Spend all your time waiting,
For that second chance,
For a break that would make it okay,
There's always one reason,
To feel not good enough.
And it's hard at the end of the day,
I need some distraction,
Oh beautiful release.
Memory seeps from my veins,
Let me be empty,
And weightless and maybe,
I'll find some peace tonight.

In the arms of the angel,
Fly away from here,
From this dark, cold hotel room,
And the endlessness that you fear.
You are pulled from the wreckage,
Of your silent reverie.
You're in the arms of the angel,
May you find some comfort here.

Angel, Sarah Mclachlan

Chapter 25

By the time Avaric arrived at the palace, he was out of breath and, in spite of the cold, had managed to work up a sweat. He had no idea how Elphaba could outrun him, but he hadn't managed to catch up with her. As he stood outside the palace gates, trying to assess what he should do, he heard a scuffling sound from the far end of the tall fence. Avaric followed the sound around the corner, to one of the side access gates used by the press and the palace staff. Two disheveled reporters had emerged, both of them breathless and blood spattered. Avaric's stomach sank, because he knew something was very wrong.

He looked at the two men with confusion, and one of them sputtered, "They killed the Wizard! They've killed the Wizard…"

Avaric's sense of foreboding worsened, "Who?"

The reporters just shook their heads, clearly shaken and unable to piece together what had happened. Since both men appeared to be okay, Avaric dashed through the open gate behind them and made his way across the outer courtyard. He looked around, noting the strange lack of security. Normally, he wouldn't have gotten more than a few yards into the courtyard before being accosted by the Gale Force. Now, though, he continued on unimpeded. Noting the open access gate to the left of the main palace entrance, Avaric headed in that direction.

When he slipped through the gate, he could hear screaming and the sounds of chaos. Then there was one, resounding gunshot, and all was quiet. Avaric began to run, because everything in him told him something horrible had happened, something more horrible than the death of the Wizard.

He burst through the nearest open door, which led through a large kitchen. He cut through the maze of tables and threw open the far door. Avaric found himself in a long hallway, which led to the inner courtyards. Following the corridor at a brisk pace, he looked through the arched gates into each courtyard.

Suddenly, he ran into two more members of the press corps. A man was helping a woman who had obviously been injured. She clutched at her arm, her eyes wild. They barely looked at Avaric, so he brushed past them and headed towards the gate through which they'd come. He walked into the innermost courtyard, and froze.

The scene was horrific, yet was strangely quiet. The Wizard and the members of his advisory panel lay dead around the podium. At least two of the Gale Force guards and one of the Apes were among the casualties. The members of the press were trying to regroup, helping the injured among them into the overturned chairs and trying to determine what had happened. The other Ape was gathering up weapons, while the Bear and one of the Wolves tried to help the second Wolf nurse a gunshot wound. The Tiger held the remaining guards at bay with a low growl and his lethal claws.

Then, Avaric trained his eyes to the far side of the courtyard, where some of the uninjured reporters had gathered. At their feet lay Elphaba, with Galinda crouched over her, sobbing. Like vultures, the press were already snapping pictures and writing furiously. Avaric crossed to them, an overwhelming feeling of dread washing over him. When he reached Galinda, he knelt down beside her.

She looked up, startled, "Avaric?"

He tried to smile, but it was more a grimace. Avaric surveyed Elphaba, noting the blood that was soaking through her dark dress. It was on Galinda's hands, from where she'd touched her friend, and on the blonde's crisp, new dress. Avaric swallowed, because the scene was horrific, and he was struggling to remain objective. He noted how ashen Elphaba looked. She'd become almost more gray than green, and she was completely still. He felt for a pulse, trying to remember the training he'd received in the Relief Corps. He laid his hands on her chest, and then put his face very close to hers, trying desperately to find signs of breathing. There was nothing, and his hands were now tacky with her blood.

For a moment, Avaric looked away, trying to keep his composure. He'd seen a lot of horrible things in Quadling country and poverty-stricken Munchkinland. He'd seen disease, death, and fights over food turn into homicide. It had all changed him, but this was different. Elphaba was his peer, his schoolmate, and his, albeit unwilling, lover. And now here she lay, lifeless, and he and Galinda were covered in her blood.

Avaric took a deep breath and looked to Galinda, who was trembling. He tried to gather strength and said, "You need to say something. It appears you're in charge now, and Oz will descend into anarchy if you don't stand up now and lead. Give the press a statement, now."

Galinda shook her head, "I…I can't…I need Elphie…"

"Yes you can," Avaric's tone was firm, "You must."

He stared at her for a moment, trying to encourage her strength. Finally, Galinda stood up shakily and tried to wipe the blood from her hands. Another sob escaped her when she realized it was in her hair.

"Galinda…" Avaric tried to calm her.

She swallowed the tears and nodded slowly. Then, Galinda crossed to an empty area of the courtyard, motioning for the press to follow her.

Avaric took a deep breath, more terrified than he was willing to show. He had never, in all his life, imagined he would somehow be tangled up in something like this. As a student, he'd once vowed never to stand for anything, because it was easier to flounder. Now, he was present for the assassination of the Wizard of Oz.

He tried to swallow past the fear, and carefully slid his arms underneath Elphaba. He had no idea what he was doing, but it seemed wrong to leave her lying on the stone floor, for the press to gawk at. Avaric lifted her carefully, and she was limp in his arms. Suddenly, he flashed back to Shiz, remembering how surprised he'd been at how light she was, when he'd accidentally flung her across the room. She was no heavier now, as he carried her carefully across the courtyard. He stopped in front of one of the guards, who was being guarded by the Tiger.

"Is there a palace doctor?" Avaric asked gruffly.

The guard nodded. Up close, Avaric could see that he was just a boy of perhaps eighteen, nineteen years. He looked terrified.

"Do you understand that you are now under the authority of Press Secretary, Lady Glinda?" Avaric demanded.

The guarded nodded again, glancing at the Tiger.

"Tell me where I can find a clean bed, and then go fetch the doctor," Avaric ordered.

"There's a servants' quarters down the hall, fifth on the left…" the guard pointed toward the door behind him.

Avaric glanced backward one last time, to make sure that Galinda was still talking to the press. Then, he pushed through door into a long corridor, and headed towards the room the guard had indicated. Once in the servants' quarters, he surveyed the room. They were several beds, all very simple, but clean. Avaric went to the closest one and carefully laid Elphaba down on the freshly pressed linens. He was afraid to do anything more, for fear of causing further injury. Something twisted sharply within him, as he also questioned whether there was anything more to be done.

Avaric found a wooden chair, and pulled it next to the bed. He sat there for minutes that ticked by like hours, and listened to the deafening silence around him. Elphaba did not move, did not flinch or give any indication of life. Avaric felt a terrible churning in the pit of his stomach, because, as much as he tried to deny it, he was now a player in this horrible tragedy.

Galinda came stumbling in several minutes later, followed by a man that Avaric assumed must be a doctor. The young guard followed along as well, looking very lost and uncertain.

Avaric stood and said to him, "You stand outside this door, and you guard it as though the Wizard were here. Lady Glinda is your new leader, do you understand?"

The guard nodded and took his post. The doctor crossed the room and set his bag of supplies on the bed. He surveyed Elphaba, and was clearly startled.

"She's always been green," Avaric offered, hoping to put the focus on the real concern.

The doctor looked relieved, and set about his work. As he rummaged in his bag, he said, "I suppose I should be asking why I'm helping someone who has assassinated our Glorious Wizard?"

Galinda inhaled sharply and spat, "Because she is worth far more than your sham of a Wizard! He's dead now, which I think calls his claims of immortality, as well as a few other things, into question!"

The doctor studied her, and then wordlessly went back to work. He pulled a pair of scissors from his bag and made quick work of cutting Elphaba's dress from ankle to shoulder. Avaric turned away as the doctor had Galinda help him pull the clothes and cloak away from her body and drop them to the floor. Avaric heard Galinda gasp, and she backed up into him, burying her face into his chest without regard for whom she was clinging to.

"Elphie…" she cried softly, "Elphie…"

Avaric looked up then, not out of perverse curiosity, but because he needed to know the reason for Galinda's reaction. The doctor would have to speak with someone, and Galinda was clearly too emotionally devastated to listen. When he allowed himself to look at Elphaba, Avaric drew in a deep breath as well. She lay there in just her knee-length undergarment, bare from the waist up. Still, her nakedness was not what shocked him. Her chest was covered in blood. The source was a musket wound to the right side of her chest, which had flayed open her skin and left a dark, deep entry wound.

The doctor was shaking his head and trying to clear away some of the blood with some cloths. Once he had part of her chest somewhat clean, he pressed more cloth to the wound to stem the bleeding. Then, he placed a stethoscope on her skin and listened carefully for some time. The doctor said nothing as he placed more cloth over the wound, and then listened again.

Avaric finally pulled Galinda away from him and looked into her tear-stained face, "I have to go for Matvei," he said.

Galinda's eyes widened, as though she hadn't thought beyond her own grief, "No…I can't be alone here…I can't…"

Avaric put his hands on her shoulders, "Come what may, you're the leader of Oz now. The palace will be in chaos without you. You have to stay here, and someone has to get Matvei…and Mia…"

Galinda looked haunted as she whispered, "Come what may…"

Avaric squeezed her hands tightly, and then hurried back through the palace the way he had come. The Animals were now acting as guards in the courtyard, instructing the former Gale Force in cleaning up the mess and escorting the press out. Avaric continued without looking back, until he was on the street once more. A small crowd had gathered, as the hospital cart arrived for the wounded members of the press. A few people looked at Avaric strangely, as he pushed past them with blood on his hands.

It took him a few minutes to secure a decent carriage, and he paid extra to have the driver take him directly to the fourth ward. The driver eyed his blood-stained clothes curiously, but took the fare and spurred the horses into a trot.

Matvei was stirring pasta in the kitchen of the restaurant when he heard a loud pounding on the door. He looked up, surprised, and wondered if Elphaba had managed to lock herself out.

She went blazing out of here so fast this morning. Maybe she's calmed down a little…

He was wiping his hands on a cloth as he pulled the heavy, wooden door open. Matvei felt a stab of fear when he saw Avaric standing there, covered in blood. It took only a moment for him to deduce that Avaric had suffered no injury, but that something terrible had happened.

"It's her, isn't it? Sweet Oz…it's Fae…isn't it?" Matvei choked out.

Avaric nodded, struggling with what to say, "They shot the Wizard," Avaric managed to get out, "They shot him…and someone shot her…"

"Is she all right?" Matvei asked tightly.

Avaric just shook his head.

Matvei felt bile rise up in his throat, and he turned and crossed to lean his head against the wall. Then, he pulled his arm back and punched the plaster, "I knew something was horribly wrong this morning! I knew it, and I never should have let her out of here! I knew…" his voice caught then, and he put his head in his hands, to conceal the tears.

Matvei had felt the pain of loss before. He had already buried his family once. He had never imagined he would ever love that strongly again, and yet now, he felt as though his heart were being ripped in two once again. Somehow, over the course of six years, he'd opened himself up to love Elphaba. She was the sister he didn't have and the daughter he'd never been able to raise. And now this.

Avaric cleared his throat, "You should come. Now."

Mia appeared then, looking frightened when she saw the two men so distraught. She looked up at Matvei and whispered, "Mat?"

Matvei turned back toward the wall, trying to compose himself. After a moment, he asked, "Is she…?

"I don't know," Avaric said hollowly.

Avaric took Mia by the hand and started to lead her toward the door. Matvei started to protest, "I don't think she should—"

"Everyone deserves a chance to say goodbye," Avaric interjected.

Matvei was silent, because the thick knot of emotion in his chest would not allow him to speak. He knew Avaric was right, though. It would be cruel, for a child to lose her mother and never have the chance to say goodbye. Death would not be made any easier by hiding it.

So Matvei left Gervais in charge of the kitchen, and then lifted Mia and carried her to the waiting carriage. She clung to him, sensing in her own way that something was very wrong. The driver spurred the horses into motion again, and they were off to the palace to confront the horrors there.

Later that same night, Fiyero sat in a tiny tavern north of the Emerald City, just south of Shiz. He was nursing a drink and trying to drown out the pounding in his head. He swirled the glass around in the rings of liquid on the wooden counter, considering the notion that the headaches were related to his sudden decrease in alcohol consumption. He'd been strangely sober for the past week, and this was the first drink he'd had since he'd left Elphaba that morning. Somehow, it was lacking in both affect and appeal.

Fiyero sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was travel-weary from having ridden in a carriage since sunrise, yet he wasn't ready to retire to the expensive room he'd rented in the inn across the street. It was ridiculous, he knew, but he was afraid of being alone in the dark with just his thoughts. He felt that being inebriated would allow him to simply pass into unconsciousness, but he was failing miserably at drinking, thus far.

He had left that morning with the idea that he would leave Oz behind. He would travel by carriage or wagon as far as he could get, and then buy a good horse. He would ride beyond the borders of Oz and start his life wherever he found civilization, or he would die in the wilderness. The notion of death didn't stir up much of a reaction in him, so he would take what came. He had a plan, but still, he was unsettled.

Fiyero took another sip of ale and rubbed his eyes. He knew what was troubling him, but he had hoped not to confront it. He'd hoped to keep moving until the inner turmoil passed and he could resume drinking himself into numbness. Yet it was a nagging, unsettling feeling that would not be ignored.

This doesn't feel like I thought it would, he admitted to himself.

When Elphaba had suddenly confessed her love the night before, it had been like another knife in his heart. Then, before he could start screaming, he'd realized the perfect way to hurt her. Fiyero realized that he had before him the opportunity to make her feel exactly as he had. In his dark, hate-filled heart, it had seemed such a perfect plan. He'd summoned up all the hate he'd been storing for so many years, and turned it on Elphaba. He'd made love to her with everything in him, so that the pain would be all the more personal to her.

When he had her laid out before him, more vulnerable than she'd ever been, he'd felt as though all the stored up hatred was pouring from him. Fiyero had believed he would be able to leave it with her. He would leave her with nothing but the same hate he'd been carrying for six years. Then, he would start a new life at peace with the whole mess. But somehow, when he'd slipped into a carriage the next morning and disappeared, the feeling of peace never came.

It made him a little angry, because even revenge wasn't sweet for him. Fiyero was beginning to think he was simply unable to find satisfaction in this wretched life. He'd expected to feel a tremendous sense of victory and release from having finally served Elphaba what she deserved. He'd hoped to disappear and start a new life somewhere where no one knew him as Fiyero Tigelaar, the Arjiki prince. However, he was plagued instead by a nagging feeling of disgust with himself. From the moment he'd walked away from Elphaba, he'd felt nothing but hollowness and nausea.

I thought revenge was supposed to be sweet, he told himself bitterly. If that was true, he'd obviously gone about it wrong, because all he was left with was a sour feeling and another headache.

I hate her! Fiyero tried yelling at himself, So, why can't I be satisfied with this?

He slammed his fist down onto the wooden counter, so frustrated he wished someone would just punch him unconscious.

"I'll be throwin' you out, if you're gonna pound your fist through my counter," a gruff voice barked at him.

Fiyero looked up into the face of a round, weathered woman who was polishing glasses just a few feet away. Her silver hair was trying to escape the messy knot at her neck, and her face was all heavy folds and deep laugh lines. Her eyes were bright though, as though hard work might have weathered her body faster than her spirit. She stared him, trying to determine if he warranted further attention.

"Sorry," Fiyero grumbled, not wanting to cause a scene.

"I have to say, you do look pretty sorry," the woman commented.

Fiyero didn't disagree, and took another sip of his drink, hoping she would bother someone else.

"What troubles you? Lost some money gamblin'? Get kicked out of your ritzy hotel for bringing whores in with you?" the woman guessed.

"No!" Fiyero shot back at her, disgusted. Then, he felt a twinge of realization that all those things were things he would do.

The woman leaned on her stout arms and asked, "Some girl, then? Someone broke your heart and you tryin' to drown it in liquor?"

Fiyero snorted, but didn't have the strength to argue.

"Come on," the woman refilled his glass and waved away payment, "tell Bretzka what sins you've committed. All the rest of 'em does…"

Fiyero twirled his glass again and gave her a dark look, "It's not my sins…" he mumbled.

"Someone wronged you then?" Bretzka asked, raising an eyebrow as she wiped the glasses again.

"It's not worth telling. It's done," Fiyero shrugged.

"From the looks of you, it's far from done," she suggested, eyeing him carefully, "Lovers' spat, maybe? You moonin' over some pretty, young thing?"

"I hate her!" Fiyero exploded, drawing a few curious stares. He turned his attention quickly back to his hands, and whispered tightly, "I hate her. We were never real lovers."

Bretzka put the glasses down, leaving one on the counter for herself. She poured herself a generous serving of ale and said, "Were you false lovers?"

In spite of himself, Fiyero said, "She used me…"

Bretzka urged him on, and Fiyero found himself spilling the whole, sickening story. He had no idea why he was sharing his life with a stranger, but then, what else had made sense recently? He had no idea how he felt most of the time, except that it was generally bad. He hovered between explosive hatred and aching depression. He was losing interest in the vices that had gotten him this far, and he was finding little else to turn to.

So he told Bretzka how Elphaba had used him and lied to him about Avaric. He worked his way through two glasses of ale as he confessed how he had disappointed his family and returned to the Emerald City a failed prince. He grumbled about how he'd spent years learning to drink and seduce women, and how he'd focused on the hate until it consumed him. He pounded the counter a little more as he described how disgusted he'd been to know Elphaba was alive and well. He told how sick it made him feel to think she'd born a child and told no one, and that she was cruel enough to let him think it might be his. He vented how vile, selfish, and deliberately malicious she was, and how she deserved every minute of hurt he'd caused her.

"And so I left her there," he finished the story, "I left her in the bed, just as used and unwanted as she left me."

Bretzka studied him for a long time, not saying anything. She sipped her drink, and he noticed she was quite proper about it, for someone so rough and round. Finally, she set down the glass and said, "So…you've been working mighty hard on this hate…"

"She deserves it," Fiyero spat.

"And has your hate changed her life? Is she sufferin' because you hate her?"

"She is now," he answered.

"And yet you seem so…unsatisfied," Bretzka said with a twitch of her eyebrow.

"I don't appreciate your implications," Fiyero mumbled.

"And I don't appreciate your pathetic excuses for hate," she threw back.

"What?" Fiyero's head snapped up.

Bretzka stood up and pointed a finger at him, "The way I see it, you were both young, ignorant, and terribly naïve. She never said she loved you, and you were naïve enough not to walk away. And she was careless and selfish, but selfish is not the same as malicious. She hurt you. Understood. But you've spent what…six years…perfecting your hatred toward her? And what of all these women you've brought home in that time? How is what she did any different than what you did to them?"

"They all knew we had no relationship!" Fiyero interjected.

"Did they?" Bretzka questioned rhetorically, "And the way I sees it, what this Elphaba did was thoughtless. What you did was deliberately malicious. She ignored your feelings, but you struck with the intent to harm."

"Her intentions were far from noble with me," he growled.

"So now you've had your revenge. Is it sweet?" Bretzka asked.

Fiyero started to answer, but couldn't bring himself to say yes, "Maybe it's not supposed to be sweet," he grumbled.

Bretzka snorted, "You've left this Elphaba terribly wounded, but what about tomorrow, when she gets up and goes on with her life? What about when she finally finds someone else and your hurt ceases to affect her? What of you then? Will your life be any better?"

Fiyero had no answer, so he looked away.

"Let me ask you…in all these years, has all this hate affected anyone but you?"

"She did this to me. Elphaba made me this way," Fiyero choked out.

Bretzka leaned back and considered, "That may be true, but I ain't never heard of a time when holdin' a grudge made a bit of difference. It just makes you old before your time, and you die lonely. You better move on and get past it, or go ahead and die. 'Cause that's where you're headed anyways. Hate don't change the course of things, just speeds it up. You'll just be rottin' in your grave, takin' all your hate with you and no one up here will be one bit different."

Fiyero just sat there, the sour feeling in his stomach making him push his glass away.

Bretzka started to walk away, and then turned back to say, "You don't have to love her. But you've got to forgive her. Or, you might as well die."

Then she went about her business, leaving Fiyero to take or leave her advice.

When Fiyero climbed the steps to his room that night, he was leaning towards the latter choice. It would certainly be easier. He could buy a decent musket and just get his life over with. That would most certainly put an end to this constant ache in his chest. Still, as he crawled into bed, Fiyero couldn't seem to settle himself on death. He couldn't get past the cowardice of it. He'd never been particularly full of conviction, but he'd also not been raised as a coward.

Fiyero finally fell into an uneasy sleep, and his dreams were filled with images of Elphaba. He dreamed of her skin and the scent of her hair. He dreamt of the way her body moved with his, and how her eyes could burn right through to his soul. When he woke, he felt an abiding sense of regret that his plan for revenge had involved touching her. He was terribly conflicted, and his headache had not improved.

Fiyero dressed carelessly in the same clothes he'd worn the night before and clumped downstairs. He slowly made his way across the street to the tavern. He noticed there was more of a crowd outside than he would've expected at breakfast. Pushing through the door, he noted that it was strangely quiet inside. Fiyero looked around, and the expressions on the patrons' faces ranged from somber, to angry, to strangely excited. He crossed to the counter and slumped onto a stool. When he saw Bretzka, he motioned for her.

"Drag yourself into another day of hate?" she jeered.

Fiyero ignored her and asked, "What's going on?"

Bretzka worked her lips over her teeth, deciding whether he was worthy of being privy to the information. Finally, she slapped a newspaper down in front of him, "Someone's killed the Wizard," she stated.

Fiyero felt a stab of shock, and then pulled the paper toward himself. He read the bold headline, which proclaimed; Wizard of Oz Assassinated. He scanned the article, trying to make sense of what he was reading.

Yesterday morning, our Wonderful Wizard of Oz was assassinated in his private courtyard during a routine press conference…died of a single pistol shot to the head…sometime after noon…also killed his six-person panel of advisors. The palace is now under the control of Press Secretary Lady Glinda Arduenna…later made this statement, 'I believe some aspects of our Wizard's leadership have been called into question…seriously debunking his claims of immortality…calling for a need to reevaluate his legislation.'

Fiyero was stunned, unable to believe the Wizard was gone. Although his father had often spoken of the times before the Wizard, Fiyero had known no other leadership. He'd never had a particularly strong opinion on the matter, and most everything he knew about the Wizard's agenda had come from Elphaba.

Elphaba.

He shook her off again and continued to read.

The Wizard and his staff were attacked by a group of Animals…Gale Force engaged them in a gunfight and brawl…one injured, one dead…strangely, the assassin was female. She has not been named, but was dressed in black, and her skin is green. What odd, new race she might represent is unknown, as is her name…Lady Glinda was oddly upset…the assassin was shot by a member of the Gale Force…

Fiyero stopped. He felt a surge of a feeling he couldn't identify.

She did it…she really did it…he said over and over to himself, knowing that deposing the Wizard had been Elphaba's goal since Shiz, She did it, and they've shot her…did they kill her?

He searched the rest of the article, trying to find confirmation of either outcome. There was none. It simply described Galinda's frantic reaction. Still, that told him something. Galinda would not be upset if all was well.

Fiyero sat back, trying to calm his raging nerves. He had no idea how he felt. He had no idea how he was supposed to feel. If Elphaba had been killed, should he be glad? Did that resolve this raging war that had been going on within him for years? Bretzka's words from the night before haunted him, and he realized how very tired he was. He recognized how low he'd sunk. And then he realized something else.

Even if she'd died, Elphaba had done something. She'd followed through on what she wanted in spite of him. She had grabbed hold of her life and done what mattered to her, and all his hate and spite hadn't stopped her. It was a harsh reality, and it only accented what Bretzka had said.

Hate don't change the course of things, just speeds it up. You'll just be rottin' in your grave, takin' all your hate with you and no one up here will be one bit different.

Something snapped within him, and Fiyero finally gave in to the realization that his grudge had changed nothing, and it wasn't even satisfying to him anymore. He had spiraled downward to this moment, when he had to make a choice. He could make his peace with Elphaba and move on, or he could follow through on his plan to put a musket to his head. He couldn't love her again, he knew. He was too hard, too jaded, and too much had passed between them. Still, he could forgive her. Fiyero struggled for a few minutes, afraid of letting go of the hate, afraid of feeling all the hurt again, just to put it aside.

Yet when he had decided, he wasted no time. He charted a carriage and paid the driver well to take him quickly to the Emerald City.

I'll make my peace and head back to the Vinkus. Father could use my help, he told himself, Surely Elphaba will live until I get there…surely fate wouldn't have her die before I finally resolve this…

At the palace, Galinda sat in the room with Elphaba, as she had all night. At her insisting, the doctor had removed the bullet from Elphaba's back and bandaged the wounds. He'd agreed to come at the first indication of any change.

Matvei had arrived the previous evening with Mia, led by Avaric. Matvei was terribly distraught, and had fought back tears when he'd seen Elphaba lying so still. The amount of blood was horrifying, and yet they were afraid to move her enough to change the bed linens. Avaric had said very little, and Galinda was disturbed at seeing him so somber.

The world is upside down and backward. How far we've come…and how did we ever end up here…? she asked herself.

They had spared Mia any details as of yet. Galinda refused to allow them to tell the child her mother was dead. She wasn't ready to make the admission herself. Still, Mia was quiet and sullen, too smart not to know that something was horribly wrong. She spent the night with Matvei in one of the palace suites, clinging to him.

Galinda was startled, then, by the doctor returning to the room. He was hollow-eyed and quiet, having slept as little as she had. He crossed to Elphaba and carefully examined her again. Galinda watched him listen for any signs of life, and then examine the wounds. She crossed and stood anxiously by the bed.

When the doctor looked up, his face was set in a resolute expression, "She's gone, Madame."

Galinda began to tremble, "No..No."

The doctor took a breath, "I told you this all might be in vain. She was most likely gone before I got to her."

Avaric entered then, having promised Matvei that he would bring a report before Mia woke up. Galinda turned and, seeing him there, shouted, "Tell him she's not gone! Tell him to do something!"

Avaric swallowed, wishing for the thousandth time that this role had not fallen to him, "Galinda…"

"No…" she shook her head frantically.

"She's not bleeding, Madame. It's stopped…" the doctor tried to explain.

"But isn't that good?" Galinda choked out.

The doctor shook his head, "Her blood isn't moving. I can find no sign of life."

Galinda squeezed her eyes shut and shook her curls, "No! She cannot be gone! She doesn't look…dead…" she finished in a whisper.

Avaric swallowed, not sure that he had ever seen anyone look more deceased. Still, for Galinda's sake, he put a hand on her shoulder and said nothing. The doctor began to put away his instruments, and Galinda sat down on the bed beside Elphaba. She took one pale, green hand in hers and said nothing more. She was still sitting there hours later, with tears running silently down her face, much the same way Elphaba had so many years before in their dormitory.