Author's Note: My first story upon fan fiction. Please review and constructively critique it! And of course, I don't own Wicked…
Depths in the Rain
She stared at the couple in the misting distance. The blonde's head bobbled as she reached for his hand. He let her take it and he held her closer to his frame.
Her vision started to blur with water. She couldn't tell whether it was the skies' interpretation of her feelings, or her eyes of her own. Whoever the tears belonged to, they burned her with a forgotten feeling while she replayed out a scene over and over again in her mind.
…An emerald palm brushing the back of a golden brown one. For an unbelievable moment, hands never before seen near each other, were briefly…loosely…laced.
The liquid drops of fire were still tracing and scorching all the outlines of her sharp, distinguished, green features. She wiped her face, the burning now spreading to her hands too.
She was reminded of another time when her heart was clenched tightly with this emotion…
Frexspar set the roughly hewn oak box on his dearest Nessarose's lap and watched patiently as she removed the lid. Her delicate roses and cream hand withdrew a sparkling silver shoe that glistened with forgotten tears and dreams and shone with another world's rainbows.
Nessarose's delight was clear upon her face, and when she turned to her sister's face hoping for shared delight, she instead received a forced smile and deep brown eyes filled with intense longing. Showing no empathy to her sister's emotion, instead told her silently, They're mine. They always will be. Wishing will get you no where.
The burning wasn't just on her face and hands now, she felt it on her shoulders, neck, ankles, arms… Perhaps the sky was reflecting her heart…
She knew she shouldn't dwell on it; her heart would only hurt more. Her eyes focused again on the couple happily dashing through open spots to cover, trying to escape the rain. She couldn't tell whether they were getting further and further away or whether it was just the rain deepening the distance between them.
She clenched her hand, wishing that his could be in it again. But it wouldn't be: for she truly wasn't that girl.
As she moved up against a tree trying to escape the quickening rain she saw in the distance, a large figure holding an umbrella. She saw that the figure had a receding hairline and was moving towards her. Madame Morrible was dry under her umbrella, making an interesting pane of sight for the girl under the wet tree. And in Madame Morrible's pale claw-like hand, there was a flash of green…