Rifiuto: Non Miriena

Written: 2006, Found: 2018.- Licia

April, 1937

She lay in bed, watching the evening sky through the windows; the curtains were pulled back, and the moon shone through, soft light dusting over her face like snow. Her thoughts drifted back to those long ago years, when she was still a teenager- a child, really- before her marriage, before her children even. The moon hadn't shown as brightly as this that long ago night, when she and her parents had arrived at the Governor's mansion. It had been dark, with the faintest hint of a crescent within the sky above.

She buried her face in the pillow, trying hard to block the memories out, but it was no use. It was nights like this, when her mind would wander back to those years, those days of captivity, before her family was ripped apart by shrapnel and cold steel, that were the hardest for her. The nights when she couldn't sleep, and so lay in bed beside her husband, as memories of a time long since gone by came flooding back with a vengeance. Most nights, they were memories of growing up, of visits to the City, of dancing on the deck of The Grimmerie with sailors, or riding bicycles through the palace grounds. And other nights, like tonight...

She felt Trism's arm slide over her hip, pulling her to him in his sleep, and he sighed, burying his face in her hair before settling down again. She turned her head to glance at him, and after a moment, she reached up, threading her fingers through his hair and scratching his scalp gently. He breathed her name in his sleep, tugging her closer, and she sighed, closing her eyes and telling herself that she needed to sleep. It wouldn't do her any good to dwell on the past.

"Fabala, wake up. Fabala!"

Her eyes snapped open. Papa stood over her, dressed and ready to go. "... Papa?"

"Get up and get dressed. Hurry. We mustn't keep them waiting."

She threw back the covers of the bed, climbing to her feet. Moments passed, as she shuffled around in the darkness, before finding the coat she'd flung over a chair earlier after coming back from a meeting with Parliament, and hastily pulled it on, making sure every button was closed. Once done, she hurried after her parents, slipping quietly out of the bedroom, shutting the door with a soft click.

It was a rainy April night nineteen years earlier, when the three members of the former Fliaanian royal family were awoken at midnight, and escorted into the small town of Vextasian, the town that would house the building that would become their death chamber. She remembered drinking in every detail she could see, that she she could write to her siblings. Despite the rain, the lantern light were like suns, bright and startling.

"Citizen Thropp, Citizenesses Thropp."

The men that greeted them wore similar clothing; heavy coats to block the chill, hats and gloves to protect themselves. They were burly, strict-looking men, who watched her with lust in their eyes, as she stood at her mother's side, suitcase clutched tight within her grasp.

"Stay close to me, darling." Melena whispered, taking her daughter's hand and pulling the fourteen-year-old into her side. Elphaba nodded, lifting her chin, voice soft.

"I will, Mama."

She was slow, careful, as she made her way down the stairs to the first floor and to the front door. Not a soul appeared to be awake in the house, not that Elphaba noticed, too wrapped up in the memory of that night was she. Eventually, she reached the door, and after several moments, she softly pulled it open, slipping outside and onto the porch. The door clicked softly shut behind her, alerting the person still working in the kitchen. The scent and sound of the rain immediately filled her senses, and she gasped softly. She could hear the murmur of voices not far away, smell the smoke from the passing locomotive as it sped by, feel the leers of the men who had stood before her and her parents all those years ago.

After making her way to the edge of the landing, she stepped out; the coldness of the rainwater on the bottom of her foot should have been enough to jar her from the memory and send her hurrying back into the house, but it didn't. If anything, it only heightened the memory further, and she continued down the steps, before coming to the drive. Thunder cried out, and she turned back, as she had done that night, but, like then, no one was there.

Melena wrapped her arm around her waist, holding her close, tugging her to move as they followed the men to a cart and horse. In this very rural part of Fliaan, cars were uncommon; this was very much peasant country. And in this very rural country, the former emperor and his wife were reviled. She followed her parents, staying close to Melena's side as thunder roared above.

Upstairs, the booming cries of the thunder roused the young Vinkun king partially from sleep, and he reached for his wife-

His eyes snapped open when his hand hit the mattress beside him; vaguely, he noted that her side of the bed was empty... thunder roared again, and he bolted upright. He was alone, his wife's side bare, the covers thrown back hastily. "Fabala?" As his gaze scanned the darkness, he realized that the dark blue coat she'd tossed across the chair earlier was gone. Without a word, he threw back the covers of their bed and hastily put his shoes on. There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, a feeling that told him she wasn't anywhere within the walls of Colwen Grounds. Being careful not to wake their children, or Locasta, Glinda or Partra, or the rest of the household, he slipped out of the room and hurried down the stairs, alerting Cata in his haste. "Fabala?"

The cart rumbled along under cover of darkness. She, Papa and Mama sat huddled in the back, holding tight to their things. She rested her head against Mama's shoulder, letting the stars overhead pass her by. It had been a long journey, and she was so tired, but she couldn't sleep. Not until she knew where they were going, and that they would be safe. Mama reached up, brushing her fingers through her curls and pressing a kiss to her head. "Sleep, Fabala. One of us needs their rest. Papa and I are right here. We will wake you when we arrive."

"I don't want to, Mama. I'm not tired. You need to sleep more than I do."

Trism, meanwhile, had made it onto the porch; his blue gaze hastily scanned the grounds for any sign of his wife, but with the blinding rain, it was impossible to tell a shrub from the gate, let alone find a person. "Your Majesty? Is everything all right?"

He turned back, to find Cata in the doorway; the cook, unable to sleep, had been up most of the evening baking. There was a streak of flour across her forehead, and her hands were still dusted, as though covered in snow. He shook his head. "I... I can't find Fabala. She's gone. I woke up and she wasn't in bed with me. Her coat is gone also; she's not in the palace. I think..." He bit his lip, turning back to stare out into the storm. "I fear... she's out in the storm. But I... I can't see her. I can't see anything through the rain."

The young cook nodded, needing to hear nothing else. Something heavy tugged at her heart, and she met his gaze. "I'll get my coat and help you search, Your Majesty."