Chapter 1.

Authors note: I just want to give a little shout out to my wonderful beta-reader and friend JennMaryn, and I encourage you to read her Nessarose-centric fic "Deserving of the Mirror". Happy reading!

"The world unwraps itself to you, again and again as soon as you are ready to see it anew."

― Gregory Maguire, "Wicked"

As the months went by, the little green wonder had found her feet and learned to crawl on all fours. And then eventually, as more time passed, she learned to walk. That's all there ever was. Time. And very little to do with it, save for reading and wondering.

With her newfound freedom, Elphaba began the routine of scuttling around the kitchens, frightening the cook as she did so with her strange feral curiosity, and playing with the Mice. They were not weary of her like her father was; she knew this.

The young Thropp appeared more Animalistic than human at times, in Frex's unforgiving eyes. Obscene, blasphemous in her own existence (little Fabala had even once imitated the roar of a beast after he had made some remark about her serpentine colouring, and Nanny had stifled a laugh behind the horrified man's back). Still he did not warm to her. Still he kept her at a safe distance. He eventually grew to tolerate her presence, however, though it was no small victory. The pious man had simply not learned to open his mind to her, his heart. Somehow, Elphaba had subconsciously accepted it, along with the sense of failure she hadn't yet learned to recognise.

It was a cold winters day, one of many - snow fell in volumous amounts, swirling and glittering in the setting sunlight, battering against the windows. Elphaba sat against the window's ledge, clutching a worn story book that had been gifted to her by Nanny several weeks prior. Although only three years old, little Elphaba was growing fast; mentally, moreso than physically, though she was already taller than average for her age. Her mind was full of questions - ones she didn't know how to ask, or what they even meant in the grand scheme of things. But she was stirred very little by affection or outward emotion.

Perhaps the constant strain between her and her father had forced her into impassiveness. Who could say?

More than anything, though, the young Elphaba was interested in learning. She craved the knowledge and the impossibility of imagination from such a young age, and Nanny had begun to teach her to read. It was an escape. It was intelligence. It was something meaningful, something new. Her mother and father had no time for such things.

Frexspar was rarely at home during the day, instead choosing to roam the lands, preaching his sermons and only the Unnamed God knew what else. Upon his arrival in the evenings, his attentions always returned to Melena and the ever growing bump she concealed under her loose gowns. "You must keep taking these, dear," Frex said as he did each night, handing a small bottle across the table to his beloved wife. "For our child."

Elphaba could only look on, ignored and perplexed, still clutching her dog eared book to her chest.

Screams in the dead of night awoke Elphaba from her peaceful slumber. Footsteps clomped past the door of the spare room she inhabited, rushing back and forth, and the light outside flickered through the gap between the door and the polished flooring. Curious, Elphaba paced across the room, bare little green feet moving silently and steadily as though she were stalking prey. Thin fingers prodded and pried the door open a few more inches, giving her enough space to glance out into the hall. She stood perfectly still, statuesque, listening carefully to the sounds coming from the master bedroom a few doors away.

A wail of agony, cries of distress. Voices, there were so many voices. Elphaba could barely understand what was being said and, instinctively, crept out of her room toward the source of the commotion. A door slammed open, and suddenly Nanny shuffled towards her in a panic. "Ooh little one, you mustn't be out of bed, dear! Not now!"

Elphaba looked up at the old woman, eyes full of wonder and slight... concern? Yes, yes it was concern. The child was as green as grass, but she could still feel. Her strange sense of emotion was just that. Emotion. She was still human, no matter what her religious father thought of her. Glancing across the hall, Elphaba shook her head and wrenched herself away from her minder, scuttling toward the door at the farthest end of the corridor. It was at that moment when Frex stormed out, almost knocking the oak door off its hinges with the sheer force of his stride.

He stopped only to wipe tears from his reddened face, slumped to one side in the doorway. "Nanny, it's dreadful. Melena is gone," he choked.

Elphaba's dark eyes remained fixed on her father. She was tearless, numb and inquisitive. Quite the opposite of the man standing before her. Gone where? What did father mean by that? She looked around at Nanny, who appeared just as devastated as the preacher himself, and shrank back into the nearest corner. Frex whipped around, having noticed the blur of green out of the corner of his vision, and pointed at his offspring with a warning glare. "Stay out of the room," he spat, voice laced in mysery and terror. "My little Nessarose needs her rest. You are not to wake her."

The young Thropp felt hands grasp her shoulders all of a sudden - the hands of her father - and stiffened out of instinct. She was unused to such physical contact. So very unused to being guided and shown the way, even in this manner. Elphaba found herself being guided roughly back into the darkness of her room, and the door slammed shut behind her.

All was silent now, save for the owl (or was it an Owl?) that sat, ever watchful on a tree branch outside her window. Elphaba settled back onto her bed, her arms curling and pulling her knees to her chest.

Nessa...rose?