and given it all up for her. That one night they had spent together, not having to pretend anymore, had been the most wonderful night she had ever known. Elphaba truly loved him, more than words could express. And he had loved her. And he had died, even though she had tried to save him. He had died, because he loved her. It seemed that anything she ever loved was destined to die, leaving a void that could not be filled.
But Glinda? No, she couldn't take all of the blame there. She could punish herself for making Glinda unhappy, indeed, she did, but she resented Glinda for some things. Glinda, who had been her umpteenth enemy, then her first friend, and now her enemy again.The Wicked Witch of the Westresented Glinda the Good for not having the gumption to stand up to the Wizard and Morrible. The people would listen to Glinda the Good, if she chose to speak out. And she did not. She resented Glinda for blaming Elphaba for Fiyero's decision to leave her. Elphaba did not feel that she could be blamed for that, it seemed unfair.A tiny sparkin her still held the perky blonde in high esteem, as more of a sister than Nessa ever was. But that seemed to only make Glinda's hatred and silence worse. The realization that she must have caused Glinda as much pain as Glinda caused her seemed to ache in the back of her consciousness. It was certain: the bubbly girl was now as effectively gone from her life as the other three were.
So Glinda joined the ranks of those she had lost, along with Dillamond and Nessa. And Fiyero. Sometimes Elphaba feared she was losing herself as well.
Turning her attentions back to the horizon, she spotted four distant figures approaching the forest that surrounded Kiamo Ko. No, four figures, one of them the girl who killed Nessa, and a little dog, too. A ragtag band of heroes. Well, she could eliminate them easily, couldn't she? She was the Wicked Witch of the West. She could do whatever she wanted. She pushed all of her feelings aside to prepare for the task at hand. She was not a murderess. Yet.
No matter how far she had come, there was always farther to fall.