Hello again, my darlings! How art thou? I am well, thank thee. You'll be pleased to know that my show went well. Time for Chapter 5!!!
AN: There will be a plot, I promise!!!! And also, I will be including some of Glinda's everyday life in here.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor do I claim to.
On with the show!....
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Glinda sighed and rubbed her elbows. It had stormed last night and the rain had made the air heavy and humid. The moisture seeped into the walls and clung to one's skin. There was nowhere to escape the rain in the old stone castle. That's the way it was in Chuffney's mansion: bone-brittle cold when in snowed, hot as hell when it was sunny, and the dreaded swamp-like feeling when it rained. Glinda and the servants didn't fight it. They just sat back and complained.
She made her way over to the window and stretched her head out. It was just drizzling right now. Raindrops oozed from the sky, and hit Glinda's face, making their slow march down the side of her cheek. Suddenly, an onion-like taste filled her mouth, and she pulled her head back as if the rain had stung her.
Rain always made Glinda think of Elphie. How could anyone be allergic to water? Glinda marveled. The very idea! But yet, Elphie was one of the cleanest people I've known. What was it Fiyero said last time I saw him? Was it oil that she used?
Shaking her head, Glinda closed the window. She opened her armoire and was studying her wardrobe in hopes of selecting a light and airy, but conspicuous outfit when the door to her chamber burst open and Glinda's cook stomped in.
"What in Oz-" Glinda squealed. "Hilda, do you ever knock?"
The head cook, Hilda, had worked in the castle for twenty-five years. She and Glinda were on close terms because they used to bad-mouth Sir Chuffney together. Whenever Glinda felt she was becoming a trifle too plump, she fired Hilda. But always Hilda was back within the week because no one cooked quite like she did.
"Oh, pardon, Lady Chuffney," Hilda grinned, mockingly. "I should have known better than to disturb her Ladyship while she was choosing today's torture."
"I should like to know how fashion can torture one. I am not tortured by my clothes. Do your clothes torture you?" Glinda retorted.
Hilda gestured to her simple green workdress and apron. "I am not tortured by my clothes. It's your clothes that cause trouble. Honestly, walking near you is a skill within itself. Walk behind Lady Glinda, you trip over the train of the skirt. Walk in front of her, you get trampled. And forget about even trying to walk beside her, because with that dress' hips-"
"I assume that you came here for another reason than to nag me about my gowns," Glinda said huffily.
"Ah, that. Listen, do I have to heat the stove today? With all of this rain, I doubt we'll even get a spark of coal lit. How about a nice cold vegetable cassarole for dinner?"
"Mmmm-hmmm," said Glinda, while she eyed a frilly yellow gown critically.
"And also, Doyle, that unreliable good-for-nothing, quit today. I need a new apprentice. Now I don't think I want any maids to help me. Most of those air-headed she-wolves can't even tell a chova root from a punti leaf."
"How about that nice one, What's-Her-Name? The one with the black hair and black eyes? Margot, is it?"
"Marla."
"Yes, her."
Hilda concentrated for a moment and then said, "Oh, what the hell! The gal has spunk, for such a little mouse. I saw her slide down the stair rail the other day." She turned and left. Glinda squinted and decided on her frilliest gown, just to spite Hilda.
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3 December, 3038 Ozian date.
Minik ot Bellun
Dear Glinda,
I forgot to tell you about what happened when I went outside last week. Well, to begin, we left early morning when the sky was still pink. We decided that we should go because the Lesser Kells get awful storms in the winter and it isn't safe to venture away from shelter. So, we walked for an hour, and finally we got to the impressive marketplace, about nine brown coarse tents with different goods in each.
I made Fiyero go to the tent that sold swords and such, because out here, you never know with all of these imbeciles that roam the Kells, trying to prove to themselves that they are strong enough to survive the winter. I despise itinerant anythings. But, seeing as my life was an itinerant one, that's understandable.
While Fiyero was buying weapons, I went to an herb seller, for some basic roots and leaves to treat us over the winter. I was examining a gomba root when the seller came over to me.
"Can I help you, dearie?" she croaked. She threw off her hood, and I saw she was a wizened old woman. Her hair was white and thinned, and looked as if it could hardly stay in her head. She was short and wrinkly, and had a crazy glint in her eye.
"No, thank you," I told her. "I've found all I need." Even though I was wearing a black dress and a heavy black veil, contact with people other than Yero still makes me nervous.
"I think that you are missing something you need very much, Sister Saint Aelphaba," she said disapprovingly.
I looked up quickly at the sound of that name. That is what the maunts had called me. "Who are you?" I asked cautiously.
She grinned, revealing a toothless mouth. "I have known you for a very long while, dolly."
"But who are you?" I said. By this time my voice was hoarse with fear. I was so afraid that my cover was blown.
"Mother Yackle will never tell the green men where the dolly is," she said, reading my mind. Then I remembered. When I first came to the mauntery, I was very sick. Yackle was the one who took care of me. She was old then, and that was fifteen years ago. She must be ninety years old by now. She looks so different. As if she can understand what is in one's soul. Excuse me, one's mind, I don't believe in souls. Yackle is a scary person. Once she makes your acquiantance, she stays in your life.
Then she pushed some more herbs into my hands. Actually, I think she gave me some of all of her goods. "Yackle doesn't charge the dear one," she told me matter-of-factly. "Dolly may have herbs whenever she wishes." She patted my stomach and said pleasantly, "Be of good cheer, dear one, for you are blessed." Then she went to help (or scare) another woman who had just entered the shop.
Blessed? Me? Those are two words that I would never use in the same sentence. What could I possibly be blessed with? Because of my skin, those pills Mama took probably deformed Nessarose. I managed to get Sarima and her sisters killed. The Gale Force took them because they were looking for me. If I'm blessed, I should hate to see what the lives of others are like.
As always,
Elphaba
Glinda shuddered at the thought of this Yackle woman. Old women, she decided, should have the good sense to die when they are no longer wanted. But not me, she reassured herself, for I am still needed here.
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