"And nobody in all of Oz — no Wizard that there is or was — is ever gonna bring me down!"
A disbelieving laugh escapes Glinda's mouth (Elphie has presentation skills!) before reality hits her so hard she isn't even sure reality is what it is. Despite everything — her warnings, her pleas, their friendship — Elphaba is being rash and extreme (as per usual, the stubborn green bean).
And the worse part is that she understands.
But Elphaba is taking a leap she won't be able to come back from and Glinda feels a desperation seize her chest. "I hope you're happy!" she calls. Her voice is swallowed up in the cacophony as if she never spoke.
Elphaba, her declaration heard, disappears into the night.
The silence afterwards is defending. It must last only a moment but the ticks of the Time Dragon clock seem to slow, and sounds become muffled and distorted as if underwater. When Glinda finally resurfaces, it's to the panicked, deep voices of the guards.
"We've got to tell the Wizard!"
"She got away! How could this happen?"
"She is Wicked!"
And then they turn to Glinda. No one quite knows what to do for a moment. Then one guard — almost certainly the Captain, tall and muscular — steps forward.
"Who are you? State your name and intentions!" the Captain if the Guard demands, his tone harsh and direct.
Glinda opens her mouth to respond when she is suddenly struck with doubt. Not of her name, of course (that is something she is always entirely clear on) but . . . what are her intentions? What just happened? — no, she knows what happened. But what will happen next?
"Your name!"
Glinda whimpers. "G-Glinda." She hears the stammering and shaking in her voice and scolds herself (you're an Upland, pull yourself together). She straightens her shoulders and stands tall, trying to display a surety to match the guard's. "Glinda Upland."
"She was with the Witch!" a guard yells, frenzied.
"The Witch claimed the girl's innocence, said she had nothing to do with it!"
"And you would believe her?"
"But this one doesn't look Wicked, her skin is clean!"
"Perhaps then it's true!"
"We have no way to know." The Captain says and turns again to Glinda. "You! What do you say for yourself?"
"I — I —" she hesitates (why is everyone here so damned tall?).
The Captain sighs — the short, tense kind reserved for misbehaving children and, it seems, potential threats to the state. "Very well. Take her to the Wizard!"
Strong hands grab the blonde's arms from behind.
"Hey, what are you doing?" she snaps, eyes wide, "Let go of me!"
But they don't. If anything, they grip her more tightly, unceremoniously ushering her out of the attic, through the staircases, and into the Wizard's room where everything started.
It looks weirdly unchanged after everything that has happened.
The Head stares down at the guards as they enter with Glinda.
"Report!"
The Captain puffs out his chest and steps forward authoritatively.
"The Witch was more powerful then we anticipated, Your Ozness, and we could not capture her . . . but we have the young lady she was with. Whether she was an ally or a hostage, we could not tell. . . ."
"Very good, Captain." The booming voice which can no longer frighten Glinda speaks, "You have done well. Leave the girl with me and search the grounds for any sign of the Witch. You are dismissed!"
"Yes, Your Ozness!" chant the guards before they leave in synchronized step.
They look like sheep, Glinda thinks, believing there to be no reason to mistrust their god who is no more than a man. But in their absence, the room feels vast and cold, and Glinda's heightened senses pick up barely audible voices behind the sound of the Wizard disengaging himself from the giant head.
"We can't just send her away . . . knows too much . . ."
". . . not as stupid as she lets on. . . ."
As soon as the giant head is silent, so is the room.
The Wizard walks out, looking nothing but a fragile old man. Madam Morrible is barely a step behind, hands clasped behind her, chin lifted, mouth curved in a knowing smirk that doesn't quite conceal the hungry gleam in her eyes.
Not a word of greeting is exchanged.
"Let's get right down to business, shall we?" Madam Morrible says sympathetically, as if she thinks it's reassuring, as if everything will be alright. She nods to the Wizard.
"I would like to offer you a proposition." the man himself begins. "You see, we have a bit of a predicament, what with your friend having run off and all — what a shame, what a shame..."
"Such a power, put to waste!" Madam Morrible chimes in, shaking her head in disappointment.
"We would like to offer you a position of great esteem. You see, as of now, we have an enemy. The people of Oz will be afraid, and they will need someone to reassure them. Someone associated with me. I am a very busy man, you see. . . ."
"But you have no real power." Glinda states blandly. Ears ringing. Mouth working without her consent.
"Not magical ability like Elphaba, no,"
"But he has immense social power." Madam Morrible is quick to interrupt. "Something you, of course, are very familiar with."
Madam pauses and her ever off-putting smile grows as if in acknowledgement. "This . . . illusion of power, shall I say, is very important to maintain — the people depend on it. We would like you to help us."
"Help you?" Glinda squeaks. "Me?"
"Part of the Wizard's power lies in him remaining ominous. He doesn't make public appearance." she laughs as though the idea is ludicrous.
"The power of the press is very important, which gives our new Press Secretary — your Madam Morrible — a great deal of influence. But she doesn't have to be the only one." The Wizard smiles welcomingly. "We would like to raise you high, Miss Glinda. You could outshine even your own expectation! Loved by all of Oz!"
Glinda feels a smile on her own face, too. She can see it all, her hopes and dreams actualized, and a feeling spreads through her of yes, yes, this is what I am meant to do!
But. . .
No. This has to be wrong.
"But . . . what about Elphaba?"
"Elphaba will be fine, we won't let any harm come to her," the Wizard assures, waving his hand dismissively.
". . . and . . . and the Animals,"
"You must believe me when I say it's for their own good."
She doesn't. She doesn't believe him.
And yet . . .
Glinda feels herself doubting. Falling prey to the power of want — or perhaps simply to the power of an ignorance that she was once content to be blind to.
She blinks, ears pounding in her head. Her stomach twists into a knot.
"You will be a public figure, living in the Emerald Palace. Servants tending to your every need, giving speeches of good cheer to the frightened people."
Yes, yes, this is what I am meant to do! — but, frightened people because of Elphie? That sounds so wrong.
That is wrong. . . . And yet . . .
It is as if Morrible can hear the thought process in her head.
"You are a very smart girl." she drawls, slow and precise, "We are out for your very best interests — After all, I'm sure you realize that there are much worse places for you to be then the Emerald Palace. South Stairs, for example, isn't nearly as . . . accommodating. You don't want to end up like the witch, now do you, dearie?" The older woman's eyes twinkle and the implication is perfectly clear.
"So, do you accept my proposition?" the Wizard asks casually as if no threat has been uttered.
Head reeling, Glinda sets her jaw.
"Yes." she says firmly, "Of course, Your Ozness."
Madam smiles sickeningly. "Very good." She raises her painted eyebrows as if something had just came to mind, but her eyes don't change. "Oh, and one more condition worth mentioning, dearie — you may no longer call her Elphaba. She must remain nameless."