A/N: Finals. Sorry. Why is life so obnoxiously obstructive to my writing? WHY?!

Disclaimer: Not mine.

The engagement ball.

I stare at myself, in the black dress shot through with slashes of red tucked behind screens of black lace. Glinda chose it. This shocks me, because while the dress is beautiful, it is also almost…violent.

Beautifully tragic.

A pang shoots through me. Oh, I miss my little sister. What happened to us all, I wonder? From the carefree children that we were at Shiz, all so absorbed in our own small troubles, barely glimpsing a bigger picture, to who we are now. We are the ones painting that picture, but we don't get to choose the paints. They're already laid out for us on a palette, limiting our choices, defining what we can make of our lives.

The green woman in the mirror looks so displaced against the background of this room, disturbing its perfection.

I don't belong here.

My heart beats faster and my breath comes in gasps. I have been a terrorist, I've blown things up and had knives held to my throat. And now I have a panic attack? Because I feel misplaced?

Newsflash, Elphaba: You've always been misplaced, and you always will. There is no place you can go that will change who you are.

My eyes light on the hat Glinda gave me, before Fiyero's party at the Ozdust. Before everything. I grab hold of it, a symbol. A symbol of my evil, the Wicked Witch. A symbol of my friendship with Glinda the Good. A quick movement of my arm and fingers, and it is jammed over my hair.

My reflection smiles at me. Satisfied, I nod at myself and turn to go.

The room shimmers with gold, the essence of Glinda embodied in a sparkling, effervescent glow emanating from every wall, every glowing marble tile upon which the beautiful people of the City twirl. Even the Wizard's golden Oz head fits here.

Fiyero, the gold stripes and epaulets of his uniform shining in the light, and Glinda, her dress a festival of gold, are in the center of the swirling skirts, but they are no longer dancing. They have broken apart, and it's painfully clear that they are arguing. How unlike Glinda to allow this to happen in public.

That was a cruel thought. I force my mind to shut up and make my way to them with ease, the path clearing for me abetted by gasps at my presence. God, I feel as though I'm still at Shiz. Apparently, not much has changed about the rest of our class since graduation.

"Glinda, I never meant to let this happen…"

"Stop, Fiyero, just stop. You asked me to marry you!"

"No, I didn't, Glinda. Do you believe your own propaganda now?"

"Propaganda?!"

"Well, I never proposed, did I?"

"Fiyero Tiggular! You called our relationship propaganda?"

"That's what it is, don't you see? We're just playing our roles, doing what we're supposed to. Neither of us has ever made a choice, an active, brave, real, choice. We just let ourselves be carried along on the tide of others' desires. I'm done, Glinda. I'm through with being a pawn. The Wizard's. Morrible's. Yours."

He turns on his heel and stalks off, ramming into me, frozen in place.

"Elphaba!" he says, obviously pleased to see me. I feel sick again. I hate myself, I honestly do. "You didn't hear…" he asks me.

"I did. Fiyero, I- I can't do this." My words are tumbling over each other, my thoughts forming faster than my mouth can work.

"This…us?"

"No! This, all of this. It's not me. It's not who I am. I can't let this happen. I don't care who my father is, I never listened to my other father's ideas so why am I doing this? I don't want to. I never wanted to. It makes me sick. Fiyero, what happened to me?"

And all of a sudden, I am crying, and he is holding me, and we're going somewhere, behind a curtain, into the empty throne room where the Oz head has returned itself and lies lank and listless and dead…