NOTE: Sometimes I forget to update this story on here, because I prioritize Archive of Our Own. It's worth following me on both if you've got both!
The girl shook like a trembling kitten all the way back down from the tower, sniffling and whimpering in pathetic fashion. She clutched at where the guards had held her by the arms as if they needed more than two fingers to restrain her featherlight form.
Ridiculous blonde dolt.
Madame Morrible forced a smile whenever giant brown eyes widened in her direction. Despite the sorceress' best efforts to rid herself of the privileged little idiot in the past, she knew Miss Upland's admiration would now work in their favor. That is, if the girl would stop her incessant blubbering.
"Miss Glinda, you must get a hold of yourself so we can speak to the Wizard." Morrible's tone effectively feigned sympathy, but the vacuous fool of a girl crumpled to the ground right where they stood, her skirt secondarily floating down like a saucer around her.
The sorceress rolled her eyes so hard that she could have generated a tornado. She clenched her teeth into a smile that probably resembled those filthy monkeys and took Miss Glinda's arm.
"Dearie, come," Morrible tried, but the blonde made no effort to move. At least her crying began to stop. Now, the girl was staring into the wall like an inanimate figurine. The sorceress let that happen a minute, as long as it offered her silence, though she impatiently tapped her heeled foot. Oz, the girl was made of nothing but silks and perfumes, but at least she'd be malleable. And this one's ambitions were more accessible than her roommate's devotion to lost causes, even if it seemed the slightest inconvenience put her in a catatonic state. At least catatonia was quiet. Quite pathetic without her roommate's arm to hold. What Elphaba saw in this one, the sorceress would never understand.
When she couldn't wait any longer, Morrible nudged the fair shoulder with her leg.
"Miss Glinda, this is a touch unbecoming of a young woman your age." The sorceress quickly corrected her tone and continued with a gentler approach. "Perhaps because you're exhausted. Shall we get you to a-"
"Why did you say such horrendable things about Elphaba?"
So she could still speak. How very fortunate. It would have been a tragedy for that obstreperous, grating screech of a girl to be traumatized into silence.
"Let's get you to a room, dearie. We'll talk with the Wizard tomorrow."
"You called her wicked." Glinda's eyes lifted to meet hers. They had a slight glower that she hadn't seen in the girl before. "She's not wicked. You taught her in your private sessions. You know her. She admired you so much, and then to hear you say…" The blonde trailed off, wiping her tears while keeping eye contact. "How could you do that to her?"
"Miss Glinda, it's preposterocious to be speaking this way. Stand up like an adult." Morrible tried to take her arm again, but the ungrateful dimwit snatched it back and returned her ridiculously large eyes to the wall. That's the treatment she gets for trying to reason with this uppity little Upland? "Well, if you want to play it that way…" Enough was enough.
Morrible swiped Glinda's wrist into her grip, digging her nails into pale flesh until the blonde cried out. She displaced the air around the girl to stop the cry, watching brown eyes bulge and perfectly pink lips turn purple due to lack of oxygen. Morrible made sure to lock eyes with her as she choked, sneering, watching the veins bulge on the unblemished forehead, relishing at the imperfection.
Oh, the satisfaction that the sorceress would have gotten from slicing a fingernail across that perfect face of hers and making her hideous for life. Wouldn't that be a treat - for Miss Upland of the upper Uplands to face adversity for once in her utopian dollhouse of an existence? For her to have to learn that the ugly have to work for things and earn them? What better way to teach the young Miss Glinda?
But alas, when the brat turned blue, Morrible released her grip, both physical and sorcerous. Glinda fell forward, gasping for breath and clutching her chest with one hand, supporting herself on the carpet with the other.
"This could have been easier for you," Morrible said in passing, the heel of her shoe falling onto Glinda's fingers. She heard the girl screech, but ignored it, stepping over the pink skirt and traversing the hallway without her. "Guards, take Miss Upland to a room. Perhaps the Wizard will get her to see reason."
"Unusually and exceedingly peculiar and altogether quite impossible to describe - see? She writes that here. Look! Look at the shake in her script! My bubble never shakes in her script! I know my daughter, Madame Morrible. I can see that she was terrified even then. But in all her sweetness, in all her goodness - bless her, my precious girl - she gave a demon a chance! And that wicked witch took advantage of her kindness! Casting hexes on my baby as she slept!"
The father, Highmuster Arduenna, stopped his pacing about the room to snatch a letter from his wife's collection and hold it inches from the Press Secretary's face.
"And this! Black ink! Black!"
"Unscented!"
"This parchment here was even ecru instead of eggshell!"
"My little bubble - bewitched!"
Larena Upland flailed her arms onto the desk in front of her and fell into it with wailing cries. Arduenna bit at his clenched knuckle, his moustache quivering, his eyes pinched closed while he unleashed a long moan of despair.
Sweet fucking Oz, it was genetic.
Morrible skimmed through a few of the letters and tried to imagine a scenario in which they would be remotely helpful. She scanned for mentions of Elphaba and the Captain Tigelaar. There was perhaps a small chance of finding an indication of where they could be taking shelter. A family cottage they hadn't investigated, an old romantic hideaway between Glinda and the Captain - anything that could lead them to where Elphaba was taking refuge.
Elphie told me the most hideodious thing that her father said to her and it made me want to cry, because she actually believed it all her life. I never knew a father could be so cruel. Oh, Popsicle, it makes me miss your hugs.
And he's a prince, Momsie! From Winkie Country! He has blue eyes and dark gold hair and he's positively perfect, so naturally we're perfect together. You'd adore him. Everyone does. One day we'll be married. We'd make the most beautiful children!
I wore that white cardigan and Elphie looked so smart in her black coat. She let me do her hair the way I like it on her, and it was just such a lovely evening among the poppies with our friends. Like a dream.
The letters eventually got shorter and more curt towards the middle of the first semester, as surely many students including Miss Glinda shirked family correspondence in favor of new classes and friends. Nothing much there.
Distracted by the papers, a silk touch made Morrible flinch. Larena was there, leaning over the desk with an overly saccharine expression and the same saucer brown eyes as her daughter. The sorceress watched Mrs. Upland's gaze drift to the cane at her side - dark gray with an emerald twist at the top like a crashing wave.
"We know you tried your best to protect our Galinda," the woman said, her warm hands clutching Morrible's cold ones. "You were always by her side, all these years her dear mentor, and for the witch to strike a woman your age - oh, so cruel!"
With a smile that failed to crease the eyes - however her age she may be - the sorceress patted Larena's hand and slipped herself away.
"And you've heard nothing from the witch?" interjected Highmuster.
"Nothing, no," Morrible answered. She wouldn't share this with the Uplands, the lack of word surrounding any of the usual rabble-rousing Elphaba stirred was becoming suspicious. Two weeks had passed. The girl was being careful, perhaps even at the detriment of her Animal cause. And the sorceress was loath to admit it was working in the green one's favor. Unless, of course, the duo had crashed into one the Kells and bodies just hadn't been found yet. That would be a problem solved.
"Madame, you knew the witch as our Galinda did," said Larena, tearing up again. "I guess the thought that plagues me is…I can't see why she would need…money?"
Morrible scanned the mother's face.
"No…I can't imagine her intentions were for ransom," she answered carefully.
"Then, Madame…" The father sat next to his wife and took her hand for support. Mrs. Upland began to break in faltering words. Her husband wiped a tear from her face and gave her his attention a moment.
"Oh, Rena, dearest…" Their foreheads touched. Morrible cleared her throat.
"You were saying?"
"Yes, apologies…" Then Highmuster poised himself and readdressed the Press Secretary, taking over the words his wife could not manage. "Please, tell us, Madame…do you…think…is our Galinda alive?"
Let's hope not.
Morrible remained cold, expressionless, but bowed her head slightly. She let the Uplands read whatever they wanted of that reaction, and tuned out the sound around her before they resumed their inevitable blubbering. The sorceress gripped the cane at her side, absently noticing the twist in her foot under the desk - a leg that did not quite consistently respond the way she wanted it to anymore. A result of the blow to her head. A storm rose in the sorceress' core, but she kept it from the sky.
"Torture." Madame Morrible told them darkly, lifting her eyes. "That is the witch's way. Physical torture. Look what she did to our Monkeys. And trickery - bewitchment, as you suspected, Mrs. Upland." She watched the parents' faces contort between hope for their daughter's life and despair at the cost of it. "Occasionally substances - elixirs that drive a person mad. Potions to make one believe in false truths."
With a pride in her lips that she tried to hide, Morrible recalled a rumor spouted by the crowds once.
"You've heard of the witch's extra eye that always remains awake? Well, we suspect that this may be physically false, but the rumor has spread from a touch of reality. A potion that she uses to stay awake and alert, but for mere mortals like you and me, the elixir is a nightmare for the mind. If we get our Miss Glinda back…she may be much altered. The witch may have her under a spell, or under the influence of substances. And if that is the case, you'll have to trust our Wizard and myself to handle it."
"So that seed is planted with the parents, should we need it to be. I had them stay the night here. They'll join the press tomorrow. Here, then Shiz, then Gillikin Country."
Madame Morrible traipsed the length of the Wizard's workshop with her cane, willing the nerves on her left side to comply. She felt the Wizard's eyes on her when she wasn't facing him, even though he pretended to be engrossed in his work.
"Relax, Alma," he said after a moment. "Restlessness doesn't suit you."
Morrible sneered at the sound of her name. Crossing to the Wizard's workbench, she slammed her fists to the wood. Vials rattled atop it. Small puffs of powder lifted from his open jarred collections.
"And apathy doesn't suit you," she snapped. "We're losing them!" The sorceress gestured emphatically towards the outside with her cane. "No one seems to care about striking down the witch anymore, not after all these years. Their rumors feed them enough, but more for entertainment than any real action. Elphaba's not much more than a ghost story now."
"And whose fault is that?"
"Idiocrity!" the sorceress boomed. "Small-mindedness! They feed on a story, and theirs is stale." Morrible dropped into a chair and drummed the armrests. "We can't seem to convince them that she's alive."
"Elphaba?"
"No, half-wit. The bubbleheaded blonde."
"Ah," the Wizard mused with an airy chuckle. A look of dreaminess crossed his face like a memory when she mentioned his favorite plaything. Even Morrible, in all her callousness, was disgusted enough for him to notice. He crossed behind her chair. His dry fingers made a move for the back of her neck. "Hurling such insults, one might call you jealous."
Morrible slapped his hand away before it could make contact, turning in her seat to give him a biting glare.
"Making such faces about a girl young enough to be your granddaughter, one might call you a deviant."
The sorceress followed the Wizard with her eyes as if staring down a lion to ward off an attack. But this lion was more of a coward than he let on, and she knew it. This lion preyed on the weak. That wasn't her. It hadn't been for decades.
She maintained her threat until the Wizard returned to his workbench, measuring powders. Only then did the Press Secretary continue with business.
"The Uplands brought letters." She dropped three of them to the desk. A quickly-dissipating aroma of peony fell alongside them, which seemed to pique the Wizard's interest more than the papers themselves. "Old ones, mostly. She writes even more of the witch than she does of that captain of hers. There could be something helpful there, whether it be something to draw either of her companions out, or an indication of where they could be stowing themselves away."
The Wizard brought the parchment to his nose and inhaled deeply, like the sorceress had seen him do with his face buried in young Miss Glinda's hair. With acid in her throat and her cane in hand, Morrible stood.
"Control yourself, you disgustifying man!" she bit, raising the words of one of the letters in front of him. "This one - she writes of Elphaba's father. And her sister. That could be something."
As if only to appease her, the Wizard removed the letter from his birdlike nose, smirking. Seeing through the sorceress with equally avian black eyes in that awful way he could. He began to read Glinda's words, donning a touch of a lilting pitch like the girl's.
"Our babies will surely be blessed with gold hair, and oh!" He chucked at that. "She writes 'oh' - and with a heart? Precious."
"The most. For Oz sake, get on with it."
He continued, returning to his impression of the blonde.
"I hope at least one of them shares the blue of his eyes." The Wizard let himself fall into a laugh - perhaps a slightly exaggerated one - that sat high in his chest. "I swear, I never understood her fixation on that boy who couldn't make enough excuses to go off and disappear…" The letter dropped back to the table. He took a swig of whiskey and offered it to his partner. She grimaced in disgust. The Wizard took a more generous sip.
"A fixation that did you some favors, if I do so recall."
"Still a ridiculous one," the Wizard waved off dismissively. More whiskey, chased by a touch of his green elixir. He pointed at the letter on the desk. "Though that's what people would have cared about, you know. Living or dead wouldn't even matter."
"What's that exactly?"
The Wizard sat, perhaps a bit unsteadily, and plugged his finger into the pink script of the letter yet again.
"Babies," he clarified. "Perfect little babies and evil witches who snatch them, toss them into a cauldron, sacrifice them, eat them, what have you."
Gears began to turn in Madame Morrible's mind, but she couldn't get an image of the contraption that would be created from it yet. There was something there, though. She took the letter as if to spark the thought.
"With all of her fainting acts in those last days, pregnancy was the rumor."
The Wizard quirked a brow at her.
"What if we, perhaps, elevate that rumor? Raise it high? Throw in some glitter Miss Glinda would like - a secret wedding to the prince. People prefer a legitimate baby, you know."
A storm rose inside the sorceress, a chill of adrenaline.
"The kidnapping of an innocent, pregnant Glinda the Good by the Wicked Witch?" A sinister smile found itself brewing to Morrible's cheekbone. "They'll kill her. They'll do it for us."
"A call to arms," the Wizard added with a point of his finger. "And we can arm them. Arm anyone who's willing. Kill the witch on sight. Shoot her down from the sky." He stood and crossed his workshop for the cameras and lights. "Make it a full show in the balloon projector in the square - the story, and the call. It'll be a spectacle!"
Wind kicked up the edges of Madame Morrible's dress as her pacing resumed, now calculated and purposeful even with the cane. The gears turned as if freshly oiled now, and she couldn't contain the thrill of it.
"If they can do it, all we really have to do is make sure we get to your little moron before anyone else does. Send out the Emerald Guard to assist - ones who know her face even without her crown and dresses. Guards who will recognize her, so she can't hide." She quickly dashed any inkling of ridiculous hope off the Wizard's face. "To dispose of her, you fool. Your chains won't work when her captain and her witch are dead."
"You underestimate me."
"No, I don't," Morrible scoffed. "She's done. She's finished. No more beacon of hope, Glinda the Good. The witch will be dead, she'll be dead, they'll raise a chapel in her honor, and we reset. It's done."
The sorceress scanned the Wizard's face. She could see his own gears turning, trying to find some retort that would allow him to salvage the pet he'd made out of Miss Glinda. He was too attached to his toy to see how much he'd broken it. And no longer in a way that would suit them.
"It's done," Morrible said again. "She was much more malleable before you took it too far, and you know it."
And the Wizard lifted his gaze in a way she knew all too well. A smile with no warmth, that drew the sound and the air from the room.
"And you know as well as I, Alma… I've never been able to resist a dark-eyed beauty."