The world around her blurred and she found herself in the air once more. Was this to be a sick torture? Was this hell? To see her friends of long ago but yet never be able to interact with them again? To haunt them? That couldn't happen – she didn't have a soul. Only those with souls could haunt people.
Shortly after leaving Boq's home, Elphaba found herself floating down to the remainders of Colwen Grounds. It had been destroyed and defaced even further since Nessarose's memorial service. Her father, Frex, was sitting on a bench that looked out in the weed-filled garden.
His body sat straight and tall, though it still looked broken. His hair was pulled back away from his face and his beard was long, and the emotion that came through almost shattered the Witch's heart.
"Fabala," she heard him whisper. His voice cracked and he closed his eyes, tears building and spilling over to roll down his cheeks slowly.
The Witch walked quietly over to the bench and sat down beside him, though she knew now that he would not be able to see or hear her. She swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat and turned her head toward him, reaching up to wipe away his tears but found she was unable to touch him. An ache grew in the pit of her stomach that she couldn't rid of.
"Papa, I'm here." Elphaba wanted to touch him, to comfort him and let him know that she was safe now, but that wasn't possible. She sighed to herself and closed her eyes, leaning back against the side of the house.
They both sat there in silence, Frex's shoulders shaking as he cried quietly. The Witch couldn't imagine the pain he was feeling now – to lose both daughters within such a short amount of time, and both thanks to that little brat Dorothy. In fact, Elphaba was quite surprised to find Frex still alive. She'd sworn Nessa's memorial service was going to be the last time she saw him – and technically she had been correct. But it had been her to go first.
Finally, as the sun had begun to set, Frex stood and wiped his eyes. He was a fragile looking man and Elphaba had no doubt he would be gone as well by the end of the week. The man headed indoors and the Witch followed him, watching his every move. He walked, shuffled even, into his bedroom and pulled open a drawer from his dresser. A book of some sort was clutched in his hand, and he opened it, eyeing something. Elphaba walked toward him and stood at his side, her head tilted just enough to see the drawing from the correct angle.
It was a beautiful sketching of herself playing with a little glass ball. She couldn't have been more than two, her dark hair falling in curls around her bony cheeks, her dark eyes intent on the object in her hands. Elphaba bit her lip and glanced up at her father, and was somewhat surprised to see him smiling, though it was a sad smile.
"I hope you're at peace now, Fabala."
Frex's fingers brushed along the edge of her sketched face and it smudged faintly. He winced and closed the book, placing it back in the dresser and closing the drawer. Elphaba stared at him as he turned and moved toward the bed.
"I am," she whispered.