AN (VERY IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ!): To all who have been following this story up to this point, this isn't a new chapter, per se. I was unhappy with Chapter 10, so I revised it and ended up splitting it into two chapters, now with twice as much emotion and character development. I'm sure I seem like a gianormous tease for promising a Gelphie reunion, disappearing for two months, and returning only to post a lengthier version of what you've read previously. In addition to my writing struggles, I blame mandatory overtime at work and a wisdom tooth which decided to make my life miserable. Now, with gratuitous thanks to my wonderful, honest and patient beta (and friend!) DM92, Unadulterated Something is back on track. I promise new Gelphielicious content soon. In the meantime, try to enjoy a more contemplative Glinda in Chapter 10 and this one.

Chapter Eleven: When Nightmares Become Reality

I am back in Qhoyre. The sun has set, but rather than returning to the Mayor's home for dinner, Helene and I sneak off to a party. We sit outdoors with a group of Quadlings on a circle of hay bales. There is a small clay pot where a tiny fire crackles, protected from the marshy ground. Everyone is speaking in Qua'ti. I can't understand a lick of conversation, but the smiles around me are mirthful and welcoming. A woman offers us drinks from a horn. Following my maid's lead, I take a swig of the liquid, which is thick and bitter on my tongue. A man is telling a story, gesturing wildly with his hands. The crowd pays rapt attention, laughing every so often at his words.

A teenaged boy to my right passes me a long-handled pipe. I pass it along to my maid without smoking. I don't know what is in it, and I figure I am safer with the drink, which keeps coming my way via the horn. I feel my body starting to relax under the effects of the alcohol. The sights and sounds of the party become a blur. I stretch out, laying back against the hay bale. The Quadling boy prods my upper arm, but I ignore him.

I am looking at the stars, which are brighter tonight than I have ever seen them. They seem to be moving, drifting slowly to the West like a swarm of fireflies. They rearrange against the backdrop of black, forming sharp white lines of light. The stars paint a picture for me: the crude shape of a mouth, a nose, and eyes with angry slanted brows. It's the same face that Elphie made from the tape that I once used to divide our dorm room. So long I have waited for a sign from her. I wonder if this is it.

What does it mean? Is it disappointment; disapproval? I reach out toward the stars, trying to reach for her, but they swirl again and the face disappears. The air temperature is dropping rapidly. I shiver, sitting up. The party around me is gone. I am alone. The landscape has changed; the Quadling marsh has been replaced with woodlands. Distressed, I spring to my feet, calling out for Helene. I receive no answer; just eerie silence. There's no hooting of owls or scuttling of animals through the underbrush.

Distressed, I leap to my feet and begin to walk briskly in the direction in which I am sure that the Mayor's mansion lies. The branches of trees, bare and skeletal, jut out from the thick fog like fingers, all pointing at me accusingly. After several minutes of walking, there is still nothing that I recognize. I stop to catch my breath and calm my racing heart. I feel something settle on my shoulder and a horrid chill racks through me.

"It's only me, my sweet," a familiar voice purrs low against my ear, instantly soothing my fear. I feel a slender pair of arms wrap around my waist from behind and I relax, leaning back into the warm body that has settled against mine. My heartbeat begins to slow. I can feel her chest rise and fall, slow and steady. I can feel her breath on the back of my neck.

"You are so very cold, Glinda," she says, withdrawing her arms with a lingering caress over the fabric of my summer dress. "Come to the fire."

Green fingers wrap gently around my wrist, drawing me in an unknown direction. We walk for a few moments before I can hear the welcome crackle of flame. She sits me down on a stump and in the red firelight I finally see her face: the face I have missed so terribly much. I brush my hand over her cheek and thread my fingers in her hair.

Then, she reaches out, slowly undoing the buttons on the front of my gown. I make a soft, encouraging whimper, wanting more of her touch. I reach over to unclasp her dress and the fabric falls away beneath my hands. My eyes trail down her throat to - I gasp.

The skin has been torn away from the left side of her body, stripped clear from her collarbone to her ribs, which jut out like bare branches from raw, bloody muscle.

"Elphie, no!" I cry. Slowly, she slides my dress down to my hips, ignorant of my horror.

"You are still whole," she says, looking over my body with a bitterness that wrenches my heart.


I jolt up in bed, head spinning. I press my palm against my chest and try to take slow, deep breaths. My pulse is hammering in my temples. It's not real, I tell myself, trying to focus on my breathing. I am safe in the palace. But it seems as if the image of a mangled Elphaba has been seared on the inside of my eyelids and I cannot blink it away. My eyes start to water. I don't want to cry! It's been four years since she left me. I don't want to shed anymore tears.

I dab at my eyes with the sleeve of my nightdress. I am fine during the day, going about my duties and playing my part. The Wizard and Morrible have certainly kept me busy. But at night the dreams break me down. The dreams make me vulnerable. The gentle green girl I once shared a room with, the Wicked Witch of the West, haunts every moment of my slumber.

This nightmare is a new one, which makes it all the worse. Normally, I stand idly by as she is beaten and dismembered by the Gale Force, unable to bring myself to do anything to protect her. In a few of the dreams, they've poured water on her and she's melted into a steaming puddle of green.

That's the popular opinion now: that water will destroy her. It's because of our spectacle at the fountain before our meeting with the Wizard. When the onlookers realized they had actually seen the Wicked Witch, rumor spread fast. And I've said nothing to contradict it. People believe what they want, and I'd rather some ignorant villager think that water is their first line of defense than a knife or a gun. Let the rumor protect her.

As for me, I can't stop living. It was my personal mantra in the first several weeks after she left, when the wound was still fresh. I repeat it to myself even now, when the scar throbs with phantom pain. Elphie and I parted ways long ago. That chapter of my life is closed. It simply can't be helped. She faces constant danger, but she chose her reality just as I chose mine. There was no stopping her; no convincing her otherwise.

After a year or so, I gave up on all hope of hearing from her. She obviously moved on. I have tried to as well, but part of me is stuck firmly in the past. Even now when I address the people, I unconsciously scan the crowd for a familiar flash of green beneath a hood or the brim of a hat. I imagine that Elphie is out there undercover, watching me and listening to my words. I automatically stand up a little bit straighter, imagining that I can feel her eyes. I imagine her looking in my windows, creeping just outside the periphery of my vision, watching over me to make sure that I'm okay. Then I remind myself that it is not becoming for a woman of twenty-two to have an imaginary friend.

I also remind myself that she wouldn't be proud of who I've become.

Frankly, I'm sick and tired of pining. I'm sick and tired of missing her. I'm sick and tired of these unadulterated longings that course though me, as real as the terror I feel in my nightmares. I made my choice. I had my reasons and I stand by them. To follow her would have been insanity. But Oz, how I miss her sometimes. And what I wouldn't give to touch that warm green skin again, to hold that slender body, with all its secret hurts and desires, against my own. There's no one in Oz quite like her.

I can't stop living. I can't stop living. I can't stop living.

Fiyero snores softly beside me, oblivious to my inner turmoil. Thankfully, I did not wake him. I slowly settle myself back down into the blanket. I used to sleep with Elphie's clothing in my bed to comfort me during the night. It was only once he started sharing my bed and caught me cuddled up with a dress that I stopped.

"She's not dead, Galinda," he said, forgetting my name as usual. "She's out there doing some actual good. Be proud of her, and stop acting like a widow in mourning!"

He has a different way of seeing things. He loves me though, in his own way.

If he didn't love me, he wouldn't have fought his way back into my life after I shut him out.

Even though I have willed myself not to dwell on unpleasantaries any longer, I still can't seem to get back to sleep. I need to sleep. I have breakfast with the Emerald City Arts Society in the morning, followed by a meeting with the Wizard and his advisors, then a ribbon cutting at a new theatre... I toss and turn in bed, tangling myself in the blankets and uncovering Fiyero without meaning to. He groans in protest and yanks them back.

"What's going on, dear?" he asks sleepily after a moment. He never calls me by my name anymore, because he always slips and says "Galinda."

"Nothing," I mumble in response.

"Another nightmare?" he asks. I don't answer. I really don't feel like being talked down to. But instead of talking down to me, he puts an arm around me and pulls me close.

"Don't worry, Ga-dear, I'm sure she's safe," he mutters, kissing my cheek. That's it: no sarcastic quip about poor spoiled Glinda and her nightmares. No attempts at urging me to run away with him again.

"Fiyero?" I ask, not really knowing what I intend to say next but wanting to talk nonetheless. Unfortunately, he is already soundly asleep like before.

I look at my prince, who has climbed the ranks to Captain of the Palace Guard. I follow the lines of his face with my eyes: the bridge of his nose, his angular chin, his short eyelashes and dark brows. Any girl would be happy to have him, yet he's mine: I who do not deserve him, yet can't seem to give him up. The fact is, we've been through so much together.

I may never be capable of loving passionately: not now, after the heartbreak I've experienced. But it's better to be with someone I do genuinely care for than to be alone. Aside from Fiyero, there is only one other person I could ever see myself wanting to be with. That person is not here, and she is not coming back. For all his faults, at least Fiyero stuck with me.

This has been a difficult summer in Oz. Munchkinland is suffering from a drought and most of the country is feeling the effects. The Wizard can frequently be found pacing back and forth in his study. "I wish Elphaba would do something big right now," he told me yesterday, "It would take the pressure off of me." But she hasn't been seen in a while. Perhaps, that's why the nightmares have been so bad. At least when she makes her presence known, I know that she's still alive. And I can rest easier for a little bit.

The people of Oz don't need another thing to scare them, though. What they need is some hope: a pleasant distraction. My eyes grow wide in the darkness as the thought occurs to me. A wedding would be a great distraction! Fiyero and I are going to be married, I told Elphie, on the night of the Ozdust. Maybe this is the time. I start mulling it over in my head: the dress, the flowers, the music, the guest list. I can't help but smile in spite of myself. I've always loved a party.

And before an actual wedding, there has to be an engagement party, with its own flowers and music and dress…

Maybe I need the distraction just as much as my people.


My dress is bothering me. It's really absurd, but I am bothered by the fact that it only has one sleeve. Asymmetry is all the rage in Oz right now, and it's a really pretty dress. But one of my arms is covered and the other is naked. I'm smiling and curtseying to my guests; I'm accepting congratulotions and making small talk, but I can't stop thinking about the dress. Who designed this ridiculous thing?

I announced my engagement this morning from a platform in the city's main square, rather than my usual balcony. It makes the people happier when they can see me up close. My time among the common people of Oz has given me a great deal of respect for them, and I wish that they made up my present company. But my formal Engagement Ball is an exclusive affair, so I am surrounded by a crowd of politicians and dignitaries, celebrities and the up-and-coming of the Emerald City. Basically, I detest everyone here.

There are strings of twinkling blue lights strung through the ballroom: bubble lights, they call them. They are an homage to what has become a theme of mine. A few months ago, the Wizard introduced me to a new invention of his: a mechanized bubble which allows me to make even showier introductions than before.

We introduced the bubble this evening. I glided down from the ballroom ceiling in it to meet my Intended on the dance floor as a full orchestra played. Everyone applauded and cheered: they thought it was magic, of course. It was like something from one of my childhood fantasies. That is until the first dance ended and I was obligated to twirl on the arms of old men who smell like mothballs and leer at my chest or chat incessantly about their latest business ventures. Several times, I resisted the impulse to "accidentally" step on feet.

"If Ambassador Valen comes near me again with his horrendific breath, I can't be responsible for where my heels end up," I tell Fiyero as we are finally permitted to begin our second dance together. He doesn't even respond as he starts leading me across the floor. "Are you sure you aren't mad at me?" I ask for what may be the sixth time tonight, watching his face for signs of emotion, but he doesn't give me anything to go on. Understandably, our engagement came as a bit of a shock to him.

I expected him to be happier though. I expected me to be happier, too.

"I'm not mad at you," he says, leaning in so that only I can hear him. "It has nothing to do with our engagement. It's just Morrible. I can't help but think that she uses every single public appearance as an opportunity to denounce Elphaba. Even when it's completely unrelated."

"I don't like it either," I sigh, resting my head on his shoulder. "It's just one of those inevitable facts. I have my role. Morrible has hers." I've become numb to Morrible's speeches. Shutting down is the only way to get through them.

"It's not inevitable," he says, close to my ear as we sway. "Let's leave here tonight and join the resistance. I know they're out there; we just have to find them. And then we'll find Elphie and it will be the three of us together again, just like the old days."

"Don't glamorize it, Fiyero. It wouldn't be like the old days. You and I would be fugitives. We'd be hiding out in peoples' attics and basements, in constant fear for our lives. It's not like we even have magic to help us like she does. What kind of a life is that?"

"It's a life with meaning, instead of this empty existence. Admit it; you're not happy," Fiyero says.

"I'm as happy as I could be given the circumstances. Remember that night on the rooftop of the Tavern in Shiz when you said that Oz was ours? It's ours right now, right here. Can't you see that? It's everything we ever could have wanted. The stars have even come down from the sky for us," I say, gesturing to the bubble lights.

"Yet you still have those nightmares," he says as the music ends. So there it is, thrown back in my face by him as always. After the last dream, when he tried to be comforting, I thought that maybe things would be different.

"Excuse me just a clock tick," I say with as much restraint as I can muster, digging my fingernails into the palms of my hands.

I might look perfectly composed to any outsider, but this night is not going well, and I need a nice dry wine to help me through it. Fiyero has talked about running away before. He gets on these kicks; one time he even packed up all our things. We had quite the fight after that. But he always snaps out of it after a few days. He always sees that it's better for us to stay here. This is just very bad timing for one of his… episodes. I'm so frustrated, though. He needs to stop taking low blows at me. We can't keep living like this if we are to be married!

"Guards! Guards!" the Wizard's voice booms over the intercom as I'm pouring my glass. As if things could get any worse! Wineglass in hand, I turn to see Fiyero off and running through the crowd toward the throne room: the source of the commotion. It's probably something stupid. Perhaps a drunken guest is trying to climb the mechanical head. Or Chistery is loose… again. The last time he made a royal mess of the palace pantry.

Whatever it is, the interruption is totally unfair, especially now that I have a bone to pick with my fiancé. I turn to the revelers, who have momentarily ceased their revelmentations in concern of what may be happening. "His Ozness may need my… powers," I say and start walking toward the throne room as fast as my outfit allows. It's only then that I realize that I'm being foolish. Reckless. What if the threat is real? Well, who fucking cares? As I rush through the door, I almost collide with something green.

It can't be. But it is. Of all the possible scenarios. It's her.

Why here? Why now? Is this another nightmare? I feel like my heart has stopped in my chest and time is frozen as she turns to look at me, dark eyes wide. She looks a fright. The lustrous raven hair I remember is dull and matted. Her dress is in tatters: frayed at every edge, shredded and haphazardly mended back together by someone who has no eye for needlecraft. Her face is smudged with dirt and there are brambles stuck to the brim of her hat: the same stupid hat I gave her years ago. She has no obvious injuries, and she doesn't appear to be any thinner than she was at Shiz, if that could actually be considered a comfort.

But she looks haunted. And she looks at me in my ornate ball gown and sparkling tiara as if I'm the ghost here.

I need to know that she's real; that I won't pass right through her. I fling myself into her arms. She tenses for a heartbeat then she's there to meet me, holding me as tightly as ever. No matter what she thinks of my life, she doesn't hate me. Thank Oz!

"Thank Oz you're alive," I say, nuzzling my cheek against hers. She smells like she's been sleeping in a barn, but I don't loosen my grip. I don't ever want to let her go. I want to wash and comb through her hair. I want to dress her in clean clothes and give her a hot meal. I want to sleep in her arms again. I want to tell her everything on my mind and heart. But it isn't safe for her to be here.

"You shouldn't have come," I say, realizing the danger she's in. Reluctantly, I release her. She needs to go before anything happens. Where is Fiyero? He can get her out safely.

Without a word, my long-lost friend points a green finger to the other side of the room, where my fiancé is aiming his rifle at the Wizard. The sight makes the breath catch in my throat and I am more afraid than I've been in any nightmare. Because this is reality. When the other guards arrive, they'll shoot Fiyero on sight. He's sentencing himself to death!

"Fiyero!" I cry, "What are you doing? Have you misplaced your mind?"

"Glinda!" he shouts, never taking his eyes off the cowering Wizard, "Please just get back to the ball!"

There's no way I can do that, not with Fiyero and Elphie both in danger. Stupid Elphie for coming back. Stupid Fiyero for being so rash. I need to do something. I run to the Wizard's side, staring straight down the barrel of Fiyero's gun. I know he will not fire it. Not with me standing here. Fiyero's jaw clenches. He will not lower the rifle.

I look at my employer, the man who has elevated me to greatness and done so much for me. The man, who at this moment, is in direct opposition of the two people I love the most. And he's just as cowardly as ever. He takes my arm, shaking with fear. "Good girl, Glinda, stall them," he whispers. "Stall them until the rest of the guards come." That's the last thing I want to do.

"Your Ozness, please, he means no disrespectmentation…" I beg, "We all went to school together."

"Go," I mouth to Fiyero, who is slowly backing away, rifle raised. Elphie is standing by the doorway, looking totally shocked. She needs to run, now, while she has the chance. I shoot her a pleading look.

"I'm going with her," Fiyero says. It's what I expected him to do; it's the only way he'll be safe now. But he looks at me as if he's finally won a battle. His expression stings like a slap. Elphie, on the other hand, looks shocked and scared. He practically has to drag her out the door. For one last, painful moment, her dark eyes meet mine. There is so much I wanted to tell her, and now I'll never get to do it. Ozdamnit, I am losing them both!

Once they disappear from my view, I crumble to the floor.


It's only now that the chaos is over that I'm hit by the full implications of what happened. It feels like being kicked in the ribs and having the wind knocked out of me. It hurts to breathe. Fiyero got what he wanted: his little fantasy of running away. I told him to go, but he didn't exactly have my blessing. It was a matter of necessity. Now I'm suffocating on questions unanswered. Does he love her? And more importantly, does she love him? Will they make a life together without me? Has anyone ever really loved me? Was I always just in the way? I can't stop living. I've been telling myself that for years. But it seems that I have stopped. I am frozen in time. Everyone is living but me.

"Leave!" I bark at Helene, who has just escorted me back to my room. She doesn't deserve this treatment, but I can't have her hovering and fussing about. I don't want to be touched and reassured. I want to break things.

I hear my maid close the door behind her and I fling myself onto my bed, pounding on the mattress with my fists. I pull a pillow to my face and scream into it. I tear my sheets from the mattress, twisting myself up in them. Now that I've started making a mess, I can't stop. I go to my wardrobe, yank the clothes from the hangers and toss them across the room. Then I start on my shoes.

You had ties, Fiyero's voice says mockingly in my mind, for instance your shoes. I cast them every which way, and when there are none left to throw, I wrench the ones I am wearing from my feet. I send them hurling into the full-length mirror on the opposite side of my bed, which shatters on impact. Pieces of glass fall everywhere. I am tired of this image of perfection. I am tired of this empty shell.

Why have I stayed so long? I could have left with Elphie all those years ago. I could have left with Fiyero a month ago when he packed all our things. Who did I do this all for? My parents, who I never see? My friends, who I have long-since turned away from? Or was it all for the girl in the mirror all along? Galinda? Glinda? Who am I?

I pull the engagement ring from my finger: an engagement ring that was never given to me. An engagement ring I bought myself. I send that into the mirror, too, knocking loose another shard of glass. Then I slump over, there on the floor, and cry harder than I ever have in my life. I cry until my head is pounding. I cry until I vomit all over the skirt of my engagement party dress.

I cry until there are no tears left.


I am laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, just as I have every night since Fiyero left with Elphie. I think this is the fourth one, but the days are running together. I haven't left this room. Every day, Helene has tried to come in and every day, I've sent her away. The meals she's set outside the door for me have been left in the hallway to rot. I have no appetite. I haven't been sleeping. I am sure it's only a matter of time until the Wizard sends for a doctor. But I am slowly putting myself back together…

Today, I finally cleaned up the mess I made. I bathed. I picked up my clothes and my shoes. I remade the bed. I put everything back in its appointed place. I even threw away the mirror glass, though I probably wasn't as careful as I should have been. There is a long cut across my left palm which probably should have been seen to. I cleaned the wound as best as I could and wrapped it up.

Perhaps tomorrow, I will rejoin the living. I will put on my clothes, make up my face and stroll the palace. I will make polite, superficial conversation, resigned to my designated role in life. Pretty, superficial Glinda. Devoid of all depth. The perfect puppet, to be folded and put in a drawer alone when the show is over. But I will allow myself one more night of laying here, letting my heart ache and feeling sorry for myself.

Only, it occurs to me, I must have actually fallen asleep at some point. I must still be asleep and dreaming, because I feel the breeze from my closed window. I hear a soft creak. I turn my head to see a dark-clad figure lean a broom against the wall.

"You're not real anyway," I mutter into the darkness, aggravated by her refusal to let me dream in peace.

"Hello to you, too," she says.

"Might as well get this over with," I say, sitting up in bed. "What torments do you have planned for me this time? Chop chop, let's get this done so I can go back to wallowing in my misery…" I say, feeling some of the anger return to my empty shell. My entire body buzzes with the sensation. The anger is bringing me back to life. At the very least, I can release some of my aggression on this dream Elphie, chase her from the corners of my mind so that perhaps my sleep will be restful.

I rise from the bed, stalking toward her on unsteady feet. "The Wicked Witch of the West," I sneer. "I'm so, so terribly afraid. Especially since there's nothing left for you to take from me. You can't break me any more than I've already been broken!" I fling myself toward her, landing the back of my hand against her jaw. She flinches, and so do I, because it hurts. Is it… Is this… real? I don't stop for long enough to find out.

I strike at her chest with my balled fists again and again. "How could you?" I demand. "How could you, after everything?"

But all too quickly, my anger is draining away. I am weakening and she is wrapping her arms around me. With one last burst, I knock the stupid pointy hat from her head: the piece of me she still carries with her. I want her to carry me with her. I want to melt into her and disappear. And she's pulling me to her chest; my cheek is resting against her shoulder. Her fingers are in my hair. I could melt. I could disintegrate. I could become nothing, and none of it would matter.

"Feel better?" she asks me.