Unfulfilled Rage
She hates like she has never yet loved in her life, with a passion she has felt before only in anger, towards her father. It wells up in her, clogging her chest, knotting her stomach, burning behind her eyes, every time she sees That Woman, her teacher and headmistress, her sworn enemy.
Fuck her.
Elphaba knows what Morrible thinks of her, rag-bag charity girl, ideas above her station, defiant, repulsive little frog.
Well, to be fair, this is what practically everyone thinks of her, in one variation or another.
Elphaba doesn't believe the older woman's backhanded praise, not for a minute; Morrible wants to use her and Elphaba patently refuses to be used. Try to manipulate her mind! She saw through it and now she will have nothing to do with it.
Morrible has merely fed the unfulfilled rage she spoke of to Elphaba, and Elphaba would kill the woman if she could. She will hurt her, at least, she will show her what Elphaba Thropp is capable of, one day. She will.
Work for the Wizard, that unmitigated bitch. As if Elphaba could or would. The master plans eliminate any appreciable population… Fuck her, fuck that, she won't watch it happen again like it did to the Quadlings, won't watch it happen to the Animals and the Vinkus, will not will never in her life be a part of it. No.
It floods her mind, her body, as she stalks away from Glinda and her life, turning her steps into hard pounds against the ground.
Hatred, pure and clean.
Cleaner, more definitive than love. Anger is her heartbeat, slamming against her chest, a raging fire in whatever passes for a soul in her. If love immerses like water, lethal to her, anger is like fire. If it can be channeled, tamed, it can be used against the source of it when let loose again.
So this is what she will do.