Chapter 2.

"Well, the family always was bright, and brightness, as you know, decays brilliantly." - Gregory Maguire, "Wicked"

It was early; the sun had not yet risen fully. It was far too early for anyone to be up and about on a Sunday, especially after such a restless night. But a horrific night it was, and Elphaba had spent much of it listening to the muffled sounds of her father and Nanny conversing throughout the early hours of the morning. Her father sobbing over his loss and his gain - his newborn daughter. Her father coming undone when he thought no one could hear him. But Elphaba could hear him, the stern father, and she could do nothing but listen, for Frex would not let her into the master bedroom to see Nessarose.

Her baby sister.

When the curiosity became almost unbearable and the house finally grew quiet, little Elphaba scrambled out of the room as quietly as she knew how. Floorboards creaked beneath her thin feet, but she crept along just the same, driven by the desire to discover just what had caused such a commotion during the night. She thought of her mother. Gone, Frex had said. Gone. Not here, never here. She had never truly been there, not entirely for Elphaba's benefit. The thought vanished as soon as Elphaba had thought it, leaving her unsettled and strangely ridden with the numbness of loss, though she did not yet understand any of it... the family ties, nor the empathy toward her austere father.

Once Elphaba had reached Frex's bedroom, she paused - like a feline lurking, about to pounce, and no longer a child. Her fingers grappled with the brass handle and she eased the door open wide enough so as to slip through undetected. And there it was, settled beside the bed. A wicker basket, draped with linen and soft pillows. A tiny baby nestled in the middle of it all, fast asleep. Pale skin, and hints of dark hair. Perfect, porcelain skin... she was beautiful. A normal colour.

Not... green.

Creeping closer, she hooked her fingers over the edge of the basket so as to see the sleeping baby clearly. Never the emotive child, or rather, a child who was conditioned into this way of being, Elphaba found herself to be strangely taken with her new little sister. She puzzled her, drew her in with a mysterious air about her. Elphaba slowly reached into the basket and ran her hand over Nessa's head, through the soft curls with the lightest of touches. Here was someone who wouldn't judge her; could not judge her, for she was so new to this harsh world, and could not yet associate the green with evil or corruption or anything Frexspar believed of his forgotten daughter.

Elphaba stood in silence, watching as Nessarose slept. She was oblivious to everything. Peaceful, yet somewhat tangled in her blankets, Elphaba noticed. Little green hands crept into the basket, carefully tugging on the cocoon Nessa had seemingly formed around herself. The resting child did not awaken, even when Elphaba lifted her legs slightly to tuck the blankets around her more comfortably. Already she felt an overwhelming bond between her new sibling and herself. Strange, very strange...

She wrinkled her nose, realising something wasn't quite as it should be. Nessarose's legs. Somehow they didn't feel right, and when the sleeping baby had moved in her slumber, her little legs did not move with her... but she didn't understand, Oz, she did not understand any of this.

Her thoughts were cut short when the door swung open behind her and Frex barged into the room, his face twisted in anger, fear, and everything in between. "I told you not to come in here, didn't I?" He moved toward her, uneasily, his eyes never leaving Elphaba's, and his hand snaking around her wrist. "You mustn't touch her or play with her, she is delicate!" And with that, Elphaba found herself on the other side of the door, standing out in the hallway by herself, wondering what in Oz had happened.

Frex favoured Nessarose already, she was beginning to see that. Why wouldn't he? But he had never favoured her, even before the youngest Thropp came into being. He never had, and there was nothing to be done. Elphaba loved him regardless, in her own way, and she could not change for anyone... just as he could not fully see past the colour of her skin.

Despite everything, she thought of her tiny fragile sister, how little Nessa had nuzzled into her hand as she slept, and everything fell into place.

It was a fine day in Colwen Grounds. Mid afternoon, the perfect time for refreshments on the porch, according to Nanny. Three china cups clattered onto a neat little table, which had been set out with an assortment of fruits and breads, and the old woman fussed over her sweet little Nessa in her overbearing way. "We must keep the darling's skin out of the sun, mustn't we, duckies?"

Elphaba, now thirteen years old, sat awkwardly (jackknifed almost, her tall frame folded rather than curled) in the shade - her pointed nose buried in a book. This was a common sight, one that Nanny and Nessa were used to. The green girl remained vigilant and aware even as she soaked up the words on the page in front of her, however. She did not miss a beat when her sister and their minder struck up a conversation, despite her silence. Knowlege in all forms was of great value to Elphaba, and after all, she had mastered the arts of sarcasm and wit almost as efficiently as she had learned to tend to Nessarose's every need.

Pushing her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose, she set her book down beside her chair and stretched out to pick a handful of grapes from the table. She tossed one in the air, catching it easily with her teeth, and held the rest out to her sister. "Taste, Nessa?"

Nanny clucked like an old hen, muttering about wasting food or something along those lines. Nessarose raised an eyebrow, laughing at Elphaba's antics, and politely refused.

The youngest of the Thropps had grown to be quite pretty. Not all sharp angles like her sister, not at all. She was tragically beautiful, tragically bound to a wheeled chair with her legs as useless as ever. She seemed as breakable as glass and an angel in her own right, in the unlikely case that such beings existed. In Frex's view, perhaps, but not to Elphaba. She was as flawed as any human, but she was devoted to her all the same. She was bound to Nessa by everything; duty, unrelenting guilt, love; and she knew no other way.

Soft sneezes echoed about the bedroom the Thropp sisters shared; the curtains drawn halfway to block the sunlight from the bed Nessarose dwelled in. The young Thropp rested, propped up against a mass of pillows like the invalid she appeared to be to the outside world. She sneezed and coughed, and a slight fever brought hints of various pinks to her pale face. Seventeen year old Elphaba sat by her side as she was bound to do, a bowl of soup for Nessa in hand, and regaled her with tales of her most recent discussion with their Father (though the term 'discussion' was something of a stretch).

"He is refusing to send me to Shiz, Nessa..." Elphaba placed the bowl and cutlery on Nessa's dresser and rose to her feet. "He says I cannot control myself. I'm outspoken and my actions are unbecoming," she spat, pacing, listing Frex's regulations and furrowing her brow as she did so. "I will need a minder. Our dear old Nanny, I suspect, and she cannot leave you." She knew she could attend the university when Nessa went, it was true. But to be deemed so irresponsible... it was unbearable.

Elphaba's eyes suddenly flashed with what she assumed was pent up anger. In a rare display of disappointment and ill temper before her innocent little sister, she kept pacing, hands shaking slightly as she did so. "He said... I cannot understand my consequences, my lack of faith in his Unnamed God. That I'm... dangerous..."

Nessarose listened quietly, almost worn out completely by Elphaba's ranting and raving. She focused on her sister as she babbled on, unaware of the spoon and fork rattling on her bedside table until they shot up into the air and began to whiz around the room.

Elphaba yelped, startled, and the fire in her eyes faded somewhat as she tried to track down the flying cutlery.

She felt it now, burning in the palms of her hands. A spark at first, then an unstoppable fire flowing down her arms, all the way to the tips of her toes. It sparked behind her eyelids, pounded in her temples. Raw, pure energy. Unfettered emotion. It had burst from her very core, and she did not know how to control it.

"What have you done? Elphaba...?"

The rise in pitch as Nessa spoke, clearly frightened, only drove Elphaba into a instinctive panic, and the cutlery suddenly plummeted back onto the dresser, splashing soup all over. She froze, panting, hands splayed out defensively before her. Sparing a glance in her sister's direction, she violently shook her head. Dark eyes pleaded with hazel, as if to say 'do not tell Father, please, do not tell Father.'

She could not give Frexspar yet another reason to look upon her with such disdain... Dangerous, he had said. You must take care of Nessarose. She is delicate...

"I don't know what came over me," she breathed at last, finally finding the words that sat on her tongue. She would have to take control. She needed to. Disappointing her father was one thing, but to fail her sister... no, she couldn't.

"Nessa, forgive me... Please."