A/N: I was planning to publish this as part of my Past Colwen Grounds series, but liked it too much as a standalone to let it get lost in there, so here is it separately.
Disclaimer: Don't own Wicked.
It wasn't a new feeling. It couldn't be. Outwardly, she was trying to act though a piece of herself had snapped, as if it were all in the spur of the moment, but she knew deep down that that could not be so. She had the capacity to be spontaneous, oh yes, but Elphaba was no fool. She would never allow herself to be carried too far astray by her whims, without proper deliberation.
And that proper deliberation, it seemed, had been ongoing for a long time already. Her greatest ambition had been to meet the Wizard, surely? Of course it had. But that was not the full extent of it. She had wanted to meet the Wizard so that she could work with him, not under him, and certainly not for him. She had wanted the chance to do good. Actual, real good. And the Wizard's power had been a means to achieve that.
But she had been different from the moment she was born.
Her whole childhood and adolescence had been spent in the shadows of those around her; she had never been the centre of attention, and, while lonely at times, that had given her the chance to escape the crowd. She had been able to develop her own ideas, without influence from mainstream propaganda, and this afforded her an extra layer of insight on the current situation.
Yes, she had wanted acceptance. Yes, she had wanted fame, and appreciation, and the ability to feel like more than an outcast for once. But that was not why she had done this. She had said it to the Wizard himself - she was not just there for herself; she was there for the Animals too.
The terrifying slope of oppression that was now facing the Animals of Oz, had consumed her mind since she had first been informed of it by Doctor Dillamond. In a sense, she felt it gave her a sort of kinship with them - something that she had never felt with anyone else before. She knew what it was like to be othered. She knew what it was like to be shunned by society for the simple crime of being different, and she knew the pure agony that could bring on someone's soul - or, perhaps, in her case, lack thereof.
And so she was left with a choice.
Two options. One, a selfish victory, where she could finally feel appreciated by the people who had never seemed to want her. A kick in the teeth to her tormentors, who would see her success and wish they had kept their mouths shut before; she would get her long-awaited satisfaction, but at what cost? It would be a shallow life, full of empty words and background chatter, which had the potential to be even more hurtful than the screaming had been. They did not want her, so why should she want them?
So she looked to her other choice. A dangerous life. A life with no safety, no security of purpose, and damn well no appreciation from the public. But a life where she could remain loyal to herself. Where she would not have to forfeit her one real connection to a group of others, for false admiration. A life with no masks or shallow words or passive action. Where she could be herself, and the acceptance she would feel would be genuine, from those who could truly understand her, and whom she could understand in return.
It was as if a hurricane had been devouring her from the instant she was informed of Oz's atrocities by her beloved Goat professor; each second her inner feelings and thoughts were tossed around with no restraint, her mind becoming more and more muddled with a cloud of doubts, until in that one second it all went calm.
If her two options were mutually exclusive; if working with the Wizard meant working against the Animals, then there was no question anymore.
She was in the eye of the hurricane, watching all hell break loose around her, and her mind was made up.
She had no choice.
She had to fly.