Something of the Prophetic
"Listen to me sister," she said. "Remember this: Nothing is written in the stars.
Not these stars, nor any others. No one controls your destiny."
Wicked, pg. 308
Sunlight. Burning brightly over scattered sand-dunes and setting the desert aflame with its blinding white luminance.
She couldn't feel the warmth of its rays on the exposed skin of her arms and legs, nor the slight breeze that shuddered over the high, ragged slopes of the surrounding mountain tops. Glinda walked without sense or purpose, quietly observing the foreign topography of scorched rock and hill. How long had she been wandering for? Weeks? Maybe even years, perhaps? Who was she to tell? The world was as inorganic as an hourglass, shifting and turning in a strange, synthetic course.
A crow's caw echoed in the distance. She stopped and titled her head towards the sky, looking for visible signs of the creature. Her fingers sought the silk of her nightgown clinging to her waist, wanting to feel something tangible in so insubstantial a setting. When no sign of bird or beast could be found, she let her hands fall to her sides and slowly began walking again.
The Woman followed her at a careful distance; of that, Glinda was certain. Neither had yet to acknowledge the other; however, as it seemed they mutually understood that confrontation would come in its own due time. It was enough for Glinda to wander where she would, keenly aware that those cold, calloused fingers were following close behind. So she kept her eyes forward and betrayed nothing of her fear, allowing the breeze to carry her across the barren landscape.
Without immediately realizing the slight change in the terrain, Glinda eventually looked down and noticed that the path was beginning to diverge. It split off in three different directions, running far beyond her immediate line of vision. A crossroads, then. But which path should she follow? She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sunlight, hoping to find some defined feature in the bleached and desolate scenery. The false heat of the sun created waves across the horizon, blurring the colorful sands of the desert into a strange configuration of whites, corrals, and reds.
There was nothing to be found. No mark of man or creature in this endless, faceless setting. It left Glinda feeling disconcerted; even more so when she heard the familiar rasp of that other-worldly voice sounding in her ear.
"Here she sleeps in final rest
Of twisted word and tale;
The maid, the martyr, the murderer,
The villain of the Gale.
We'll gather 'round to hear the sounds
Of spoiled song and jest;
But where to stand, or where to fall?
The North, the South, or West?"
Glinda wrapped her arms protectively around her body, still staring off into the distance. "You followed me here," she said, unmoving.
"Beautiful girl, I've been here all along. Don't tell me you've forgotten me."
Glinda said nothing. No, she hadn't forgotten. The dull ache of painful bruises still lingered beneath her skin, which she unconsciously rubbed with her fingertips.
The gnarled Woman came to stand beside her, following the direction of Glinda's gaze with her two eyeless sockets. Her boney shoulders sagged in a weary, weighted fashion, as if she too had wandered the desert for far too long a time. Glinda watched her out of the corner of her eye, particularly the long, arthritic talons that were twisted over a threadbare shawl. In the sunlight, she looked more ghastly than usual with every fold and stretch of flesh a sallow, sickly hue. But in spite of the Woman's deathly appearance, she was a frail and tired looking creature; more bent and broken than when she'd first approached Glinda in her long-forgotten Frottican woods.
Glinda clenched her hands into fists, and felt the bite of fingernails against the flesh of her palms.
"Are you the Kumbric Witch?" she asked, unable to face the monster.
The Woman's cracked and horrible mouth stretched into something of a smile, but she didn't say a word. Her silence provoked Glinda to anger, as terrified as she was.
"Do you think me a fool?" she whispered slowly in an impressive display of courage. "Did you think you could lure me out into this desert to make me your terrible sacrifice? To play some part in your violent prophecy?"
A short silence followed, cutting through the stillness of the scene and unnerving Glinda even more. Then the Woman craned her head with a sudden stilted movement, eerily taking on the appearance of a child's clockwork toy. "The answers are here, my lovely young thing, but you're asking the wrong questions. I may say I'm a saint, and I may say I'm the devil, but how would you guess the truth? She who stands in search of such things should never believe a character as villainous as myself. You'd be better off asking yourself the more sinister question of who is telling the story."
Glinda's eyes narrowed. "Story?"
The Woman's smile twisted into a grimace. "Every tragedy has an author, dear girl, much like every murderer has their victim. It's all in the telling, or so the saying goes. Who is the author of your tragedy?"
Glinda clutched her arms tightly. "Are you talking about Temen?"
The Woman's sigh was lost on the wind, and she folded a hand over Glinda's shoulder. The gesture was almost affectionate, though the cold leathery texture of her skin caused Glinda to shudder. "A child's blood is never enough to quench the thirst of the wicked. But why let the dead decide our fates? The path is yours to follow." She calmly tilted her head to the ground, and said nothing more.
Another breeze fluttered past them, turning Glinda's attention to the barren surrounding sands of the desert. The three winding paths she had discovered earlier were evenly split where she stood, bidding her to follow one in a set, specific direction.
"Where do they lead?" she asked the Woman.
"Well that depends on where you wish to go. But why trust me, my beautiful thing? I've already said the path is yours to follow."
Glinda looked down at her feet again, pressed into the soft white sand. Follow a path—that was no help at all. Did the hideous thing honestly expect her to choose one at random and hope that it was right? What was she meant to do? What was she even searching for anyway?
Truth… something whispered in the back of her mind.
I'm here to find it… she replied.
Glinda suddenly closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. A curious sensation stirred within her breast, causing the blood in her veins to race just a little more quickly. Something compelled her to turn her gaze westward; up towards the high, jagged slopes where the wind was blowing fiercest. What lay to the West? What waited beyond that pulled at her heart strings so painfully— even fiercely?
She looked at the Woman, who stood lifeless as a corpse, then returned her gaze to the stark western hills.
Well. It was her path. Hers to follow where she would.
Glinda stole another breath, then took a careful step forward.
High winds quickly spun through the air, kicking up a storm of sand that momentarily blinded her. She shrieked in alarm and covered her head, fearing she would be buried under the sudden flurry of dirt. Then, as quickly as it had come, the sandstorm swept up and over her, leaving her standing in cold, static silence. The blinding light of the sun had faded, becoming a dim and distant black. Glinda slowly lowered her arms, unsure of what to expect.
She soon discovered that she was no longer standing on the sparse desert floor, but in a small, stale chamber made of rotted wood and stone. It was entirely empty, as far as she could tell; there wasn't a scrap of furniture or note of any kind. A large oak door was left ajar on the opposite wall in front of her, where Glinda could see the narrow steps that twisted down from the doorway. Perhaps this was a tower, set high in an old castle? It certainly wasn't her Frottican wood-mill. It was completely foreign to her.
She began walking towards the door, when for no particular reason at all, her gaze fell to the floor. A gruesome stain had blackened the ground beneath her bare feet, and its circumference was of a considerable size. She took a step backwards with vague apprehension, though she couldn't place her fears. The room felt so cold—so strangely inhuman. It was a place that bore sins too terrible to be remembered.
And yet…
"I know this place," she quietly whispered. "At least—I feel I should." She turned to look at the shriveled old Woman, who had somehow managed to follow her. "Where are we?"
The old Woman shrugged her knotted shoulders and crooked her neck to the side. "You'll know it well, in all due time. That you can trust me on."
"But why are we here?" Glinda asked. "Where is this place?
She looked down at the floor with a wave of her hand, and said, "This is the place where she dies."
A cold chill went down Glinda's spine. Her eyes sought the charred mess beneath her feet once again, not altogether pleased to learn that she was standing in a room of death. The place where she dies?
"Who?" Glinda asked timidly, still fixated on the floor. "Who are you talking about?"
"The Witch," was the Woman's hollow reply in a raspy, grinding voice. "Or so the story goes."
Glinda finally looked up at her in observable, furrowed confusion. A witch? What did that have to do with her? What did that have to do with anything?
"What story?" said Glinda heatedly. "Why do you keep talking to me as if we were characters in some silly child's book? I'm not a foolish and sad little girl you can frighten with all of your spells and lies! I asked you for the truth!"
The old Woman sighed and a long wisp of hair fell over her skeletal face. "All of life is a spell, my dear, but still we have some choice. This is a tale that has oft been told, and with its standard ending. There's a city of Emeralds, a crafty old Wizard, and a Witch that dies in a tower. The rest is yours, my beautiful girl— this strained and curious narrative. But remember Glinda the Good and Evil, your ending hasn't been written yet, and I am no more its author than the boy who burned to death."
Glinda felt her blood growing hotter, and she pointed a trembling finger at the Woman's shriveled chest. "I am not evil," she said, almost too low to hear. "I am not evil!"
"The world is evil, my darling young thing, and we are its finest creations. Remember that when the fires come, and Oz hangs in the balance." The Woman turned to the open door and began hobbling towards the stairs. Glinda watched her with mounting fear, so disturbed she was by her words.
"Wait!" she cried, taking a step towards her. "You never answered my question!"
The Woman stopped and stood in the doorway, tilting her head to the side.
Glinda hesitated, suddenly unsure of herself, and brought a hand to her breast. "Do you mean to kill me? Am I going to die?"
The withered creature's body slumped forward, and she bared her teeth like an animal. "Your fate will be left in more capable hands, Glinda the Good and Evil. But fate is a fickle mistress, indeed. Altogether too fickle."
"No!" cried Glinda, rushing to face her as the Woman descended into darkness. "You can't leave me here! Tell me who is doing this! How am I to stop it?"
A glowing pair of eyes looked back at her, and a hideous cackle followed. "We don't move by design, my love... The music merely guides…"
The fog of sleep began to fade, and with it the frightening image of eyes that burned within the darkness. Glinda drifted back into consciousness as slowly as if she'd been floating through the still waters of a lake.
She opened her eyes with sleepy effort, focusing on the indistinct shapes of objects scattered around her. It was still quite dark, as the sun had not yet risen, but the promise of dawn had colored the sky a frozen, lackluster grey. Her limbs felt heavy under the soft press of blankets, and a slight chill tickled the skin on her back. She listened to the tiny chirp of a nightbird somewhere outside her window, wondering if it was really there or merely a fragment of her dreaming.
Dreams. That's all they ever were. Grim paintings sparsely adorned with the same deathly characters. The Woman was there, lurking within the shadows, but something of her presence here made Glinda ill at ease. Why reveal herself now, after all this time, just to tell Glinda nonsense stories in a broken old tower? Did it actually mean anything, or was it the lasting refuse of her own guilty conscience?
With a lingering yawn, she closed her eyes and slowly turned around, reaching out for Elphaba so that she might draw near her for warmth. Her hand touched down on cold, crumpled sheets, then settled over a slight indentation in the mattress.
Glinda immediately opened her eyes and lifted her head off the pillow. The other half of the bed was empty. Elphaba wasn't there.
"Elphie?" she called in a tired, trembling voice, confused by her roommate's absence. Was she still in the unsettling haze of a dream? She quickly sat up in Elphaba's bed to search the room in a panic. "Elphie?" she called again. "Elphie!"
A cold hand pressed against her mouth, and Elphaba quickly appeared before her, motioning for Glinda to be silent. She looked almost wraithlike in the darkness of their room, as if she had formed from out of the shadows.
"Nessa will hear," she whispered calmly, taking a seat on the bed beside her. She patiently waited for Glinda to calm, then gently removed her hand. "Forgive me," she said in quiet apology. "I didn't plan on waking you for another half-hour at least."
Glinda let out a sigh of relief and placed her hand on Elphaba's arm. The rough material of a dress-sleeve brushed against her fingertips, and she was surprised to discover that her companion was dressed in a thick traveling frock. It seemed inappropriate for four in the morning, let alone the Saturday activities they had planned together.
"What's going on?" said Glinda softly, pulling the blanket to her chest. "Darling, why are you dressed?"
There was an intense, almost feral look in the russet eyes that regarded her, and had Glinda not known any better, she could have sworn that Elphaba was sharply poised to attack her. While the image wasn't altogether an unpleasant one, she was startled by it nonetheless.
"I had an epiphany last night," said Elphaba spiritedly, placing both hands on either side of her. "A revelation, if you will. Were I not a heretical unbeliever, I'd almost go on to call it a bit of divine intervention, if you could believe such a thing." She was practically shaking as she spoke to Glinda, either from excitement or nervousness.
"You found something?" Glinda asked, shifting a little closer.
"Not just something, my dear; I've found the very thing." She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, curled and fraying at the edges. Glinda looked at the paper in silent question, then took it out of Elphaba's hand. After carefully unfolding it, she held it up to the window where faint light was spilling through. It was difficult to see clearly, but she could discern enough of the handwriting to appear properly confused. The paper was covered with formulaic equations and a list of chemical solvents written in Elphaba's untidy scrawl. Underlined in spattered ink at the bottom of the page were the words: 'EXTRACT OF BIOLOGICAL SUGGESTION.'
"I don't understand," she said, befuddled, while looking up at Elphaba.
"Don't you, my dear?" replied Elphaba cheerfully. "I find that hard to believe, considering I have you to thank for this fortuitous discovery."
Glinda's eyebrows furrowed. "Me?"
"I've been a fool, Glinda," she said with a sneer, "in every sense of the word. All this time we've been running around Shiz, burying ourselves in sorcery books and killing ourselves in the meantime. Never in a million years would I have suspected that Morrible was capable of effecting a different kind of evil on us— until last night, that is. Dillamond would be appalled with me. That it's taken me this long to discover the truth is absolutely, unequivocally unpardonable."
Glinda regarded her roommate strangely, then glanced down at the paper in her hand. "A science equation?"
"The Extract of Biological Suggestion," said Elphaba. "An organic compound not unlike Dr. Nikidik's infamous Extract of Biological Intention. But instead of hexing antlers to assault our Winkie princes, this compound was specifically designed to affect sentient creatures. The compound targets the nervous system and produces a hyper-realistic sense of awareness. It attacks the mind as well as the body, where false realities and tangible hallucinations are created for the victim by the compound's administrator. They present an idea to you—or specifically to your mind— producing these cerebral manifestations."
Glinda blinked. "Like talking nails?"
"Or a pair of hands attacking you while you leisurely soak in the tub," said Elphaba darkly.
Glinda silently shook her head, her pulse beginning to quicken. "No," she whispered. "I don't believe it. The very idea is ludicrous."
"What's so difficult to believe?" said Elphaba, taking the paper back. "Dr. Nikidik's stabbing antlers have proven these substances are perfectly dangerous. Think Glinda—you yourself once posed the question of whether there was a difference between science and sorcery. If a compound behaves like a master spell, then what, pray tell, is the difference?"
"But where would Madame Morrible get the idea to use this twisted form of science on Ama Clutch and me? She's no scholarly researcher or noted professor in your insufferable science fields. She's an expert in sorcery…on the arts of magick..."
"Ah," said Elphaba with a gleam in her eye. "That's exactly what she wants you to believe. The extent of her supposed powers is most likely a lot of smoke and mirrors; I'd be willing hedge my bet on that. She may prostitute herself about your sorcery lectures with her simple bag of tricks, making Miss Greyling look like an incompetent fool, but it's all quite the deception, Glinda. The truth is far less impressive. This isn't sorcery, my dear... my heart; it's plain and simple chemistry. She's fooled us all completely, and rather successfully, I might add."
"But how do you know for sure?" said Glinda, leaning closer still. "I know that you're terribly smart, Elphie, but too much of this seems like wild conjecture."
"And as you well know, I don't value theories and guesswork at all. Not when there's physical proof to be had; something of concrete substance. After spending a few hours researching the compound well into the night, I decided to make a little trip to Dr. Dillamond's laboratory to see what I might find. A cursory glance at the storage cabinets confirmed that several things were missing… specifically the main ingredients and components that form the Extract of Biological Suggestion. Do you call that coincidence, my dear Miss Glinda, or would you prefer to call it what it is… a stroke of remarkably good luck?"
Glinda leaned back against the headboard, still shaking her head. She pulled the blanket a little closer, as the air in the room was freezing. "I don't know what to say, Elphie. The whole thing is incredible."
"It's more than incredible; it's an organic compound with a very defined chemical structure. Do you know what this means for you and Ama Clutch? It means we can find you a cure." She reached over and took Glinda's hands in hers, giving them a hopeful squeeze. The look on Elphaba's face was so clear— so certain— that Glinda felt guilty for the sickening feeling that remained at the pit of her stomach.
A frightening thought suddenly dawned on her, and she looked up at Elphaba with wide, startled eyes. "But Dillamond's lab!" she quickly whispered. "You didn't have any keys! How did you manage to get in, Elphie? Are you certain that nobody saw you?"
Elphaba's jaw was firmly set, and her expression suddenly turned guilty. "That's the second part I've been meaning to tell you; I wasn't exactly alone. Fiyero happened upon me in the library, you see, and he stayed with me all night. He knows about the situation, or some of it at least, and he offered to help with our—"
"Fiyero?" said Glinda in absolute shock. "Elphaba, have you gone mad? If Morrible learns that you've involved him in this, she'll—"
"That's not important!" hissed Elphaba sharply. "Glinda, aren't you listening to me? This is what we've been searching for—the key to this cursed mystery! I couldn't just sit and dawdle all night while that noxious substance pulsed through your veins; I had to do something. We've got to get this out of your system, Glinda, and we have to do it now. We'll worry about Fiyero later. Do you understand me?"
Glinda stared at Elphaba in alarm, terrified by her roommate's violent response. "Why?" she whispered. "Why are we doing this now?"
Something in Elphaba faltered—or fell— and she clenched her teeth together. "Because it's poison," she flatly stated in a dull, defeated tone.
Glinda felt her body turn rigid, and a hand went up to her throat. "What?"
Her roommate quickly leaned in closer and placed a comforting hand on Glinda's arm. "The compound is extremely volatile, dearest; it's no different than feeding someone cyanide. Once it's induced, it begins to break down your internal structure almost instantly—in some cases more rapidly than others." She turned her head, and Glinda knew that Elphaba was thinking of Ama Clutch. "In small doses, the harm is minimal, but if it were administered over a considerable period of time…"
Elphaba didn't go on. She didn't really need to. The girls found themselves studying the blankets of their bed, suddenly unwilling to meet the other's gaze. So this was where Morrible had left them. If the nightmares didn't kill Glinda, then the poison would.
And Ama Clutch…
"How long do we have?" she whispered softly, her voice eerily calm.
"I don't know," her companion replied, wringing her fingers together. "But I'll be damned if I let it poison you for a single moment longer." She reached over and gently took hold of Glinda's chin, tilting it up so that they were facing each other. "Glinda," she said, "I'm going to be leaving. Right now— as soon as possible. I'm heading out to Railway Square to catch the early coach to Tarkington, where I hope to be able to find you a cure."
"Tarkington!" Glinda gasped, suddenly pulling away from her. What followed was an immediate shhhhh! from Elphaba, and they both turned to the wall where Nessa could possibly be stirring on the other side. Once they were satisfied that she was still asleep, Glinda continued in a softer whisper, "That's nearly twenty miles from here!"
"It's the closest town to Shiz, Glinda, and the only place we can find an alchemist capable of drafting an effective treatment. Drawing up these kinds of remedies isn't like mixing a cocktail at one of your family's soirées; it's a complicated process that requires a dexterous hand, and acquiring such a substance isn't likely to come without notice or some considerable expense." Elphaba by now had turned away from her, preferring to look at the floor instead. It was the thing she did when she knew she was going to hurt her, and didn't especially want to see the extent of it on Glinda's face.
"Well why couldn't we just do that here?" said Glinda, trying her best to sound reasonable. "Surely there are alchemists in town that are every bit as competent—possibly on South Street near Chettings or..."
"Glinda," said Elphaba firmly, gently. "I won't be able to find one here; none that I feel I could trust, at least. Morrible's influence may extend beyond the gates of this university, and we can't take that risk, darling—we can't."
"But how can you leave?" Glinda whimpered, sounding utterly pathetic. "You can't just board a stagecoach to Tarkington without someone noticing you're gone."
"That's the beauty of it," Elphaba replied. "We've no classes or lectures today. My absence will be of limited notice to anyone who might be concerned. Nessa and Nanny can think that I'm ill— that the headache I went home with yesterday did me in for good. And as you are Morrible's most attractive object of interest, no one should suspect anything is amiss. If all goes well, I'll be back by morning, and we can plan from there."
Glinda anxiously rubbed her temple, trying to get her thoughts in order. She hated this. She hated it with every fiber of her being. "Why didn't you tell me this last night?" she whispered, thinking that might have made things better.
Elphaba looked at her with obvious affection, even if she was trying to look stern. "You were all but asleep by the time that I'd returned, and drooling all over my bed. It was already a ridiculous hour of the night, and I'd sooner have gone swimming in the Suicide Canal than keep you up a moment longer. Why couldn't it have waited until morning? Besides, this isn't something I planned on a whim—I wrestled with this decision all night. It isn't ideal, I know that dearest, but what better way to thwart Madame Morrible than by catching her completely off guard?"
"But my dreams—" Glinda began, then stopped just as quickly, unsure of how to go on. Elphaba was aware of what she was getting at, and took her hands again.
"It's been weeks since you've seen or been harmed by anything," her roommate gently replied. "What do you fear now that can't be undone by the time I return in the morning?"
"I don't know," said Glinda with growing frustration. "A tower…a building…a place where someone dies. I dreamt this all just moments ago, and the Woman, Elphie… she was there… waiting for me… and …"
Elphaba brushed a golden lock behind Glinda's ear, and rested a hand on her cheek. "You're a capable girl, my dear Miss Glinda, and we've beaten this before. One day is all that I'm asking for— not another minute more. Your dreams may frighten you, but they can't kill you; the poison is doing that just fine. You'll have Nessa and Nanny to keep you company, or even Fiyero if the others become a headache. I'll be back by morning, you have my word. Just hold out for me until then."
She brushed her thumb along Glinda's cheek, hoping to find a willing response. Glinda sat there in wretched defeat, knowing full well that Elphaba had already made up her mind. She turned her head and looked at the clock in silent resignation.
Elphaba quickly stood up from the bed and began to move about the room. She silently gathered her things together while ducking in and out of the washroom, obviously eager to set off. Being unable to sit still herself, Glinda eventually got out of bed and moved over to her dresser. The floor was icy beneath her feet, and she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders in order to fight off the chill.
This is it, she said to herself, retrieving a coin purse from out of her dresser drawer. Her friend was leaving, and Glinda would be alone again—left to face whatever terrors would be waiting for her in the dark. But she also feared for Elphaba, imagining all of the dreadful things that could happen to her while she traveled. She hated the vile turn of her thoughts and especially Madame Morrible. Everything was happening so fast, and she was powerless to stop it.
When Elphaba was ready, she stood near their door, and Glinda slowly walked over to her before handing her the coin purse. Elphaba accepted it without any protest, as both were unsure of how much money would be required for this dangerous, hasty trip. She was wearing the burgundy scarf that Glinda had bought for her, which only made Glinda's heart ache even more.
"Stay away from Morrible," said Elphaba quickly, "and try not to let on that there's anything amiss. I've given the library keys to Fiyero should Crope or Tibbett come asking for them. Oh, and be sure to tell Nanny that I'm terribly contagious if she insists on nursing me back to health. If Nessa should grow suspicious, you can tell her what I've told you, but only if she insists. I fear that if she knew I was leaving town, she would raise all holy hell against us the likes of which Morrible could only dream of."
She was trying to provoke a smile out of Glinda, but that was asking for the impossible. All that Glinda could think about was Elphaba and her dream, as well as the very sickening feeling that this was all terribly wrong. When Elphaba pressed their hands together and nodded a quick goodbye, the mounting fear in Glinda's breast could no longer be silenced.
"Elphaba," she said as a desperate plea, not knowing how else to say it. "Don't go."
Elphaba stopped and stared at the door, her hands curling into fists. Had she been any other person, Glinda was certain that Elphaba would have come close to strangling her in frustration. As it was, her roommate turned around and stalked over to Glinda before taking her face in her hands.
"Look at me," she whispered fiercely, now leaning in close. "Look at me, Glinda. Would I abandon you? Could I even contemplate the thought of leaving you if there weren't some other way of doing this? Glinda, look at me. Don't you realize how close we are? Can't you see how far we've come? Our silver lining is just ahead! Think of it, darling… freedom! We can go anywhere—we can do anything! You can drag me all over your Pertha Hills and dress me in garish pearl ballgowns– it doesn't matter! We'll be free of this wretched place. Morrible will never touch our lives again. Isn't that worth it to you, dearest? Can't you trust me to make this right, or even give me the chance? Think of Ama Clutch, Glinda, if you won't think of yourself."
Glinda was breathing heavily, and she had to shut her eyes. Elphaba had effectively trapped her; how could she argue now? She couldn't risk her Ama's life, and they were running out of time. For good or for evil, she would trust Elphaba's plan.
Even if it ended in tragedy.
And really, she thought with a weary sigh, how could you ever deny her anything?
Slowly, reluctantly, she nodded her head, even if she couldn't look at Elphaba. She knew she would cry if she caught sight of those eyes staring back at her, and what use were tears to either of them now? Glinda wasn't allowed to be frightened anymore. It was time for her to be strong. So she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, ready to face the inevitable.
They stood near the doorway in total silence, wanting to say a hundred things when there was nothing left to be said. It was a hopeless moment for the both of them, and to Glinda, there was something frighteningly fatalistic about it all. Elphaba took a step towards her, closing the space between them, seeming to be at war with whatever better judgment she possessed. Then, as if unable to stop herself, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of Glinda's mouth with a firm, fanatical sort of madness. Her lips were warm, but they did little to thaw the cold feeling encompassing Glinda's heart.
"Tomorrow…" Elphaba breathed, pressing their foreheads together. "We'll see each other then."
She pulled up the hood of her cloak and stepped out into the hallway, but not before giving Glinda a final parting glance. Glinda watched her as she rushed past the gaslights, clinging to the last lingering shadows before the coming dawn. She stood there in the doorway for an indefinite period of time, long enough to see the sun creeping across the floor.
Glinda wouldn't return to bed. There was nothing to do but wait. Wait for her Elphaba to return to her, and hope that this wasn't a mistake. But in Glinda's heart, or what was left of it, she felt the sting of their parting like a knife piercing her chest. It was the feeling she had, curious as it was, that they had said goodbye for the last time.