Notes: The epilogue will be coming in the next hour!

The city is preparing for the anniversary of Glinda's death. Elphaba assumes it must be in the next couple of days with the pace that the Emerald City is trying to set up all the different vigils. There's a big one at the palace that will be led by the Throne Minister, but it's restricted to the public, who can only view it at the end of the driveway behind a gate; it makes Elphaba sick. But she finds out about other, smaller, vigils that are being held around the city. There's at least a couple in every quarter of the city, public and private ones, there's even one at the shelter Elphaba had ate at that first afternoon. But the one at Saint Aelphaba's Orphanage is the only vigil Elphaba is interested in.

"Elphaba!"

Elphaba stills for a brief second before slipping into an alley. There's only one person in the city who knows that name; to the citizens of Oz she was always just the Wicked Witch of the West, never Elphaba, that would have made her human.

"Elphaba!" Fiyero calls again, and Elphaba moves quickly down the alley and emerges onto the next street. The market is bustling and Elphaba quickly moves through the crowd, weaving between bodies and glad of the unusually bright sun that autumn afternoon. The light casts green shadows across the street and obscures her skin as a trick of the light. She can still hear Fiyero calling for her, but his voice is soon lost in the moving market. It heaves and breathes as if it is a living being, pushing people out of their paths and onto a new collision courses. Colours flash as children dart through the thin openings of space as people move. Vendors yell their wares across the street and people and Animals alike barter back in increasingly frustrated voices. Elphaba weaves through the crowd until she reaches the street that will take her to the orphanage, but instead of taking it she walks two streets up and over, taking a roundabout way through side streets and alleys just in case Fiyero caught sight of her leaving the market. She had managed to avoid him in the city so far and wasn't about to give up yet.

The orphanage is as busy as it was the first time she was there a couple days ago. Children chase each other, a teenager bounces a toddler on her knee, a couple of kids sulk in the shade, and Elphaba can even see the old woman sitting at her office desk through the front window. Some of the teenagers notice her approach, but don't stare like last time, probably realizing that she is not here because she's looking to adopt.

The younger children have no such realization and approach her this time, trying earnestly to be the charming brats she knows they're not.

"You have a funny hat."

"Why do you have a broom? Are you a maid?"

"Where are you from?"

"Where are you going?"

"Why are you green?"

Elphaba ignores most of them, but turns a sharp eye to the kid who asked the last question. She's a young Munchkinlander with long dark hair, her skin considerably darker than most Munchkinlanders. A pair of glasses perch on her nose and partially obscure green, intelligent eyes. She's clutching a book to her face and staring up at Elphaba with no fear or disgust. Elphaba allows a small smirk to spread across her face and leans down close to the girl. The other kids scuttle away, laughing and shrieking, but the girl just continues to stare at Elphaba.

"Because I ate too many vegetables when I was your age," Elphaba says with a mischievous grin.

The other kids shriek in laughter and fear of vegetables but the girl just frowns thoughtfully up at her. As Elphaba draws back she catches sight of Arduenna, the blonde girl from yesterday who reminds her so much of Glinda that Elphaba has to take a moment to remind herself to breathe. Arduenna runs up to the Munchkinlander girl and swats gently at her shoulder. "Fae, that's not polite!" Arduenna scolds, forgetting she said much the same thing yesterday.

The girl, Fae, scrunches her nose up. "So?"

Arduenna rolls bright blue eyes and takes Fae's hand. "Come on," she says and tugs Fae away. "Bye, miss!" she calls with a wave, and then the two girls are gone with a swirl of gold and black hair.

Elphaba stands stunned for a moment, before she blinks and continues up the steps of the orphanage. The door swings open and she turns to the front office, knocking gently on the door. The old woman looks up from her papers and smiles when she sees the green woman from the other day.

"You're back!" the old woman says, though she doesn't sound surprised. "Come in, come in," she urges.

Elphaba does, smiling awkwardly and scuffing the toe of her boot on the wooden floor. "I had some more questions."

The old woman smiles warmly, but there's something about the glint in her eyes that says she knows more than she lets on. "Well I have to start preparing for tomorrow. Do you mind joining me in the kitchen?" Elphaba hesitates. "An extra set of hands might get some extra information," the old woman bribes. Elphaba shuffles for a moment before nodding her assent. The old woman stands up, with surprising spryness considering her age, and claps her hands together. "Excellent. Leave your broom here and follow me."

Elphaba hesitates again, but reluctantly props her broom against wall and follows the old woman deeper into the orphanage. The building isn't large, and the kitchen is just down the hallway from the office, so at least Elphaba knows she can easily summon her broom if needed, or just run to it.

"We're setting up for the vigil," the old woman explains brightly, though her eyes are sad, "We're planning to have a big dinner for the kids in Lady Glinda's honour, since she was so fond of them. And they of her, of course."

Elphaba follows her into the kitchen. There's a woman in her thirties just leaving the kitchen with a basket of dirty laundry. She eyes Elphaba ins shock but nods at them as she leaves. Elphaba ducks her head and scratches at an old scar on her hand, wondering how much magic she will need to blast through the wall when she inevitably needs to escape.

"I hope you don't mind potato peeling," the old woman interrupts Elphaba's thoughts, "because that's what I need the extra set of hands for." Elphaba shakes her head and takes the knife offered to her, following the woman to the back of the kitchen where a couple buckets are laid out on an old sheet. The old woman sits down on a crate with a groan, gesturing for Elphaba to do the same. Elphaba does and follows the old woman's lead, picking up a potato from one bucket where it's submerged in cold water, quickly starting to peel it.

They work in silence for a while, until the old woman glances up at Elphaba. "So?" she says, the single word an invitation.

"I'm trying to locate her grave," Elphaba says. After all, the best lie is the truth.

Everything about the old woman closes off, but her face remains pleasantly open. "Well you are going to have to look hard for it. Even I don't know where it is."

Elphaba knows she's lying, but she doesn't say anything. It's easier to catch someone in a lie than to accuse them of it. They peel in awkward silence.

"Do you know where Lady Glinda went to school?" Elphaba tries instead.

The old woman relaxes. "Shiz University, I believe. She became an adept sorceress there. Top of her class, though she told me later that she was the only one in the class, so she was also the bottom of her class," the old woman says with a laugh.

Elphaba manages a smile that's no more than her pressing two thin lips together. "There were no other sorceresses at Shiz?" Elphaba asks, and briefly wondering why she likes causing herself pain.

"Not when she graduated. Though Lady Glinda did say her best friend was in the class for most of their first year until she dropped out." Elphaba presses her tighter together and her sharp teeth tear at the inside of her mouth. The taste of blood is a welcome distraction.

"Her best friend?" Elphaba asks, hating herself more and more.

The old woman hums. "Lady Glinda only spoke of her best friend a few times." Elphaba peels the potato in her hand a bit more aggressively than strictly necessary as the old woman continues. "Lady Glinda told me that after her friend dropped out she only saw her a couple times after."

"Oh?" Elphaba says mildly. If she continues to give short answers there's less of a chance that the old woman will notice how shaky her voice is.

"Lady Glinda didn't often speak of her life before she came to rule Oz. But when she did it was always with that sadness. And when she spoke of her best friend," the old woman pauses, shaking her head and adding a peeled potato into growing pile in one of the buckets, "I've never seen her so forlorn before."

"Sounds like she missed her," Elphaba manages to choke out.

"More than anything," the old woman agrees, and then turns unexpectedly sharp eyes on Elphaba. "You knew Lady Glinda, didn't you," she asks without warning, except it's not a question, not really.

"No," Elphaba lies, except it's not convincing, not really.

The old woman doesn't stop her peeling, but an edge of seriousness hangs heavily over the turn in their conversation.

"It was you, wasn't it," the old woman asks again, except it's not a question, not really.

"No," Elphaba says again, except it's not convincing, not really.

They both know she's lying.

The old woman studies Elphaba intently. "She loved you, you know," she finally says. "She loved you more than anything."

Elphaba drops her potato and ducks her head. "I know," she croaks.

"She told me her best friend died."

"I know," Elphaba repeats, her voice bordering on pleading.

"Why'd you leave her?"

"I thought—" Elphaba breaks off, swatting at a couple stubborn tears, barely missing slashing her forehead open with the knife still in her hand. It might have been better if she had. "I thought I would be safer if I left, that she would be safer

"And were you?" the old woman asks softly.

"Yes. Or no. Or— I don't know." Elphaba drops the knife and runs her hands over her face. "I don't know. I- I thought she would be safer without me." Elphaba pauses and thinks about the other reason she left, admitting it out loud now feels too soon, but at the same time it feels too late. "I thought she would be happier without me."

"But she wasn't," the old woman says.

"But she wasn't," Elphaba agrees. "I never thought Oz could change, not really, not after everything I'd seen. And when she told me she'd help me all I could see was Oz turning against her. But now," Elphaba trails off, thinking of all Glinda had done over the past three decades, all the changes she had spearheaded in Oz; of all she had done for Oz and of all Oz hadn't given her in return. "But now—" she tries again, but the words won't come, caught somewhere in her throat and choking her.

"You shouldn't have left," the old woman accuses. Elphaba looks up at her with numb eyes. The old woman sighs and relents slightly. "What I mean to say is, as strong as successful as Lady Glinda was, she was so lonely. I think that's why she liked this orphanage so much, why she was always sneaking to shelters in the city. Lady Glinda was very privileged, but with that privilege came great loneliness. She had the weight of the world on her shoulders, but she never shared it with anyone. She never let anyone else get close enough to be a friend because she was too scared of losing them like she lost you."

"Please," Elphaba rasps.

"You were the sadness in her eyes."

"Please," Elphaba begs, swatting at the tears gathering in her eyes. This time the knife does catch on her forehead, but the thin sting of pain isn't quite enough to ground Elphaba.

"She loved you," the old woman continues forcefully, though not unkindly. "No matter how many prospective suitors she had or how much her ministers pressured her for a heir she refused. Because she loved you. More than anything."

Elphaba slaps a hand over her mouth to stifle her cry, and then she straightens her spine and reaches deep into her façade to pull up her composure, focusing on the small line of pain throbbing on her forehead. But one look at the old woman has Elphaba crumbling again. She sags in her seat and fights back tears.

"What was the actual date of her death?" Elphaba asks quietly.

"Exactly a year tomorrow," the old woman answers, looking at Elphaba curiously. "Why?"

But Elphaba is already lost, remembering where she was a year ago. Fiyero and her had just entered Ix, planning to travel across the southern tip to reach Ev and hopefully set up a safe home for a while. That night Elphaba had a restless sleep, and after tossing and turning for a couple hours she had finally stood to pace the abandoned barn they were staying in. It was still completely dark out, and Elphaba had eventually left the barn, not bothering to mask the noise as she left. She didn't particularly care if Fiyero heard her coming or going, nor did she particularly care if he cared.

She had mounted her broom and flew high into the sky, wincing as a harsh wind blew the clouds away from the moon and turned its accusatory light on her. She landed near a forest and collapsed below a tree on the outskirts, curling herself into the tree truck to hide from the moon's light. She didn't sleep that night, but sat there, shaking in the cold and the regret and the pain. Across the road cutting past the edge of the forest was a small farm house, a single candle flickering dimly in the window. Elphaba stared at it all night, wondering who the candle was lit for, who they were waiting to welcome home.

Elphaba hadn't known why she was so restless that night, but knowing the date of Glinda's supposed death makes her stomach twist itself into tight knots.

"Miss?" the old woman was saying when Elphaba finally blinks up at her. "Are you alright? You've gone, pardon me, simply grey."

Elphaba stands and stumbles out of the kitchen, falling against the wall of the hallway. "I'm going to be sick," she mutters.

"Well that just won't do," the old woman says. She brushes past Elphaba and grabs a bucket from the dining room, shoving it into Elphaba's trembling hands, before disappearing back into the kitchen only to remerge a moment later with a mix of foul looking herbs. "Here," she says, offering the bowl to Elphaba, "we give it to the kids when they aren't feeling well." Elphaba tries to refuse but the old woman pushes it closer to Elphaba's face. The herbs smell worse than they look. "It will help.

Elphaba relents and spoons some of the mixture into her mouth. It soothes the nausea rising in her throat but does nothing for the knotted feeling in her stomach or the squeezing of her chest.

Despite this feeling, despite knowing how restless she was the night of Glinda's supposed death, despite everyone telling her otherwise, Elphaba is still certain that Glinda's still alive. Because if she isn't— Elphaba shakes her head at the thought. No, Glinda must be alive. It's impossible for her to be otherwise. Elphaba would know if Glinda was dead, and Elphaba knows that she isn't

The old woman stares at her and then sighs. She places a warm hand on Elphaba's thin forearm and doesn't react when Elphaba jumps and shies away from the contact. "Her grave is three streets north of here. There is a small green area against the wall of the city. In it is a small cemetery, hidden amongst the trees. If the grave-keeper gives you trouble just tell him I sent you."

Elphaba swallows and stares up at the old woman with dull eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You wanted to know," the old woman says in confusion.

"No. I— I mean I did. But why you lied to me earlier when I asked."

The old woman studies Elphaba for a long moment. The outside world has stilled and Elphaba takes deep breathes through her nose. Finally the old woman smiles sadly at Elphaba.

"Because you loved her too."

Fiyero finally finds her that night, curled up in the shadow of a couple trees on the edge of the cemetery. She couldn't bring herself to enter it that evening, not after her conversation with the old woman that afternoon. She spent twenty-nine years working up the courage to return to Oz, to Glinda, one more night wouldn't do her much harm.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," Fiyero says by way of greeting.

"Funny," Elphaba says, but there's no emotion in her voice, "I've been avoiding you everywhere."

Fiyero moves in what might be a sigh should he be in possession of a pair of lungs. "What are you doing here?"

Elphaba sneers at him. "What does it matter?"

"You're going to get sick out here," Fiyero scolds, "Come back to the inn, we can keep looking for Glinda in the morning."

Elphaba leaps up, the sudden movement sending Fiyero stumbling back a step. "You don't get it do you," she hisses. She doesn't scream, but her voice is dangerously low and Fiyero stumbles back another step. "I'm doing this by myself. She was my best friend, she was my roommate, she was my lo— S-She was my Glinda."

Fiyero shuffles. "I knew her too," he protests, but the words are awkward in his mouth, wrong to his ears.

"Not like I did," Elphaba hisses, and Fiyero can't argue with that.

Elphaba huffs and spins on her heel, facing back towards the cemetery and away from Fiyero. In the morning, she thinks, first thing in the morning I'll march in there and prove myself right. Glinda is not dead.

"Elphaba," Fiyero murmurs, "you're trembling."

"It's my fault," Elphaba whispers brokenly, even though that's not what she intended to say. "It's my fault she was so alone. It was my fault she had to face Oz by herself."

"You couldn't have known," Fiyero soothes from behind her and Elphaba turns to look at him and imagines, just for a second, lighting his straw on fire, just so he knows how she feels.

"But I abandoned her!" Elphaba shrieks, the scream trying to escape catching in her throat. "It's all my fault." Fiyero reaches for her but she jumps back, her face twisted in disgust, though whether it's aimed at him or herself Fiyero doesn't know, nor does he want to know. "Don't touch me!"

"Elphaba, please."

Elphaba advances towards him, jabbing her finger into his straw chest. "I left her alone. I did this to her. I cursed her to this lonely life."

"She did it to herself." Fiyero doesn't mean to be cruel with his response, but he's spent the past thirty years being second to Glinda. And while perhaps he is not quite human anymore, he still feels human emotions. He always knew, deep down, that whatever Elphaba felt for him paled in comparison to the blonde she left behind. Even without her being physically there, there was always a Glinda sized distance between Elphaba and him; even when their time together was good, Elphaba was always holding something of herself back. Fiyero eventually learned that part of her he could never access was the part of her she gave to the blonde long ago.

"How can you say that?" Elphaba snarls, and the wind picks up, whipping leaves around them and bending the thick oak trees threateningly towards them, the wind pushes at Fiyero's body and he clutches desperately at his body, trying to hold the straw together.

"Elphaba, please," Fiyero begs nervously.

Elphaba takes a breath and the wind dies down, the trees straighten, and the leaves flutter uselessly to the ground.

"Leave me," Elphaba says harshly.

"Elphaba—"

"I said leave me!" The wind starts to pick up again. "I never want to see you again."

"Elphaba, please—"

"Did you not hear me?" Elphaba howls above the wind, and Fiyero decides it's time to obey her wishes before he loses all his straw.

"Okay," he says, but the wind picks up faster. "Okay, Elphaba," he yells, "I said okay."

The wind dies down again and Elphaba's shoulders sag a little, barely noticeably unless you've spent the last twenty-nine years with her.

"I guess this is it," Fiyero says.

Elphaba softens, just for a moment. "I think we both knew this day would come."

Fiyero looks away from her. "I know."

Elphaba turns away from him and, just as he's leaving, he can hear Elphaba murmur to herself something they had both thought over the years but never voiced, something Fiyero is sure she never meant for him to hear.

"I should have stayed with her."

And then Fiyero is gone, and he never sees Elphaba again.

Elphaba looks up at the gates of the cemetery and waits for the sun to rise.