Disclaimer- I don't own anything. Gregory Maguire owns everything. Well, there are the few ideas he says he's borrowed from his brother, but I think he owns those as well now. I've also taken the idea of harpies being at the gate of the afterworld from Philip Pullman. So I don't own even that small thing. I think I've covered everything so, in the words of our dearly beloved author: Please don't sue me.
A/N- Having just two days ago finished Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, and having been moved to tears by its ending, I was prompted to write a little sequel of sorts. This will only be one-shot, but I am working on another longer (and entirely separate) fic that I will post when I've written the majority of it.
-Her Happily Ever After-
"An instant of sharp pain before the numbness. The world was floods above and fire below." (p. 402)
"The Goddess of Gifts the last, reaching in among flames and water, cradling her, crooning something, but the words remain unclear." (p. 403)
When the Witch awoke she was standing in the middle of a misty field, the water in the air wasn't hurting her for whatever reason, but this didn't faze her much. Drawn by some mysterious force, she walked towards the place where the mist thinned out.
Before long she reached a stone archway under which crouched a harpy, a look of warmth quite out of place on its old and twisted face. It motioned for her to sit down. The Witch sat.
'You know what to do,' it said. And the Witch found that she did.
Taking a deep breath, she began to speak. She spoke of her days traveling with her father. Her days as a little girl helping her papa to spread a faith she wasn't sure she believed in. She spoke of her time at Shiz. Her hatred of "Horrible Morrible," her work with Dr. Dillamond, her friendship with Boq, Fiyero, Glinda, and the others. She spoke of her life in the Emerald City. Her romance with Fiyero, his murder by the Gale Forcers. Here the Witch began to cry. The harpy cried with her. Something felt oddly wrong and it took a moment before she came to the conclusion that this was because the tears didn't sting. I'm dead, she realized suddenly. A moment of shock and she returned to her tale, tears still in her eyes.
She finished her life's story with her death by baptism. She laughed quietly at the irony of it all then sighed softly and looked up at the harpy.
'And there the wicked old Witch stayed for a good long time,' the green woman said with a wry smile. The harpy looked at her through watery blue eyes, an unreadable expression on her leathery face.
'Go through, my dear,' it said finally, moving so the Witch could go through the crumbling archway.
When she passed through she immediately felt a light happy feeling sweep over her. All around her translucent figures drifted among each other, smiling and laughing. She walked in between them, looking for something, although she didn't know what, or who for that matter.
Soon, or perhaps after many hours, there was no way of telling, the Witch came upon a glassy-surfaced lake. She felt no fear at being so close to such a large body of water, but neither did she wonder at this lack of fear, for standing on the sandy shore, looking out over the lake, was a dark-skinned, diamond-tattooed figure.
'Fiyero.' The figure didn't turn and so the Witch came and hesitantly laid a small green hand on his shoulder. Then the dark-skinned man turned to her. 'Fiyero,' she said again, her voice a hoarse whisper.
'Elphaba.' He smiled lovingly at the woman in front of him. She beamed back at him and he wrapped her in a warm embrace.
As Elphaba stood wrapped in her lover's arms, she thought contentedly to herself, Maybe a soul isn't such a bad thing to have after all.
-The End-
A/N- Well, there you have it. I'm actually pretty happy with this little fic. I think it's one of my better pieces of writing. But that'll be for you to decide in the end, my pretties. I'd like to know what you thought of it. Thank you for your time.