The yellow path gleamed in the midday sun, but its brightness was insulting to Glinda's eyes. She hated it. She hated the perfection of those tiles that did not reflect the shadows she carried in her chest. She walked with slow, methodical steps, as if the invisible weight of her pain and guilt dragged her down.
Behind her, the winged monkeys moved restlessly. Their bat wings made a soft buzzing sound as they brushed the air, and their bright, feverish eyes seemed to understand something of the emptiness that filled their mistress. Glinda spoke to them often, whispering words they did not understand but that reassured them. In them she saw the remaining fragments of Elphaba: cursed, misunderstood, despised creatures. She treated them tenderly, almost reverently, as if they were living relics of a time that no longer existed.
Elphaba's black hat was folded neatly in her hands, protected by green silk that barely concealed its significance. It was her most prized possession, more important than her own kingdom or even her reputation. No one touched it. No one looked at it without permission. It was all she had left of herself.
The landscape changed as she moved forward. The trees seemed to bend toward the ground, as if they had been overcome by an invisible weight. The air was thick, difficult to breathe. Here, in this desolate clearing, Elphaba's life had come to an end.
Glinda stopped, bending to kneel in the center of the space. The earth seemed dead, unable to give life, unable to forget what had happened there. She placed the hat in front of her as gently as a mother would place her newborn in a cradle.
"I am here," she whispered, her voice broken by the weight of an almost ritualistic habit. "I am always here, Elphie."
The wind blew softly, rustling the fallen leaves. Glinda closed her eyes and listened. In that whisper, she sometimes swore she heard it.
"Glinda..."
The voice was as clear as a memory, laden with a sarcastic tone that mixed with a tenderness that only she had come to know. Glinda let out a bitter laugh, barely a sigh.
"Yes, yes. I know what you would say. That this is absurd, that I must move on." Her voice turned cold. "And what do I do with that? With this emptiness, this damned hole you left?"
A slight movement among the trees made her tense. She opened her eyes and jumped up, her hands instinctively protecting her hat. The winged monkeys reacted too, emitting high-pitched squeals.
And then she saw her.
Dorothy.
The girl appeared between the trees, holding her basket in both hands. Her blue dress was worn, and the bright red shoes that had made her famous shone like an insult against the dimness of the clearing. Toto poked his head out of the basket, but even he seemed uneasy.
"Glinda," Dorothy said in a small voice, her gaze nervous.
Glinda stood still, her figure rigid as a statue carved from marble. Her eyes, once so bright, were now darkened by deep weariness and icy resentment.
"What are you doing here?" she asked with a cutting coldness, each word falling like a block of ice.
Dorothy hesitated. "I... wanted to remember. This place..."
"Remember?" Glinda let out a short laugh, dry and devoid of any mirth. "How noble. What exactly is it that you wish to remember, Dorothy? The sound of the water when you destroyed it? The moment when its eyes went out because of you?"
Dorothy shuddered. "I didn't know..."
"Of course you didn't know!" Glinda's voice rose, and the winged monkeys shrieked in response. "You knew nothing. Not who he was, or what he had suffered, or what he meant to this world. But that didn't stop you, did it?"
Dorothy's eyes filled with tears. "I didn't mean to hurt him. I was just… scared."
"Ah, yes. Scared," Glinda repeated, her tone laced with venomous sarcasm. She took a step toward Dorothy, a bitter smile on her lips. "And you think that excuses you? That fear justifies destroying something you didn't even understand?"
Dorothy looked down, unable to hold the fire in Glinda's eyes.
Glinda continued, her voice a whisper filled with suppressed fury. "You know what's the most ironic thing? The only reason I'm still breathing is because she wouldn't want me to take revenge on you. Even now, she's better than any of us."
The wind blew again, lifting the hat that Glinda still held tightly. For a brief moment, Dorothy thought she heard something in the air, an echo of a low, mocking laugh.
"I'm sorry," Dorothy said finally, her tone desperate.
Glinda bowed her head slightly, her eyes filled with cold contempt. "You're sorry?" Her laugh was short and dark. "Too bad I'm sorry doesn't revive the dead."
The winged monkeys moved forward, their grotesque figures casting long shadows across the ground. Dorothy staggered back.
"Go away," Glinda ordered, her voice firm as a sentence. "And don't you ever come back."
Dorothy nodded quickly, turning on her heel and running back into the forest. Toto barked once, but soon his figure was lost among the trees.
When silence returned, Glinda fell to her knees. Her body trembled, but she did not cry. She held her hat to her chest, closing her eyes as the wind whispered again.
"I love you," she murmured. "I always will."
The wind did not respond, but Glinda felt it just the same. It was the only comfort she had left, a whisper carried by the leaves, a shadow of what she once had.