Chapter 4: Madame Morrible

Disclaimer: I own this idea, but not any of the characters. Morrible is getting herself ready to catch Elphaba, but begins recognizing all of her flaws.

The old woman fluffed at her hair, grinning wickedly at herself in the mirror. There, she looked better. The thick layers of make-up and unneeded jewels would certainly draw anyone's attention away from her face, twisted by lust for revenge and simple evil. But nothing is simple anymore, she thought. She started and reached up to lay her fingertips across her cheek. She had never noticed the deep lines carved into the skin, lines not formed by age, but hate. Simple hate. But nothing is simple anymore. True, nothing was simple since that green brat had flown off. She shrugged and stood, distractedly noticing the way she had to force her shoulders to not stoop, and her back to not hump. Nobody will notice! she told herself fiercely. Ah, but Elphaba would notice.

Morrible shook herself. She didn't matter! That green- Witch didn't matter! She would be captured and killed before the day was over. She watched that storm growing outside of her window, chortling madly. Nessarose would soon be dead, and she would have Elphaba- the Witch, she reminded herself. She would have the Witch in her grasp. She looked back at the mirror. Her identity had changed so many times she no longer knew who Madame Morrible really was. Besides, she didn't care. As long as she got what she wanted, nobody would notice that Morrible had no set identity. Nobody would care.

Nobody but Elphaba