No One Mourns the Wicked - But What About the Good?
AN: An author's note before the chapter! :o
Anyway, sorry for the long, long delay in updating. I managed to get a new job, which combined with a case of writers block that kept me from continuing. Also, I finally got my hands on the book, which was wonderful.
That said, I started this fic as a musical fic, and I will continue it as a musical fic, but I'll probably throw a few things into it from the book, that I especially liked.
Now for the story.
----------------------------------
Elphaba watched, and waited. She slept hidden in the day, and watched at night. She studied the building where Glinda dwells with an almost feverish intensity, noting the times where the woman is watched the least. She bode her time, devising plan after plan and discarding them with the same regularity.
As she sits now in the small shed she has been using as her hideout for the past few days, she watches the waning daylight. She grows restless with the anticipation of the night and her freedom under the cover of the darkness, and settles down in the corner to wait out the sunset.
"No good deed goes unpunished." She says to herself softly, thinking of her friend shut up in the rooms of her large house, regarded as a curiousity. "I sheltered Glinda from the secret of my freedom. It would have been too much for her to bear." A tear slips down her green cheek. "Of all people, I should have known how heavy a burden guilt can be." She finishes bitterly, her voice breaking. Instead of dissolving into sobs, Elphaba rises to her feet and draws her cloak tighter. She has heard the gossip through the city about how Glinda the Good had declined. Most people now thought she was quite mad. She had made sporadic appearances at the Anniversary celebration for a while, but for the last two years she had not even made a showing. Elphaba sighs, knowing that once and for all she has to put things right. She sets her chin and looks once again out the window. Judging the darkness to be just about right, she crosses the tiny shed in two quick strides and slips out the door. She moves quickly across the grounds to the house, slipping through the shadows with a practised ease.
From her nightly investigations, Elphaba knows exactly what time the servants retire for the evening, except for the night attendant who checks Glinda's room at precisely midnight, and again at three. As she moves to the door, she places her hand on the handle and takes a deep breath. The door is never locked, not even the most foolish citizen of Oz would enter the house of Glinda the Good, especially not now that the woman's health had declined so. Even so, Elphaba lets her breath out in relief when the handle turns under her hand and she passes silently into the house.
She walks briskly down the hallway, her steps echoing softly. From inside the rooms, the sound of her step doesn't differ much from that of an attendant. Her eyes constantly search the hallway, looking for one door in particular, as well as any sign that she could be detected.
"Where is it?" She says aloud, her eyes moving from one door to the next. Her footfalls speed up as she becomes more anxious. Much more time wandering around and someone would find her.
Elphaba is hurrying down hallways now, glancing at doorways. Her heart gives a frantic leap as she hears the sound of a door opening. Cursing, she ducks into the nearest room, praying that it would be empty. She closes the door softly, sighing as the footsteps continue past her hiding spot. Bringing a green hand up to rub at her eyes, she sags against the door as she turns. What she sees next opens her eyes wide with surprise, and she bolts upright, momentary fatigue forgotten.
A thin woman is sitting at a wooden desk, her grey hair showing the faintest hint of the blonde it once had been. The woman doesn't look up, she seems to be staring at a sheet of paper. Elphaba blinks once, as if to make sure this isn't some cruel figment of her fatigue, but when the figure remains in front of her, she begins to tremble.
"Glinda." She whispers, not trusting her voice to carry any volume right now. The figure doesn't respond. She steps closer, into the light of the room. "Glinda, it's me." She says, louder this time.
Ever so slowly, the figure's head turns. The woman stares at Elphaba for a moment, and suddenly a light of recognition comes into her dull eyes. The woman's lips tremble, and she rises to her feet. Her face flushes with anger, and her thin hands clench into small fists.
"You." Glinda says, in a raw voice, and much more swiftly than Elphaba expected, Glinda moves toward her.
--------------------
AN: Happy Easter, all.
Thanks for reading,
~B