Everything was gone. She had absolutely nothing left. She had nothing, was nothing, and would be nothing.
Her sister was dead. Her baby sister had been killed. Nessarose had always been spoiled and dependent and demanding- bet never vindicative. She wouldn't purposely hurt anyone. Yet, she had managed to enslave an entire race of people. She hadn't been able to see the consequences. She had tried to get what she wanted. And now she had been killed by the little girl who was now out to kill her.
Her best friend had betrayed her. Glinda had sparkled and glittered to the top. She had given up morals and ideals for love. She smiled like Lurline and burried herself in what was expected of her.
Her lover had sacrificed himself for her. Fiyero, her Fiyero, her hero was dead because of her. He had tried to protect her, and in doing so had lost his life. It was fitting really, that the one person who had ever really loved her be dead because of that love.
She was completely, painfully alone. The little, beloved farm girl was coming for her with her 'friends'. Her mission was to kill her, and save Oz.
Everything was gone. She had absolutely nothing left. She had nothing, was nothing, and would be nothing. Elphaba Thropp was dead.
It was the birth of the Wicked Witch of the West.
