As of now, this is my last drabble. If, in the future, inspiration strikes me, I may write more. Thanks so much to my readers and reviewers for your unwavering confidence boosters and ideas. :D
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Elphaba loved being on her own. She loved hunting for her own food, and she loved the raw feeling of power a wand in her hand gave her. She loved the wilderness and shaping her own destiny.
What she did not like so much was the constant guilt that shrouded everything she felt with a hazy, black fog. She hated the long evenings spent with Fiyero in whatever cave they were staying in for the night, because the feelings of guilt doubled because she saw her pain mirrored in his eyes. She hated their deteriorating relationship and their long, unspoken conversations. Sometimes she hated him for not understanding and comforting her. Even more, she hated her inability to take the initiative to forgive and love him again.
She hated herself for running away without telling Glinda how much she meant to her or offering her even the smallest scrap of encouragement. She hated sitting here, doing nothing, while her best friend struggled all by herself through her mourning. She hated not being able to pop back into Glinda's life to show her that mourning the dead wasn't necessary when the dead were quite alive.
She hated her whole dismal story and whatever god that might inhabit the heavens above Oz for ruining her life. She hated her weakness and the poor, stunted soul that did indeed abide in the small recesses of her consciousness that she had denied all her life.