Disclaimer: Not mine. 'Wicked' belongs to Gregory Maguire.


003. Ends.

Yet, She Wonders

When she isn't reading, or seeing that every household chore is done perfectly, she stares out her window with a forlorn expression, formulating ambiguous questions and thinking dubious answers. Her blue eyes scan the park she has walked so many times, and the flowers she has seen die and bloom over and over as well.

She has become a Lady, the Misses of the House, a woman of Society, reserved and preserved.

Yet: her once golden curls lay flat and almost white against her head and neck. Her once radiant skin seems to have developed folds, wrinkle under wrinkle, story under history.

She is alone: she has been for a long time. She is thin, too thin; she has lost interest in food and its appeal is but a distraction. "Unfortunate," she hears the servants mutter when they think she isn't listening.

How she longs, in the end, that she wouldn't be alone. How she longs that, after so many years, at the verge of passing, she would have some company.

She longs to have chosen different paths when she was still young. She longs to have done the right thing, to have gone with her, instead of being stuck in this huge house with empty rooms and soundless echoes.

She wishes, in the midst of her death, to have gone with her.


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