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The days were long. Much longer than she had anticipated. There was so much to salvage, to save, to transform, to destroy. So much of the Wizard’s regime had been smoke and mirrors, and navigating his lies was like running through a maze and discovering none of the paths lead to the centre. She had to carve her own paths. She had to burn down the maze. She had to save Oz. And she had to do it alone, even while her days were filled with meetings and greetings and brainless, heartless fools with money. She missed her friends. She missed Elphie.
It had been a full month since the Wizard’s departure when she finally found a moment to breathe, and a night to sit alone and finally do what she’d been wanting for some time. Before it was too late. Before it all went from her memory. She changed into her night things and sent her maids away, and then instructed the guards to turn away all interruptions. They obeyed without question and she was left finally alone, seated at her desk, preparing herself. She let her shoulders fall, and then she took out two blank books from a draw and selected a pen.
In one book she wrote the official account, to be printed and distributed to all of Oz, the one that had to comply with all of Morrible’s horrid press releases and the existing public narrative. It disgusted her, but it had to be done. For the greater good, she told herself. For the greater good of Oz.
She was writing propaganda, she realised without a shred of irony. Anti-Elphie propaganda. She wanted to throw the pen aside and burn the lies, but she didn’t. It took all of her self-control, but she held out.
Then, when that was done, and she had scrubbed the lies from her mind, she took the second blank book, and she lay it open and took up her pen again, and she wrote the truth. She poured all of her love into those pages, and she gushed about Elphie’s strength and her incredible sense of morality, and she admitted that she had never really hated her, even in those earliest days, and she admitted that she loved her, and most probably forever would.
She admitted that so much of what she had told the world had been a lie. Fiyero, her ex-fiancé and best friend, had never loved her, or Elphaba, not like that. Not like she had said. In fact, he had been their most fervent supporter, encouraging their budding romance before even they had known it was just that. Dear, sweet Fiyero, who had done everything he could for his friends; who had searched and searched for Elphie when she had fled, who had given up everything to protect her, who had risked his own neck to smuggle her out of Oz. He had given his whole life to Elphaba’s cause, and he had believed in it absolutely, even in the darkest of times.
That was the thing about Elphaba. She had that certain charismatic quality that drew people to her, and Glinda knew that she had absolutely no idea. It was like a strange kind of magnetism. Those who were outside of a certain range were instantly repulsed, and those that were allowed close, allowed to share her conversations and her thoughts, those people found themselves unable to escape, and unwilling to try. She could convince the most stubborn of mules to carry the heaviest of burdens with a few choice words and a firm set expression. She never would, of course, but if she’d wanted to, she would have been unstoppable.
One day, when all the Animals were free, and the barriers between rich and poor had been broken as far down as Glinda could manage, she’d make certain the world would see Elphie for who she’d been, and not for the lies she’d fed them. Then maybe, if she had the strength of conviction, the strength of heart, she’d let this book be known to the world. She’d let them read it. She’d let them know the truth of her love, and she’d pass on knowing she had, in her final years, known honesty.
She ended the story where she sat now, and she let the tears slip from her eyes untended as she wrote of how Elphie had escaped. Tricked the poor foreign girl into believing she’d killed her and let Fiyero the Scarecrow smuggle her across the border and out of Oz, probably to Ev, though she wasn’t certain. She didn’t know where she was, or where she might be going, and she wrote as much. She missed them both terribly, Elphie most of all, and she wanted to write that too, but she restrained herself. It did not add to the story, she scolded. It was just her emotions getting the upper hand.
She flipped the True Book to the cover page, and she took up the first book again, the Lies Book, and flipped to the front, and she dipped her pen again and signed.
In the Lies Book, she wrote The Witch of the West: The Life of Elphaba Thropp, and she tried to stop her hand from shaking. She signed below it By Glinda the Good with a nice little flourish, with all the authority of the Emerald City and the Good Witch of the North, and then she set it aside, and prayed she’d never have to see it again.
The True Book, she stared at for a long while, and eventually she wrote The True Account of the Life of Elphaba Thropp, then below it in simple, unassuming letters, By Glinda Upland. For a moment she considered adding a hyphen and Thropp. After all, they would have been married, wouldn’t they? But they weren’t, and that was the agonising truth. This was supposed to be the true account, and no lies could be seen in its pages, so she left it.
She took up the True Book and she carried it to her personal safe, and she unlocked it with the key she kept around her neck, and she slipped the book beneath Elphie’s cloak, and beneath The Grimmerie, and she ran her finger along the tip of Elphie’s hat, and then she shut the safe and set the key around her neck again. She climbed into bed and went quickly to sleep and dreamed of soft, green skin and tender kisses and she woke up with tears in her eyes, and she rose again to another day trying to save the world from falling to pieces.
***
“There is a man made of Tin at the gates of the Palace, Your Goodness. He’s insisting that you will speak with him.”
Glinda felt her shoulders fall a fraction, and the smile on her face slip ever so slightly, and Yana, her personal attendant, seemed to notice too.
“We can turn him away, ma’am.”
“No, no. Best send him up, thank you Yana.”
“Of course, Your Goodness,” he bowed slightly, and left.
She turned back to her desk and tried to concentrate on the mounting pile of paperwork, but found her mind drifting to her approaching guest. What could that man possibly have to say to her? He had ruined her life. He had gathered hordes of Ozians to hunt down the only person she’d ever truly loved. He had a blood red hand in her misery.
The doors opened once again, and Yana stepped aside.
“The Man of Tin, Your Goodness.”
“It’s Boq,” he said indignantly, but when he saw Glinda standing from her desk, the indignation fell away and revealed something Glinda found far more disturbing. Adoration, perhaps. Or infatuation.
“Glinda.”
“That is Your Goodness to you, Tin Man,” Yana cut in, and Glinda gave him a nod.
“Thank you, Yana. I will speak with Boq alone, if I may.”
“Of course,” Yana dipped his head and stepped out. The Guards at the doors remaining unmoving.
“Glinda,” Boq stepped forward, and was immediately cut off by the firm grip of one such Guard.
Glinda made no move to have him set lose, and he stepped back and was released, his face suddenly creased in confusion. Well, as creased as tin could be.
“What is it, Boq? Why have you come here?”
“I have a confession.”
Oh, dear Oz…
“I love you.”
Glinda let no emotion’s break her façade. She simply stood, looked him square in the face, and asked “And?”
“What?” Boq’s smile fell away.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“But… but I love you! I’ve always loved you! From the very first time I saw you.”
“That is not my concern. I never felt the same, and I have made that abundantly clear.”
“But why though? I love you! Am I not up to your high standards? Is it because I am not green?”
Glinda kept her hands from forming fists and the veins in her neck from popping in her rage.
“I have no obligation to love you, or even like you. Do you really think you could ever compare to my Love? Do you think that I gave a single thought to you while she was beside me? You are a spec against her radiance. You are nothing.”
“That is cruel,” Boq whimpered, but Glinda could only think of his rousing speeches against Elphie, and his leading the girl Dorothy straight to her hiding place, and his grinning like a fool when he thought she was dead. She only felt her sorrow, and she knew it was unreasonable, but she continued despite it.
“Cruel? Cruel?” she felt the fury seize her heart, stifling the breath coming into her lungs, making her ribs ache against the rage. “You, who started riots and spread lies. You do not get to speak on what is cruel. You are a murderer. You deserve to go where murderers go. Guards!”
“What?” The Tin Man laughed in disbelief, right to her face, but she did not waver. In a second the green clad soldiers were closing in on him as he looked desperately to Glinda. “But why?”
“Take him to the dungeon.”
Boq gaped at her, disbelieving even as the guards grabbed his arms and pulled him away, even as his face disappeared around the doorframe.
***
Progress was slow, but it was progress, she reminded herself. It was something. It was worth it. It had to be.
A month passed, and then two, and slowly things began to level for the people of Oz. The general economy had settled from the upheaval, and the paranoia and terror of the Wicked Witch began to pass into memory. Glinda successfully repealed every anti-Animal decree and set about quelling the horrid anti-Animal sentiment that still remained. She invited Animals into her advisory, and made certain people knew it. In perhaps her most daring act, though no one knew it, she called Chistery into her advisory too, and by some miracle, no one recognised him. They agreed he would take a new name, and she was happy, and she hoped he would be too. It was the least she could do for one of Elphie’s most dedicated friends.
Always she stayed bright, always offering a charming smile, always keeping the palace open to those who came to speak with her. In the long parade of desperation and veneration, there came another familiar guest in the long parade of the unfamiliar. A Lion, who kneeled before her begged for her forgiveness.
“Of course,” she nodded, earnest and kind, trying to place him in her memory, and failing to find where he fit. “But what must be forgiven?”
“You do not recognise me?” he asked, and he almost seemed relieved.
“I am sorry, good Lion, have we met?”
“Not in as many words, Your Goodness. Only that we have been in the same room, and you have been kind to my friends, and I was not kind to yours.”
“How can you mean?”
“I have read the book, you see,” he nodded solemnly, and from his bag he lifted a pamphlet of worn papers. “The one you called The Witch of the West. I was with the girl Dorothy. I was the Lion who went with her to destroy the Witch.”
Glinda felt her smile falter, but the Lion hurried on.
“But I was also the Lion, back all those years ago at Shiz. I was the Lion in the cage. And if I’d known she were the Witch, that she had set me free…”
Glinda felt his apology carry on the wavering of his voice, and she couldn’t help but let her heart reach out for him.
“There is nothing to forgive,” she knelt before him and took his face in her fingers and wiped away his tears with gentle strokes, and he nodded, but he didn’t seem to believe it. Instead he reached forward and took her hand and kissed it, and Glinda felt the press of parchment into her grip, and he stood from his kneel and bowed deeply.
“Thank Goodness. Thank you,” he uttered before hurrying away, leaving Glinda grasping the square of paper and watching after him, carefully schooling her features so her confusion did not show.
“Yana.”
“Your Goodness?” he stepped forward.
“The hour?”
“Coming on noon. You are lunching dignitaries of the Lollipop Guild.”
“I shall take a short rest now and prepare.”
“Of course, Your Goodness.”
Glinda tried not to hurry to her rooms, tried to maintain her calm, but the corners of the paper dug into her skin reminded her why she was hurrying. Was the Lion being truthful? Was he really the cub Elphie had rescued? And what was on the paper she was clutching so tightly in her hand?
As soon as the lock clicked she tore the seal from the letter and flipped it open, scanning straight to the signature, and finding in unassuming black ink, a very small, capital E.
Her heart skipped and then set about thudding violently against her ribcage, and she began to read.
My sweet,
I fear I have made a dreadful mistake. Our last goodbye was too abrupt, our love to short lived, and my strength of will has failed me. I left my heart in Oz, and I have found I am cold without it. There is no blood in my veins, no heat in the sun’s light. My soul aches without you.
I cannot cross a desert knowing you are waiting if only I turn back. I cannot make a life in some faraway place, knowing I left you with such burdens. Knowing that I left you a land to mend that I had torn asunder.
I thought I could leave you. I thought I was strong enough. But I am not. The price is too high, and I will not pay it. No one is looking for a dead witch, my love. No one but you.
If you will see me, leave a blue cloth hanging from your window on the day you receive this letter.
Hold out, and I will come to you.
E.
Glinda read it through a dozen times, lurching back toward her bed and falling down onto it, clutching the papers to her chest. Maybe holding it close would bring her closer. Maybe she would come sooner, if Glinda just willed it so.
***
Every day after was agonisingly slow. Glinda saw Elphie in every snippet of green, every dark head in the crowd, every shadow in the night. She tried to shake it. She persevered. The progress continued. Oz grew stronger.
But most strangely, Glinda found herself unable to shake Boq’s fate from her mind, even as the week crawled on and she knew he was growing cold in the stagnant halls beneath her feet. Was this the kind of person she was? He was a stupid, arrogant munchkin, but letting his life slip away in a dark cell with nothing but stale bread and dirty water seemed harsh. Elphie would think so. It wasn’t what she would have wanted. It wasn’t who she would have wanted Glinda to be. And besides, hadn’t this been partly her fault? Hadn’t she forced poor Nessa onto Boq, and even if he had been annoying, she had a hand in his fall into servitude. Didn’t she have a hand in every unpleasantness he had suffered?
Glinda rose from her desk and ventured to the belly of the palace, the lavish green not quite a comfort, but not quite unnerving. Down, and down she went to the cold stone and the musty halls. She was led to Boq’s cell by two stone faced guards, and she found him sitting in the corner, tapping his tin fingers against the stone and letting out a soft ringing down the corridor.
“Glinda?” He scrambled to his feet.
She looked him over and considered her decision. She had made it, of course, but making the decision and acting on it were two different things. She took in a deep breath and looked him over once more.
“You will leave, tonight, and you will never return to the Emerald City.”
Boq stepped closer to the bars, studying her face.
“Your banishing me?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t just, I mean… Where will I go?”
“Go home. Go back to Munchkinland.”
“Nobody wants a munchkin made of tin.”
“No one wanted a witch made of green, either. Perhaps now, you will understand something of her life.”
Boq looked as though she had just slapped him, and she realised in a way she had. He hadn’t realised what he was, not completely. He was like Elphie now. One of one. There were no others like him. He was alone.
She turned and swept from the dungeons, telling herself she never needed to see him again. Despite herself, despite her hurting, she hoped he found peace.
***
Every night Glinda dreamed of her. She couldn’t help it. She felt her on the brush of the breeze and heard her in the voices on the wind, and she dreamed, and she wished… oh how she wished for her…
She lay awake on nights when she had time to sleep, and she conjured up the image of Elphie’s face, such a terribly odd shade, her nose too sharp and her jaw too set, and not for the first time, Glinda found herself marvelling at how she had come to love such a strange creature. And yet she did love her. How could she not? She was perfect. Terribly mean, terribly honest, terribly thoughtful, terribly warm, terribly soft, and terribly in love with her too.
One such night she lay there, willing sleep to come so that she might be fresh for the next day, and yet dreading the dreams that she desired, and could not escape. She lay, feeling the air fill her lungs and slip out again, and she heard the soft tapping of something on glass.
In a second, she was tossing back the covers and looking about.
Nothing. The moonlight streamed through the window, but nothing hovered beyond. No waiting suitor. No Elphie on a broomstick.
The tapping again, and Glinda stepped closer, caution insisting she run, longing demanding that she stayed.
The tapping didn’t stop, and only grew more insistent as she moved forward. There on the windowsill was perched a bird of pure black, tapping, tapping, tapping at the window, glaring up at her as she unlocked the pane and let the night air in.
Before she could catch it, the bird had swooped into the room and alighted on her desk, chirping happily at her, and when she stepped closer she found a small tube of parchment tied to its leg. She untied it gently and found an odd set of instructions that involved a crystal ball, and an incantation she didn’t recognise, all in Elphie unmistakably spindly handwriting, and signed with another simple E.
She smiled to the bird, unsure if it was a Bird or a bird, and thanked it for its time, and it simply chirped at her and swooped back out the window.
She knew there was a crystal ball somewhere in the next room among her sorcery things, and wasted no time lighting a candle with a snap of her fingers and hurrying to search for it. Sure enough, it was dusty among a crate of things she had not yet ventured to use, and she took it out and brushed it off and brought it back to her bed, setting it down and taking up the incantation to study.
It seemed simple enough, and she trusted Elphie. No doubt she had tested it a hundred times before she even considered sending it to Glinda. But what would happen? Would Elphie appear before her? Would she pop out of nothing and take her up in her arms and never let go? Probably not, she rationalised, but a little part of her was still hoping.
With a deep breath and a steadying hand to her heart, she read the incantation aloud, and thought of Elphie, as the instructions stated, and stared deep into the centre of the crystal. There, glimmering into existence, she saw a dark room with a single candle burning and a figure hunched at a writing desk, scribbling away. A figure with the unmistakeably green skin of one Elphaba Thropp.
Glinda felt her chest seize up, and she clutched the crystal ball so tightly she feared it might fuse to her skin. Was this happening right now? Was that Elphie at this very moment?
She didn’t know how long she sat there, watching Elphie hunched at her desk, but it must have been quite some time because her legs grew stiff and her fingers began to ache until she was forced to place the ball back onto the bed and gaze from above. She studied the room, gut sinking as she examined the dim, inhospitable interior. A simple wooden bed, furniture that seemed on the edge of collapse, a wash basin that Elphie couldn’t use, and a truly astounding amount of dust.
Elphie shifted, her head snapping back toward the little window that was shuttered against the moonlight. She stood and hurried to it, cracking it open to let a small black bird swoop in. As soon as she saw it, she stepped back to her desk and shifted a book aside to reveal a crystal ball among her things, and Glinda felt her heart swoop as she realised her plan.
Elphaba took up the ball and muttered the incantation, and Glinda heard her speak as though she was in the room with her and watched her sink to her chair and knew she was watching.
“My sweet,” Elphie murmured.
Glinda felt the sob rise in her throat, and she forced it back with a gulp and a shuddering breath. “My love.”
“I found a way.”
***
The House of Saint Aelphaba stood on the border of Munchkinland and the Emerald City, a handful of hours from the Cloister of Saint Glinda. Elphie thought it was a bit obvious. Glinda was too desperate to see her to care. What mattered was that there were fewer people, fewer questions, and more avenues of escape. Perhaps most importantly, no Guards were permitted within the main house, where Glinda would stay.
Besides, passing through the House on her journey to Nest Hardings was a perfect cover, and a stop Glinda could take without suspicion. Not that there was suspicion. No one was looking for a dead witch, after all. Spending a day or two at the house of a Saint was hardly cause for concern.
She arrived by night and was put up in a set of fine rooms with thick drapes and sturdy furniture, and she sent her travelling party to put themselves to bed for whatever was left of the night.
When they had all gone from her room, she set the lock on the door and produced her crystal ball, and she found Elphie huddled somewhere dark, among what looked to be trees, holding her own crystal ball close.
“Took you long enough, my sweet,” Elphie muttered, but there was no malice in her voice.
“Come to me?” Glinda asked tentatively, and in a second Elphie had ended her spell and was stuffing the crystal ball into her bag and taking up her broom. With another wave of her hand and a short chant she shimmered, and her form shifted into a translucent shadow. Not entirely invisible, but almost. Hard to spot in the dark at least.
Glinda let the image fade from her own crystal ball and set about washing her face and making herself as presentable as possible. Not that it mattered, but she wanted to. She wanted Elphie’s breath to hitch when she looked at her. She wanted to have her wanting.
An eternity later there was a tapping at her window. She was there in a flash, throwing it open and letting the shadow slip in, and closing it just as hurriedly, pulling the drapes across to keep the world out.
She turned and there she was, tall and splendid and alive. She was leaning down and brushing her lips softly over Glinda’s cheek, and her heart was hammering in disbelief and desire, and her lungs felt suddenly too small. Elphie was taking her face gently and whispering how much she’d missed her, how much she’d wanted to run to her, and she was kissing her and breathing her name, and of course Glinda was wrapping her arms around her neck and kissing her back, hoping, praying, that this was not a dream.
“You held out, my sweet. I knew you would.”
***
It was a temporary utopia, and Glinda knew, but hated to remember it. Just one day with Elphie, after months of wanting, was not enough. It was clear Elphie was thinking just as much when she laced their fingers together as midmorning approached (Glinda had told Yana she had a headache and required a day of rest).
“And what will we do, my sweet?” Elphie asked, eyes fixed to the ornate carvings across the ceiling.
“How do you mean?”
“You know how I mean it,” Elphie looked at her and lifted a hand to ghost across her cheek.
“Perhaps I could hire you. Perhaps you could be the Captain of the Guard,” Glinda nuzzled into her neck, smiling, and she felt Elphie smile too. “No one will notice, I’m sure.”
“I’m green.”
“You’ll fit right in.”
Elphie let out a huff of amusement but said nothing to that and a thought struck Glinda like a well-aimed rock.
“Colwen Grounds,” Glinda sat up suddenly.
Elphie shook her head. “I should not go back there.”
“But what if you could?”
“I could not. And besides, I’m sure some looting munchkins have long since taken hold. I bet they burned the place to the ground.”
“They haven’t,” Glinda turned to her, and watched her brow tip with uncertainty. “I have it. It fell to the Wizard’s assets when Nessa… it’s mine, is all I mean. Or Oz’s, at least. But I can do with it as I wish.”
“You can’t gift an Estate to a dead witch, my sweet,” Elphie shook her head.
“No, I cannot. But I can gift it to Chistery.”
Elphie rose onto her elbow very slowly, thoughtfully. “Do you think he would take it?”
“You can ask him yourself.”
Elphaba’s head snapped to her. “He’s here?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t leave him behind, knowing I was coming to you. He’s one of my closest advisors. Though I call him Nikko, to avoid suspicions.”
“No one noticed? Of course they didn’t, that was a stupid question. But he’s here? Is he speaking? Does he use his voice?”
“He never stops,” Glinda smiled softly, and her heart stuttered at the way Elphie’s eyes lit up.
“Do you think he’d want to see me?”
“I think he would very much like to see you,” Glinda said, kissing her brow softly and slipping off the bed, pulling on a robe and padding softly into the next room. “Wait here.”
She opened the door a crack and looked out to Yana, who turned to her attentively.
“Your Goodness?”
“Could you please send for Nikko. I would like a word, on a private matter.”
“At once,” Yana nodded.
“And tea for two.”
“Of course,” he nodded again, and Glinda let the door click shut again, turning back to find Elphie loitering in the doorway.
“Shoo, you. You shouldn’t step so near the door,” she hurried forward clasping Elphie hand and pulling her back to the bedroom.
“Perhaps it is not so much that you want me further from the door than you would like me closer to the bed,” Elphie spoke with clarity, though Glinda watched her cheeks darken another charming shade of green.
“Perhaps it is, my love,” Glinda battered her eyelids innocently, and lifted onto her toes to brush Elphie’s cheek, revelling in the way she grew warm beneath her touch. “But we will have a guest soon, and you must not distract me with such musings.”
***
“Are you sure?” Elphaba’s brow creased. “The truth is a difficult thing, sometimes.”
“I am,” Glinda set the book down, dusty and unread, and let its presence hang in the air between them. “If they hate me for this, when I have spent my whole life saving theirs, then they never really cared at all, and I cannot change that.”
“They might see it as a kind of betrayal.”
“It is. I lied to them for decades. I just hope they can see why.”
“Will you tell them I am alive, here in Oz?”
Glinda looked to her and studied the laughter lines that creased her weathered green skin, the high cheekbones and the deep, dark eyes, unchanged, even now.
“No. I think we should see how they react. How public opinion forms. If it is favourable, perhaps. Only if it is what you want, of course.”
“I suppose I have become so accustomed to being the dead witch, I had not considered what living might be like.”
Glinda took up her hand and examined the wrinkles of her own palm holding Elphaba’s. Her younger self would have hated such wrinkles, but passing into her seventh decade now, she liked how they looked. They reminded her of her hard work. They were the wrinkles of time, and they were hers.
“Do you think I shouldn’t? It is as much about you as it is about me.”
“I will not suffer, regardless.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Elphaba took up her hands in a firmer grip, and let her gaze drift to the Truth Book, the book titled The True Account of the Life of Elphaba Thropp.
“It has been eating away at you these past few years. I think you will not be content until you let the truth free.”
“You are right, of course. But is it selfish to desire freedom from this burden?”
“My sweet, you have long since boned your body of all selfishness. I think it is honesty in its purest form. You will be letting all of Oz see the halls of your heart. That is humbling, not selfish.”
***
It was published as it stood, in its untouched entirety. Every truth that Glinda had poured fourth all those years ago was free to be read by any eyes that could find a copy of The True Account of the Life of Elphaba Thropp. It was horribly nerve-racking, and unbelievably liberating all at once.
On the day of its release, she found her hands shaking and her stomach empty and she could hardly drink a sip of tea or leave the comfort of Elphaba’s arms. She was Glinda the Good, she had raised Oz out of chaos, and she had changed the whole world time and time again, but she could not keep herself standing. It was not regret, it was terror.
That evening, the letters began to trickle in. First from close friends, varying wildly from disbelief to quiet approval and even congratulations.
There was one from Yana, who had long since gone his own way, telling her he was glad at her honesty, and that he had assumed as much from the way she spoke of the Witch, and asking if all those journeys to Colwen Grounds and to the House of Saint Aelphaba had been to help her remember, or perhaps to stifle her grief. There was one from Fiyero, riddled with nostalgic jokes from their university days, and gushing over her bravery, and offering his hand at anything they needed, as it had always been offered.
The next morning, however, the gentlefox who brought the mail pulled up with a cart piled high with sacks of letters, and when she had asked which were for her, he had gestured to the lot of it and offered to leave the cart and return for it tomorrow.
She had stood stunned until he had leapt down and led her back inside to where Elphaba sat in the dining hall and had explained about the letters and offered to leave the cart. Elphaba had asked instead that he bring them into the hall and take the cart back. He might need it again that afternoon.
He didn’t flinch at seeing the green witch. After all, they paid him enough to turn a blind eye to her existence, and she was a kind of hero among Animals, and no doubt that status would only be solidified with the publication of the True Book. No, instead he carried the bags inside and offered another apology to the recovering Glinda, who smiled weakly and let him go about his day.
Elphaba set her at the table and told her to wait there, and when she returned, she said only that she had enlisted some help, and it would be here before the night came.
***
Fiyero arrived first, around noon, and when he saw the bags of letters, many of which had since been added, he burst out laughing and almost doubled over. The Lion, Brrr, arrived shortly after, and he struck up a lively conversation with Chistery on the state of relations with Ev.
Yana was much more subdued, though his arrival was a unique one, because among their guests, he alone did not know Elphaba was alive. Glinda greeted him warmly at the door and began trying to explain the situation with as much finesse as she could manage. She trusted him, of course she did, but it might be rather a shock, especially after knowing each other for so many years.
When she led him into the sitting room where Elphaba stood, a regal green figure in her customary black, he stopped short and stared, wide eyed. To her credit, Elphaba kept any biting commentary to herself.
Yana visibly gathered his faculty and bowed deeply, and Glinda let out the breath she had been holding. He said only, “I thought that might be the case,” with a knowing look toward a blushing Glinda.
The last to arrive was Boq, who clattered his way up to their front door and gave a solid knock. He was invited in like all the others, and given a warm reception, the animosity between them long since settled. He had made their lives difficult, but to be fair, Glinda’s careless scheming and Elphaba’s magic had set him into slavery and turned him to tin, so it was all rather even, when one put proper thought into it.
They all took up places around the room and began to sort through the letters. They needed categories, they decided, with sub categories for clarity. There were piles for friends and family, sorted into supportive and unsupportive senders, piles for political letters, sorted the same, and piles for strangers, and a pile for letters that Glinda absolutely must read herself.
They even had paper out to write down the questions that were asked of her, provided they were reasonable. The one that cropped up the most, that one that made them all laugh a little every time they came across it, was some variation on “Is Elphaba alive? Where is she now? Do you know her still?”
When mail came that evening with another cartful of letters, Glinda instructed the young Fox to carry the bags into the front room where all the sorting was occurring. He did just that, staggering in with a bundle in his arms, and stopped short, blinking at the rather odd array of houseguests that Colwen Grounds was keeping, but he quickly shook some sense into himself and said nothing.
As Glinda was showing him out, she found him suddenly loitering in the doorway, and waited to let him speak on whatever was on his tongue.
“I only read the first few pages, Your Goodness. But I wanted to say thank you,” he scuffed his paw nervously on the ground.
“Thank you?” Glinda asked, unsure.
“We always knew she was a good one. The Animals, I mean. She had been so good to us, when the Wizard was cruel, my parents said. But we couldn’t call her our champion, when people thought she was wicked. Now maybe we can name her as such, as we always wanted.”
With that he gave another dip of his head and hurried away, and Glinda couldn’t help but let the smile spread across her face. This had been a good idea. This wasn’t some dreadful mistake.
***
As the sorting went on and on, one thing became clear. There was an enormous disparity between the piles of ‘supportive’ and ‘unsupportive’ letters. That is, there were bags and bags of the former, and only half a bag in the negative. Everyone felt it, the shift in the room as they came to realise what this could mean.
That evening, when they had all needed a break and their guests wandered down to the kitchen with Brrr and Boq promising to prepare a lavish dinner, Elphaba caught her hand and kept her back as the others filtered out.
Glinda drew her close and gave her a lingering kiss and flashed her softest smile.
“It’s looking up, my love. No one knocking on the door with pitchforks and torches and demanding my life.”
“No,” Elphaba chuckled, “they are not. And is that enough for you?”
Glinda looked about, the mountains of cream colour parchments, and shook her head. “No. I’m going to draft a statement, answering all the most pressing questions.”
“Including on me?”
“I think we should wait on that a little longer. Not rush into anything.”
“Of course. I’m just rather taken with not being the Wicked Witch. And not being dead.”
“You talk too much for a corpse.”
Elphaba laughed at that, her deep, all-consuming laugh.
“We will see how the papers speak of it. If it is favourable, perhaps you could ride this wave right out the door and into the streets again.”
Elphaba nodded, eyes thoughtful, and then she drew her close and kissed her again and took her arm and led her toward the already rowdy kitchen.
***
To the Dear People of Oz,
I know I have caused some confusion with the publication of The True Account of the Life of Elphaba Thropp. I can only offer my sincerest apologies for my prolonged dishonesty, and hope you can understand why, after the upheaval of the Wizard’s departure, it was necessary to keep certain truths hidden. Not only for you, but for Elphaba. It may take time to understand my decision, and to understand the terrible things the Wizard did for what they are. It may be difficult, but I hope dearly that you will take that time, and that one day, you might forgive me.
I must reiterate, for my own sake, that every word of The True Account of the Life of Elphaba Thropp is accurate. She stood for truth when I was unable. She fought for the freedoms of strangers, she pushed against an unjust authority, and because of her, Oz did not collapse under the weight of the Wizard’s greed, and we were not crushed in his iron fist.
It is true also, that I loved her. Perhaps more importantly, it is true that I love her still. I hope, even if you cannot forgive my dishonesty, you will think of her differently. Everything Good that I ever accomplished, I did for you, and I did for her.
She, more than I, is Elphaba the Good.
To all those who have offered their kindness and support, I thank you. I am not ashamed to admit publishing The True Account struck terror into my heart. You have, with your words and your letters and your compassion, eliminated that terror. I did not first believe it, but now I understand I have made the right decision.
However, I have one more admission, and it is one that will answer your most pressing question. She is alive. She is so very alive, and she is mine. She returned to me a short time after I wrote The True Account many years ago, and our love has remained strong ever since. In fact, we are married.
I can say, with absolute sincerity, that I couldn’t be happier. I hope you can be happy for me, and for us.
All my love,
Glinda Upland-Thropp