A/N: And I'm back - bit of a madhouse over here, ladies and gentlemen. Hopefully, everyone's staying safe out there, and that I can bring some very small measure of levity to these trouble times.

So, without further ado, the latest chapter: read, review, and above all, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Wicked is still not mine.


Glinda's initiation rites were scheduled for the following morning at nine o'clock, in a hidden forest clearing just beyond Pelagraeus Lake.

Though this had sounded unusual, the First of the Shapeless had explained that it was the closest rendezvous point for the members of the Amorphous League still making their way across the Deviant Nations; plus, given the reportedly chaotic nature of first transformations, a forest setting meant less property damage occurring during the ceremony. Elphaba had protested the location and the attendance rules for the ritual… but then again, it wasn't as if she'd had any shortage of things to protest that day.

It had been a little over nine hours since the conference, and since then, Elphaba had done everything she could to talk Glinda out of her sudden ambition to join the Amorphous League, short of threatening the First of the Shapeless. She'd wheedled, harangued, debated, reasoned, argued, shouted, and pointed out every single logical drawback from A to Z until she was out of breath and in danger of turning blue, but no matter how hard she tried or how desperately she pleaded, Glinda refused to listen. Nothing could dissuade her, not even the warning that her initiation rites might put her at serious risk; for once, it was Glinda who was flinging herself blithely into mortal danger and Elphaba who was trying to talk her out of it.

She'd even gone to the trouble of insisting that the Mentor deny Glinda's request, but it seemed as both iterations of Glinda were determined to block her at every turn that day: not only had the Mentor refused Elphaba point-blank, but had insisted that Glinda's initiation rites be carried out as soon as logistics could allow. And as infuriated as Elphaba was, she knew that this time there honestly wasn't much point in getting angry with her over this: after all, an alliance with the Amorphous League was one of the best military assets the Deviant Nations could get at this point, and with the threat of another major attack by Unbridled Radiance always looming on the horizon, it wasn't as if Mentor had the luxury of abandoning the deal, not with millions of lives in the balance. And as much as Elphaba hated to admit it, Glinda was a logical choice for a star recruit: after all, she'd fought alongside her in the battle in the skies, and though Elphaba had been given most of the publicity, Glinda the Good's name had made it into the newspapers. Who could be better poster child for a recruitment drive than a woman already accustomed to the spotlight?

No, for once, Elphaba couldn't be angry with the Mentor. At this particular moment in time, the damnable old woman was being almost infuriatingly reasonable for a change, even offering a few token apologies as she'd pointed out that the decision was out of her hands.

Right now, she was angry with Glinda.

In the hours since the meeting, she'd been unbelievably tight-lipped: she hadn't offered a single, solitary explanation as to why she was submitting herself to an unknown procedure with Lurline only knew how many dangers on hand – or at least, nothing that Elphaba could recognize. In fact, she hadn't even been alone with Elphaba at any point since the conference, instead spending the last nine hours with Leafcutter or the First of the Shapeless looming over her shoulder. And in all that time, all she'd had to say was "it's the only way we're going to get through this deal, right? That's all the reason I need."

Elphaba wasn't buying a word of this: Glinda was hardly the kind of person who'd make spur-of-the-moment decisions like this outside of battle or shoe-shopping sessions; indeed, she'd chastised Elphaba for doing exactly this more than once, so why was she suddenly so determined to take such risks? It couldn't be for anything as simple as wanting to help Elphaba in the war, could it? She was already doing that, after all. So why was this reckless decision so important to her?

She'd wracked her brain over and over again, but no answers occurred to her. And so far, nobody else had any insights, not even the growing number of Amorphous League members lurking about the palace – all of whom refused to question Glinda as a matter of principle.

Eventually, she went so far as to ask the First of the Shapeless himself, but even he turned her down; by the time she'd found him, he'd taken the shape of a giant octopus and was preoccupied with helping Dr Coil assemble the newest of the Mentor's experimental war engines. As such, he hadn't even bothered to turn around to offer a refusal.

"We don't questions reason in times of trial," he told her, as he busied himself with assembling the scaffolding. "And we certainly don't question the desire for personal change. But if Glinda finds that her beliefs are incompatible with ours, well… she may leave our ranks once this war is over, give up the use of our potion and change no more. If she finds that her nature is simpatico, then she will remain one of us. Perhaps in time, she may even become one of the Shapeless, existing beyond the boundaries of form and dancing from one body to the next for all eternity."

Perhaps noticing the look on Elphaba's face, he sprouted another face from the back of his head to properly speak with her, and added, "If it's matters of safety that concern you, I can promise you that Glinda will not come to any harm during the ritual tomorrow: I've made contact with the surviving members of the League, and all of them have it within their power to support her during her metamorphosis."

"And what about the potion she's supposed to drink tomorrow? Is that safe as well?"

"Oh, perfectly; we've confirmed that our current supply of the elixir is entirely without toxic elements, and after forty years of dedicated research, we know the effective dosage required for first transformations."

"…you mean it might not work if she's given too little?"

"Hardly. The problem isn't of giving her too little, but of giving her too much: new recruits have a limited tolerance to the elixir; over time, that tolerance will grow alongside their powers. After many years of growth and progressively larger doses, their powers become self-sustaining and they no longer require any potion at all; from then on, they are Shapeless. But in the meantime, their access to the elixir must be carefully monitored lest they drink too much in one sitting."

"And what happens if they do?" Elphaba asked, suspecting that she already knew the answer.

"Perhaps you've seen the effects of long-term exposure to the potion? After all, you've met Omber Landless, seen how the divide between male and female has become meaningless in their case. Omber was forced to leave us before becoming one of the Shapeless, and thus belongs to the lower end of the spectrum. I belong to the end of that scale: you can see how my natural form is entirely protean; I have no set form now, and change comes to me as easily as breathing."

By way of a demonstration, dozens upon dozens of human faces emerged from his flesh like rising dough, eyes and mouths oozing in and out of his rubbery red skin as he flexed his powers.

"I got that, yes."

"Good. Now try to imagine gaining all my powers at once without the ability or the will to control them."

"So it'd result in uncontrollable shapeshifting?"

Leoverus shook his head. "Worse. Every first metamorphosis features a brief period of uncontrolled transformations before the initiate's powers stabilize... but in the case of overdoses, it never becomes controllable and it never stabilizes. The victim will continue to transform until their cellular structure loses all cohesion and simply collapses in on itself; with no ability to reintegrate their cells, the victim is immediately reduced to inert liquid."

There was a pause as Elphaba digested this newest titbit of belated information.

"In other words," she said icily, "This could kill Glinda if you screw up the dosage?"

"Oh no," replied Leoverus. "Nobody who's experienced an overdose of the elixir has died as a result of it. Through magic, we've been able to measure enough brain activity from their liquid remains to confirm that the victims are still alive and fully capable of thought. True, they aren't entirely conscious – it's a state more comparable to dreaming than anything else – but they're at least partially aware of their... condition. Enough to psychically beg for death, though our attempts to oblige them have been met with consistent failures: no matter how hard we try to destroy, disperse or dilute their liquid forms, their minds remain intact."

Elphaba groaned and hid her face in her hands. In all her life, she'd never met anyone this cataclysmically blunt; it almost made her nostalgic for Kiln's own brand of confession, enough to wish that he'd been the one to break the news to her: okay, the explanation would have been halting, anxious, procrastinating and studded with faintly condescending excuses, but at least it would have delayed the point long enough to brace herself for the worst.

But even with all the unwanted information now piling up inside her skull, she found herself asking – almost without thinking, "And these failed initiates… can they be restored?"

"We've tried – or at least, those of us with access to their funerary urns and an inclination to experiment have tried. Trouble is, we just haven't had the time, the resources or the facilities to accomplish this, and with the war a priority, scientific inquiry's taken a backseat. Even reporting this information's been a bit of a trial what with so many different listeners monitoring transmissions." Amidst the blossoming mass of protean flesh that was his body, Leoverus smiled ruefully. "Also, our researchers tell us that memory tends to degrade quite aggressively after a few years of paralysis; chances are that our overdose victims will have lost all sense of identity by the time a cure's made available to them… if such a thing would even be possible."

As an afterthought, he added, "Don't worry: as I said, the dosage we provide to our initiates is very precisely measured. It's been twenty years since anyone succumbed to an overdose, and over a decade since we've experienced any serious difficulties with our initiation rites."

"Would that be because you haven't actually had any initiations in the last ten years?"

"Oh, ho, ho. In all honesty, we have had a few new recruits in the previous decade, but most of them have ended up dead or captured – one of the many hazards inherent in getting trapped on the wrong side of No-Man's Land. Most of us have been fleeing away from Unbridled Radiance, seeking refuge in one unconquered land only for the Empress to annex it and force us to go on the run again."

"In that case, I have a very stupid question: if you've had so much problems with recruitment and safety, why didn't you seek an alliance with the Deviant Nations decades ago?"

"We're not a military group, Elphaba – or at least, we weren't. We were hobbyists and hedonists in the old days, researchers in the realms of metamorphic experience, nothing more and nothing less. Okay, we'd do a little private detective work in lean times, but we didn't consider actively throwing our lot in with any side in the civil war or the conflict that followed, not even Glinda's new faction... and by the time we did, it was too late: we were running for our lives. After that, we were too scattered to side with anyone until we managed to get back in contact with each other and limp back to No-Man's Land; after that, it was still a bit of a mess until we received Omber's transmissions and renewed our old partnership with the Mistress of Mirrors… and frankly, I wouldn't have been especially interested if you and Glinda weren't at the centre of it all. You've proved to be something of a game-changer as far as the geopolitical situation goes, haven't you?"

"A lot of people seem to be saying that lately," Elphaba sighed. "I hope you'll pardon me if I roll my eyes. What about Glinda? How can you guarantee her safety if you can't even guarantee the safety of the last ten years of recruits?"

The First of the Shapeless grinned wickedly, showing needle-sharp eyeteeth, and for a split second, his protean features seemed just a tiny bit on the leonine side – a ghost of a mane here, a hint of a muzzle there.

"Because I'm not the Cowardly Lion anymore, Elphaba," he replied. "Because I have the courage to trust in my abilities and those of my fellow league members; because I have the courage to look forward to a brighter future… and most importantly, because I can trust you to support Glinda's wishes and be there to help her through the rites of initiation." That wicked grin rippled across his face again. "Now you run along and relax for the evening: tomorrow is when things are guaranteed to get interesting…"

Unfortunately, that left Elphaba with nothing else to do but to go back to her room and worry for the remaining three hours before bedtime.

Worse still, when she arrived there, Glinda was already being whisked away by Leafcutter for yet another tutorial on the initiation rites she'd be undergoing tomorrow, and barely had enough time to say, "I can't sleep here tonight – doctor's orders!" over her shoulder before the League member hurried her off down the corridor.

Inside the now alarmingly-empty apartment, Dorothy was sitting in silence, hugging Toto and looking even more anxious than Elphaba.

"I guess you're worried about Glinda too, right?" Elphaba asked.

Dorothy shook her head.

"Why not?"

"I don't know; maybe I'm seeing things the Hellion would have seen then, or maybe it's just that she came back from two battles in a row without a scratch. I don't know, but something tells me she's going to be okay."

"Then why are you worrying?"

Dorothy sighed very deeply. "I really don't like it when you two argue, okay?" she said, a tiny bit on the defensive side.

"Maybe you should tell her that," Elphaba retorted, her frustration briefly boiling over.

"I did. She's upset about something, but she won't say what; all she told me was that it's nothing to do with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"I don't know! Maybe you should ask her!" And with that, Dorothy stomped off to her room, her eyes glowing in irritation as she departed.

And in the ringing silence she left behind, Elphaba collapsed into a couch and began gently banging her head against the armrest. How was it possible for a day that had started off so promising to have gone so horribly wrong?

And infuriatingly enough, she still had a dream-pill to take: the Mentor still wanted reports on the past, still wanted Elphaba to see what the Empress had done in the past, and had specifically ordered her to keep on with her usual routine in spite of all the upheaval. Under normal circumstances, Elphaba's rebellious streak would have prevented her from even countenancing this order without a well-deserved grumble or seven. After all, she was already experiencing dream-memories while she was awake; the last thing she needed were drugs that might exacerbate the problem… but then again, she hadn't confessed to that little problem yet, and she was too tired to do so now, and too worn out to argue with anyone else after the last nine hours of arguments.

Besides, she had too much on her mind to sleep, no matter how tired she was; she needed the pill, if only for the soporific effect.

And I've still got the witch-crystal to take on top of everything else. Ten year ago, if anyone had told me I'd be spending most of my adult life taking potentially-lethal controlled substances, I'd have laughed at them. Dear sweet Lurline, what the hell happened to my life?


What had she been thinking?

Back when she'd first volunteered to join the League, it had seemed like a good idea – once she'd gotten over the initial shock, at any rate: it wasn't in her nature to be so impulsive, but as soon as she'd found the time to look back on what she'd just done, the idea made perfect sense.

After all, she'd already proved that she was essentially a lost cause as a witch; even if she did have a thimbleful of potential, she'd never improve her skill in magic soon enough to be any help to Elphaba. So why not make herself useful much sooner? This way, she would get the Amorphous League on the Mentor's side, gain an important military asset for the Deviant Nations, and ensure that Elphaba would have some extra backup to rely on in battle. And maybe, if Glinda learned quickly enough, she might even be the one providing the backup: more than once in the last few hours, she'd envisioned herself swooping into the heart of battle and saving Elphaba at the last minute, shielding her with an armour-plated body before diving headlong into the fray with her newly-grown claws and tusks. She'd even had wild fantasies of being heralded as a hero, of Elphaba smiling proudly at her, hugging Glinda as she received her first medal for bravery.

Then the preparations for the ceremony had begun, and suddenly Glinda's newly-reinflated confidence found a nail protruding from its buttocks.

First there'd been the medical exam in which her medical records had been dissected at length just to make sure that she didn't have any health problems that could endanger her during the initiation rites; then there'd been the discussion as to where the ritual would take place; then she'd been given a long, long set of instructions on what to do and what not to do during the ceremony, most of them safety guidelines to prevent her from being hurt or hurting anyone. And then there'd been the dress rehearsal, during which Glinda had been warned that she might end up accidentally ruining her clothing in her initial transformations – leading to the charming realization that she could very well find herself completely naked in front of a mixed gathering of strangers.

Now Glinda sat alone in the guest room that the League members had been assigned for the duration of their stay, chewing her lower lip and trying not to worry about the future. Though the room had been heated to a positively balmy climate, she was shivering, and a cold sweat was already beginning to inch across her forehead.

Somehow, Glinda was actually feeling the first inklings of stage fright, something she hadn't experienced in years, and even then, never to this extent. She'd always been confident in front of large crowds, just as she'd always known what to say to make people like her, and even when she'd started working for the Wizard – and actually had to do something important with her talents – she'd rarely ever felt nervous about any of it. Maybe she'd felt guilty about what she'd had to say from time to time, but never afraid of speaking in public. Now, she had so many different fears and worries clustered inside her head, almost beyond counting.

What if she screwed up somehow? What if she made a fool of herself?

What if the potion didn't work?

What if she hurt someone?

What if she hurt Elphaba? She was going to be there tomorrow, right?

And that just set off another problem of Glinda's own making: why hadn't she been honest with Elphaba? Why hadn't she been able to just tell her why she'd volunteered to join the League? Why had it been too embarrassing, too painful to just admit that she felt totally worthless compared to Elphaba? Why hadn't she just given up on being coy and said "because this is the only way I can matter!"? That would have at least made her feel a little better, if only because she'd have finally got everything off her chest and out in the open; and surely Elphaba would have understood, right?

Of course, she couldn't afford to admit she was frightened and make herself look like a coward.

But why had she had gone out of her way to avoid her?

Why had she tried so hard to pretend that she didn't need Elphaba's help?

Why couldn't she have just admitted she was tired of being herself?

Why couldn't she be more like Elphaba – braver, stronger, wiser?

But what would have Elphaba have done in this situation?

Well, she wouldn't be in this mess, would she? She wouldn't need to join the League: she'd be strong on her own terms.

She groaned and rubbed her eyes. Maybe a little bit of sleep could ease her mind now that she'd been given the evening off, and the plush divan she sat on looked decidedly inviting. True, it wouldn't be as comfortable as the apartment she'd shared with Elphaba, Fiyero and Dorothy, but the League wanted to keep an eye on her for the next few hours – something to do with the music they had playing on the record player, some special brand of audio relaxant they claimed would prepare in body and soul for the ordeal tomorrow. So for now, the divan would have to do.

But even with the addition of a blanket, she couldn't sleep a wink: for half an hour, she tossed and turned, trying to force herself into unconsciousness through willpower alone, until at last she realized that sleep simply wasn't possible. She had too much on her mind and too much to worry about, and as cosy as this place was… well, it just didn't feel like home.

On instinct, she reached for the jar of pills at her side, readying herself for another nighttime visit to the past; as depressing as these journeys were, the dream-pills at least helped ease her to sleep. And though she hated to admit it, she was anxious to see where they took her next, for at this point in her dream memories, her other self was already pregnant and showing it more clearly with every vision.

But alas she found her pockets empty, and with a distinctly unladylike expletive, remembered that Dr Kiln had confiscated her dream-pills at Leoverus' request: she was to remain drug-free for at least twenty-four hours prior to her initiation. So, no dream-pills and no easy sleep.

Thumping her head against the pillow, she closed her eyes and made a noise like a melting steam engine. Why was it that she had nothing but regrets now that she was taking charge of her life? Why did she feel as though she was going backwards instead of taking forward strides?

Why couldn't she be more like Elphaba?

It'll be alright once the initiation's over and done with, she told herself. Once I'm a shapeshifter, everything's going to be okay; I'll be able to help Elphaba and stand on my own. All I have to do is make it to the morning, and I'll be fine…


"Now then, judging by the relieved smiles, I assume that we've finally heard from the away team?"

"Thaumaturgical interference has disrupted their transmissions, Your Radiance, but we've managed to intercept at least one clear report: they have arrived safely at Pelagraeus Lake and are ready to begin preliminary raids on Deviant settlements; the farms to the east of the forest are effectively defenceless, and the harbour on the other side of the lake has yet to detect their presence. The destruction of either target will take some time due to the comparative distance, but he assures us that it can be accomplished with zero casualties."

"Good. Has protection from shadow-scrying been maintained?"

"There have been a few lapses, but none that could indicate that the Mistress of Mirrors will know of our activities."

"Then the test has been a success so far. Was there anything else?"

"…we also received an addendum to the report two minutes ago; it was badly garbled, but I believe that the commander was reporting signs of increased enemy activity within the forest and taking cover in order to preserve their zero-presence profile."

"Hmmm. The area we selected should have been unoccupied at this time of year, and the area is of little utility to the Mentor's armed forces. Something very important must be taking place… but what could possibly prompt military activity in such an inconsequential area?"

"Paragon is already conducting calculations, Your Radiance. Current projections suggest that the Deviant Nations are conducting a weapons test of their own."

"Very well then. If you can maintain communications long enough to send word to him, tell the commander to investigate and remain unseen unless he recognizes any of the select VIPs among the gathering, in which case assassination protocols are to be enacted."

"As my Empress commands."

"One more thing, Alearhn; tell the commander to destroy the gift basket we left in the area before taking action against the Deviant forces. We cannot afford to have any hint of our strategy revealed to enemy investigators. His sacrifice will be honoured by all who strive for beauty and perfection…"


Dawn arrived to find Elphaba trudging through one of the coldest forests she'd ever had the misfortune to encounter.

Right now, it wasn't even winter yet, but already there were traces of frost in the grass; her breath emerged as a plume of fog before her, and she'd been specifically instructed to wear an overcoat. On the upside, at least she wasn't shivering alone: along with Glinda, she was also accompanied by a small knot of additional attendees there to offer medical assistance, perform research, provide emotional support, or just officiate, including Dr Kiln, Fiyero, Dorothy, Omber Landless, Leafcutter (who'd grown a thick pelt to keep out the cold), the First of the Shapeless (who had sculpted himself into a large bear for much the same reason).

For good measure, they were being escorted by about twenty-five armed security personnel lead by Captain Wolton – just in case there happened to be anything hazardous out in the forest. "I know the Hellion's dead and all," Wolton had explained, "But you never know when the next bogeyman's going to come lurching out of No-Man's Land, so it's better to be safe than sorry."

Frankly, Elphaba was too tired, too cold, and too worried about Glinda to worry about anything that might replace the Hellion. She'd been woken up at five in the morning and given just enough time to wash, dress and breakfast before being bundled into a courier's air-sloop and catapulted out of the hangar so violently that that her stomach still hadn't caught up with her yet. Plus, the transport had been even colder than the last troop transport she'd been on, so the warmest part of the journey had been when Dorothy had fallen asleep on her shoulder and started sleepily calling her Aunt Em.

And throughout all of it, Glinda had steadfastly refused to talk to her; even though they'd been siting directly across from one another, she hadn't even been able to make eye contact with her. It had taken every last drop of Elphaba's willpower to keep herself from screaming "What the hell am I doing here?! Do you even want the emotional support?"

But Elphaba had remained silent, so Glinda had remained silent, and they'd stayed that way even as the transport had dropped out of the sky and disgorged them into this chilly lakeside forest.

For the last half an hour, they'd marched through the gloomy trees without exchanging a single world with anyone, not even Dorothy or Fiyero. Elphaba had hoped that whatever was preying on Glinda's mind would have faded a little as the sun finally rose, but the look of blank, unthinking dread hadn't left her face yet. And there was something else there, some emotion that looked oddly familiar to Elphaba, but she couldn't place it. Maybe-

"Halt!"

Snapped out of her reverie, Elphaba looked up to see the trees ahead part, revealing a wide clearing large enough to accommodate most of the group; at Leoverus' direction, Elphaba, Dorothy, Omber, Fiyero, and Dr Kiln took up positions at the very edge of the clearing near their entrance, while their escort clustered in the forest beyond, hidden among the trees and boulders.

As for Glinda and the two league members in attendance, they took up positions at the front of the congregation in front of Elphaba and the others; then, moulding themselves into the forms of two large wooden folding screens, they ushered Glinda behind them.

"What's going on?" Elphaba whispered.

"I think she's getting changed," said Kiln.

"Her clothes weren't formal enough for the occasion?"

Omber shook his – or her – head. "Clothes don't generally survive the first transformation," they explained. "Or any transformations, really. Once you learn how to mimic clothing, it's simpler and easier just to craft them out of your own body rather than going through the same routine of ripping them to bits if you get too big or leaving them behind if you get too small. Long story short, she's being given some disposable clothing for the occasion – mainly for the sake of dignity, but… oh, here they are."

Elphaba was halfway through asking what Omber was talking about when they appeared from the other end of the clearing, shifting in and out of wildly improbable forms as they glided from the trees; in one or two cases, they were the trees, scuttling out of the ground like overgrown spiders. Others were luridly-coloured birds, packs of oddly sluglike wolves, thirty-foot-long pythons with scales that seemed to move of their own accord, iridescent boulders rolling along the forest floor with eerie grace, vast swarms of beetles layering the ground in a living carpet of insects as they slowly coalesced back into singular forms. Crowding into the clearing, they swiftly assembled into a circle, allowing Leafecutter and the First of the Shapeless (now in the shape of a human with skin as grey as concrete and a cloak like the wings of a bat) to join them at the head of the congregation.

By now, they had assumed nominally humanoid forms, each one uniquely configured to the personal tastes of the shapeshifter: bizarre hair colours and constantly-changing haircuts were common, as were kaleidoscopic eyes, prehensile beards, antennae, clothes grown from fur or carapace, and even multiple faces. Elphaba instantly recognized Shenshen-Pfannee, along with the kitchen boy who'd been spying on Kiln, but the rest were complete strangers. One way or the other, these were the greybeards of the Amorphous League, accompanied by the one or two apprentices who yet lived; including Leoverus and Leafcutter, there were nine of them.

"Brothers and sisters," the First of the Shapeless proclaimed. "Welcome. It has been far too long since we saw each other in the flesh."

The league members bowed their heads in respect and murmured their own greetings.

"At last we are united once again; alas, we have seen so many of our best and brightest fall to the predations of Unbridled Radiance, lost so much and recovered so little. For too long, we've been running and hiding, too afraid to seek the protection of others for fear of endangering ourselves – or endangering those who might shelter us. And so, as we have before, we must change: our time in the shadows is as at an end, my brothers and sisters. It's time to forge new friendships. You see, my friends, we have a chance to reclaim all that was taken from us and more; now, with the help of the Deviant Nations, we can reclaim the joy and freedom our pursuits once granted us, and we can share that joy with thousands of others. Our message will no longer be hindered by Unbridled Radiance or the need for secrecy; our words will be heard by millions from one end of this land to the other, and all who suffer in the prisons of their static forms will find escape in our open arms!"

He smiled wider than ever, a million grinning mouths appearing across his body. "It's time we took our masquerade to centre stage, my friends. For Shapelessness."

"For Shapelessness," the League members chorused.

"And what better way to begin this new age of cooperation and renewal than with the first formal initiation our society has seen in years? We have a new apprentice today, brothers and sisters, a hero of the Deviant Nations who can bring our message to the people: today, we welcome Glinda Uppland to the circle of initiation."

"We welcome her," the League chorused.

As if on puppet strings, Glinda marched robotically into the circle, tottering to a halt in the centre; pale as a sheet and trembling like a leaf, she was now dressed in a loose-fitting green robe that looked about eight sizes too big for her, the hem pooling around her feet and dragging behind her in a vast train as she crept onward. In all the years they'd known each other, Elphaba had never seen Glinda this nervous in front of a crowd; perhaps that had been the reason for her earlier silence, but that still couldn't explain everything.

"We bring her before us as an equal," Leoverus continued. "We accept her among us without judgement or condition. We bring to her the blessing of transformation; we bring her freedom; we bring her the first step on the road to Shapelessness."

A small conical flask was being passed from hand to hand among the circle, and as it arrived in the First's outstretched claws, Elphaba at last saw the fabled elixir of the Amorphous League: at first deep forest green, it was then purple, then black, scarlet, metallic gold, luminous pink, milky-white, blue as crushed sapphires, and a thousand other imaginable shades of colour… and was it Elphaba's imagination, or were there tiny hands and tendrils forming on the surface of the liquid?

"Through the Elixir of Shapelessness, we transcend the limitations of shape and form," Leoverus went on. "Through this potion, we escape from the prisons of our own bodies; through this potion, we attain true freedom in Shapelessness. And now, at her own request, we grant this blessing to another…"

He held out the flask to Glinda, who accepted it with trembling hands. "For Shapelessness," he intoned.

"For Shapelessness," Glinda replied, clearly doing her level best not to stutter.

"For Shapelessness," the circle chorused.

"Now drink deep," Leoverus proclaimed, "and let your metamorphosis begin."

And with that, Glinda tipped back her head and downed the contents of the flask in one gulp.

Then, all around her, the Amorphous League began to chant: "Imago, imago, imago, the wings take shape; imago, imago, imago, the cocoon begins to crack; imago, imago, imago…"

"You'd best brace yourself for the worst," Omber warned, their voice almost inaudible over the chanting. "This is where things get messy."

"Why?" Elphaba whispered back. "She's just going to transform, right? It's not as if she's actually going to get hurt, provided they got the dosage right."

"First transformations are always upsetting, believe me: before you gain control of your powers, they're essentially under the influence of your innermost desires and fears and lusts and dislikes. You transform into whatever your unconscious mind dictates, and I know from experience that it's not pleasant; suffice to say there's a reason why we don't conduct these ceremonies in rooms with mirrors anymore."

"Does it hurt?"

"No, but... it definitely feels very disturbing. It's a bit like being operated on under heavy anaesthesia: you don't feel pain, but you feel like you should. Point is, this is just the initial awkwardness we have to get through in order to get to the good stuff. And… here we go."

As one, the League members stopped chanting, bowed their heads, took several collective steps backwards, and knelt before Glinda. Elphaba couldn't tell if this was in reverence or out of caution, but either way it had to be serious. Five seconds went by in total silence, and then another. Was Elphaba imagining things again, or was Glinda starting to twitch ever-so-slightly?

And then, without warning, Glinda began to grow: her legs telescoped upwards, sending her hurtling towards the canopy of trees above even as her increasingly enormous arms began to thresh the air like windmills in their agitation. With a series of audible thuds and crunches, her torso began to swell with muscle, quickly pulling her robe taut; before long, the once-oversized garment was reduced to a small poncho barely in a position to cover anything above Glinda's massive kneecaps. For a few seconds, her head lingered behind the rest of her body, a tiny golden-haired shape wobbling on the end of her tree trunk-like neck; then, as if being inflated like a balloon, her skull grew to match the rest of her, her eyes and lips bulging grotesquely as her features swelled to proportionate size.

The roughly ten-foot-tall giantess tottered in place for a moment, staring down at herself in utter bewilderment as she took in her new appearance. Then, no sooner had she had time to adjust to this, Glinda began to shrink: before the eyes of the onlookers, she seemed to deflate, her muscles melting away into feeble, stick-thin limbs as she sank back down to the ground. In a matter of seconds, she'd dropped below her original height and dwindled down into a tiny, almost doll-like figure no bigger than four and a half feet, the sleeves of the robe dangling over her miniscule hands, the hem piling up around her feet. Her face shifted wildly, one minute retaining adult features, then warping into childlike proportions, her mouth gaping open wide in fear as she took in the now-gigantic figures surrounding her.

Then, without warning, arms began erupting out of her back, dozens upon dozens of spiderlike hands exploding from her flesh in all directions. As Glinda screamed in confusion, the arms began to seize her body wherever they could find a grip, fastening on her shoulders, her face, her hair, her arms, her legs, her belly, on anything they could grab – even weaving under her robe. Then, they began to pull her in all directions, her flesh oozing away in their vicelike grips like stretched taffy; bit by bit, she was wenched out of shape, forcibly elongated into a growing pile of fleshy strands, a vast heap of living ribbons that wailed in terror as they unfurled across the forest floor.

Before long, Elphaba couldn't take another second of the screams; mind blank with panic, she lunged forward, instinctively intent on helping Glinda despite having no idea how she could do so under the circumstances. No sooner as she started forward, however, strong hands seized her by the shoulders – Omber on one side and Kiln on the other. "She's not in pain," Omber whispered emphatically. "Just remember that she's not suffering."

It was very hard to Elphaba to take this into account, though: the heap of human ribbons had begun to melt into a huge gelatinous puddle of flesh, almost featureless except for the vast toothless maw at its centre, still screaming in terror and disbelief. Huge tentacles rippled out of its oozing bulk and lashed the air, snapping branches and sending the League members ducking for cover as it grabbed at the trees around them – almost as if it were trying to rip itself apart again. From its molten humped back, humanoid figures began to emerge like dough rising in the heat of an oven, until Elphaba recognized the still-developing features of Fiyero, Madame Morrible, the Wizard, and Nessarose. Legless, mounted on umbilical stumps emerging from the blubbery back of the monster like the heads of a hydra, the facsimiles groaned and gurgled helplessly as they struggled to gain definition.

Then without warning, the entire blob turned inside out and dissolved into a vast swarm of rats, each of them squeaking in terror as they flung themselves into the mouth of a huge and particularly self-satisfied-looking cat, which promptly dissolved into the contorted shape of a corpse dangling from a scarecrow's frame, which then shaped itself into the grinning, eerily-perfect figure of one of the Purified; it promptly screamed in horror and self-loathing, and exploded into a mass of living flame…

The transformations were progressing faster now, leaving less time between transitions, less time for Glinda to react, and less-recognizable shapes; in the space of forty seconds, she took on no less than forty different forms, ranging from a grotesque giant slug with the teats of a cow and Glinda's screaming face to a colossal swarm of locusts sculpted into a crude human figure. She took on the faces of people she'd glimpsed only in passing, or of classmates she'd know back at Shiz; for a split-second, she was Fiyero, in full uniform and as resplendent as he'd once been; she became herself at several different ages, appearing as a grown woman, a teenager, a child, an infant. There was even one moment when she took the form of the Mentor, her arm withering away into a stump and sprouting a metallic prosthesis.

By the end of this first transformation, Glinda was once again gigantic, a thirty-foot-tall monstrosity of bare muscles and misshapen bones, a flayed giantess struggling under the weight of her own lopsided arms. The robe had long since been torn to shreds, and now Glinda's enormous body stood naked – without clothing or skin – trying to cover herself with her misshapen limbs. In terror, revulsion and despair, the monster bellowed loud enough to scatter birds from the surrounding trees...

And the she shrank, dropping out of sight, sinking below the heads of the still-kneeling League members. Heart hammering, Elphaba peered over the edge of the circle, but they were already parting to let the onlookers see what had happened.

Glinda now lay on the forest floor: she was naked, exhausted, and covered in a carpet of fallen leaves, but otherwise she didn't seem hurt. Plus, she wasn't transforming any longer. But Leoverus was frowning, and several of the League members were muttering to each other in consternation.

"Something's wrong," Omber whispered. "She hasn't returned to her original form yet."

Elphaba looked again; what with all the leaves that had fallen on her in the wake of her final transition and the early morning shadows obscuring her body, it was hard to tell what Glinda now looked like. As far as she could tell, Glinda was back to being human and female… but her hair had gone from golden-blonde to glossy black.

Then Glinda stood, hastily crossing her arms over her breasts as she stumbled to her feet – and now there could be no mistaking who and what she'd transformed into. Elphaba knew those familiar features all too well; she knew every inch of the figure that now stood trembling before them, studying her green-skinned hands in astonishment – for Elphaba had seen those narrow features staring back at her from the mirror every day of her adult life.

Glinda had been transformed into a perfect duplicate of Elphaba.


A/N: Any guesses as to what might happen next? Feel free to theorize!