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Elphaba had been told once that beautiful things were often the most dangerous of them all. In a rare moment of benevolence, her father had separated himself from Nessa’s side for long enough to impart a lesson to her. Most of the time, she was responsible for her own education. She would insist she did not mind it if asked — after all, books kept her company when no one else would — but maybe she was a liar, deep down.
After all, she had spent her life pretending to be unbothered by plenty of things. Sometimes her temper would flare out of control, but those outbursts never amounted to much beyond a slap on the wrist or stern scolding. She was unpredictable, she was selfish. Who was she to throw fits when it was Nessa who suffered, clearly, victim to her very birth?
Sometimes she wanted to shout in her father’s face — don’t you think I’ve suffered too? Sometimes she wanted to ask him whether or not he could even see her. Everyone else in her life seemed eager enough to stare.
Never him, though. He would much rather forget about the abomination of a daughter he had helped bring to the world.
That day, though, he had remembered her, at least enough that he had slipped up behind her and peered past her shoulder to the book she had splayed open across her lap. She had jumped upon his approach. It was not a common occurrence for her, after all, to have someone stray so close. She was far more used to fleeing.
The book had been an encyclopedia of plant life, illustrated with swirling linework and vibrant hues. Her father had tapped on the page she had only just turned to, finger pressing and creating a crease that she would later have to ease out of the page.
“Oleander,” he told her, naming it. “Pretty, but poisonous.”
The pink petals were indeed pretty, swirling in an almost hypnotic pattern. It made sense for him to know, she’d thought, about the plant’s properties. She had taken the book from his study after all, finding a page on milk flowers still diligently bookmarked.
She had thought he might be angry to discover she had picked it up without permission. Instead, he had simply pulled a chair up to settle beside her. Her palms had felt sweaty against the book’s pages, but there had been no subtle way to dry them, so she had settled into the sensation.
That was what life with her father always was — settling. Even as he had shuffled close to flick through the pages, telling her all about the ways in which menacing things hid behind the allure of beauty from plants to wildlife, she had known it would only be a matter of time before his presence faded. Nessa would call for him, or perhaps he would simply blink and realize what he was doing. He would leave, then, and Elphaba would be alone once more, letting her thumb hover over the green ink of the illustrated leaves laid out on the pages.
She would act like the similarity of the ink to her skin tone did not make her want to scream.
She would remember her father’s lesson years later, bathed in the light of a ballroom she was never meant to step foot in. Elphaba was as used to holding back her own screams as she was to hearing them emanate from the mouths of those around her. Why did it hurt so much, then, to hear those familiar shrieks?
Why had she let herself believe, even for a moment, that generosity was something she deserved?
Elphaba had not been as naïve as she was in the moment that she accepted Galinda’s gift for quite some time. She had long since moved beyond the idea that someone might care enough for her to bestow her with a present, but —
That hat, that stupid hat. Her stupid roommate, her dazzling smile.
She’d simply wanted to believe it. She had been reminded of her father’s parting gift to Nessa. Maybe in that regard she was greedy, jealous and grasping at the first thing to fall into her lap. Maybe it was her own fault for being so delusional.
Through the crowd, she caught a glimpse of Galinda’s dress, pink and ruffled just like the petals of a particular plant. She stood out — she always did, regardless of whether she was dressed in shades of blush or pallid blue or eggshell white — and she was beautiful, and Elphaba remembered.
No, she thought. It was not her fault for being delusional. It was her fault for ever forgetting.
Poison rose in her throat, but she danced anyway. She felt she would succumb to it, but on she went, arms flailing and teeth gnashing together. Galinda watched her. She looked pale, pink slowly seeping out of her cheeks, and slowly, she became more stricken than she was stunning.
Good.
Elphaba danced, though the music felt far away. Maybe they had all hushed it. Maybe she was swaying to nothing. She could hear the laughter, distinct as ever, as she made a fool of herself.
It was snickering, shushed behind hands, and then it was guffaws, loud and full of disbelief. A tap to her shoulder made her turn.
“May I cut in?”
Beautiful things were not only dangerous, she discovered, but cruel. What more could Galinda want? Elphaba was teetering on a precipice, ready to be shoved off. She could sense the eager excitement of the other students watching her, waiting, expectant as ever.
She stepped aside, away from the edge, and gestured Galinda towards it, a stubborn refusal to give in to her game.
To her amazement, she took a step. A hush fell, then, a real hush.
Galinda lifted her arms, flailing them in the same clumsy manner she had before. The raucous cries of laughter from earlier returned. This time, they were not meant for her. Louder the noise crept as Galinda went on. Elphaba was frozen. When Galinda hesitated, she broke from her reverie to shake her head, stubborn once more, sure that now she would stop. It had been a clumsy attempt at mockery, perhaps.
Galinda looked at her. Galinda looked only at her, and again, she began to dance. Even in her messy gestures, Elphaba could see an undercurrent of refinement. It echoed in the way her spine stiffened when a group of students sneered from Galinda’s side. Still, despite it, she stood straight. Still, she kept looking, her eyes never breaking away.
Elphaba felt her rage sizzle down through her chest into her stomach as Galinda circled her, cautious, careful. It formed a pit there, suddenly cold. It was all too much, the vulnerability in Galinda’s eyes. Elphaba broke the contact first, turning to see pure and utter bafflement on the faces of their classmates. They stared at Galinda like they hardly knew her — as though somehow, implicitly, she had done something so perplexing that she was unrecognizable.
She had, Elphaba realized, as eyes strayed away from her for the first time in her life. Someone else had taken the scorn and the stares.
She could not handle it. Moving without thought, Elphaba whipped back towards her. Galinda looked pale, still, but she realized her beauty had never left her. This close, she could see the shadows her eyelashes cast on her face. Her lips were parted slightly, and Elphaba watched as a trembling breath left them.
Her body moved of its own accord, and though the motions it made were sloppy, they felt natural. They fell into place with Galinda’s, a reverberation, and together they stepped. Beyond the two of them, the crowd fell away. All Elphaba could see was the pink returning to her cheeks, flushing her face in a gentle dusting of rose.
At some point, she heard the music swell again. At some point, she glanced up to witness a sea of students following in stride with their movements, replicating every graceless maneuver. At some point, Galinda’s hand found hers. A subtle tug had her facing Galinda, and with her unoccupied hand, she moved to reach for the hat still sitting atop her head. Apologetic, she brushed fingers against the brim. Elphaba watched her move to brush it aside.
“No,” she recoiled, “I want to keep it.”
Galinda blinked, then she beamed. From where their fingers interlocked, Elphaba noticed a squeeze.
The press of their palms together was like an apology.
It was absurd, returning to their shared bedroom with a sensation other than sharp, distinct annoyance. It was absurd to have Galinda practically draped over one of her shoulders, squealing and bouncing and sending golden curls askew, the ends of her hair tickling against Elphaba’s skin. It was absurd to watch Galinda flounce from one bed to another, pressing so close that Elphaba found it hard to breathe.
The instinctual parts of her tell her to snap, to bear her teeth. She was not used to this, not in any sense. She could snarl and scare her off, she knew, but — but the parts that could not tear her gaze away from Galinda for even a moment as she invaded every last inch of her personal space called out come closer, and Elphaba did not have it in her to protest those desires.
Her body was alarmingly warm in any spot Galinda touched, as though she were a fire leaving behind residual smoldering cinders. With the way her eyes burned bright, she might as well have been one. Elphaba was certain she could get caught in those flames and never regret it.
Galinda was beautiful, and Elphaba had known that from the start. What she had not known was this — the way she would melt against her side, giggling, and Oz , had she not thought that sound so irksome only a short while ago? Perhaps beauty was poisonous, because Galinda’s presence was intoxicating. Elphaba was overwhelmed with it, with having a friend .
If this was what she had been missing out on, then — then she wished she could go back to that first day she and Galinda had met. She would return to that moment and shake her hand from the start, and resolutely, she would tell her, I’m sorry, we are both about to behave like complete fools. Let’s skip that part. There is something much better waiting.
She likely would have been laughed at still, she imagines. In the moments where Galinda was back on her own bed, distant, Elphaba was reminded of the precious and delicate nature of this newfound bond. Only hours ago, Galinda had schemed and set her up to look like a fool. Even now as she chattered on, Elphaba still heard things that made her nose crinkle, shallow comments and ignorant statements.
Like the claim that she was going to marry Fiyero, for example.
Him? She thought. Really?
Instead, she asked how that particular plot had unfurled so swiftly. Galinda assured that it hasn’t, not yet, and whatever sensation flooded her in response felt strangely similar to relief. She thought no more of it.
Galinda returned, eventually, to their previous closeness, and she would have basked in it had she been given a chance. Green flashes from the corner of her eye, though, and suddenly it all goes cold, her sense of security rushing out of the room. Elphaba, shrieking, Galinda, retreating.
They both settled down, inevitably. Elphaba had felt ashamed to explain, but in a shaky voice, she had. A remnant of her mother. Something to remind her of the mistake she had always been.
Galinda, of course, could not understand, but the attempt made on her behalf left behind an aching sensation in Elphaba’s chest. No one else had ever gone so far. No one else had ever believed enough in her to claim that it was not her fault, what had happened to Nessa, to her mother.
Gradually, the pain gets washed away by Galinda’s gentle administration. A curled finger tapped against the tip of her nose, a brush running through the waves of her hair. Galinda made a show of caring for her — unnecessary, in a sense, but Elphaba allowed herself to bask in it.
For some time, anyway.
A flower woven into her hair reminds her of oleander. Pink, Galinda decided, looked good with green. Elphaba found a way to tolerate the claim despite the way it had her heart pounding, fluttering, panicking inside of her chest.
It flew free entirely, though, when a mirror was shoved into her hand, when Galinda’s voice softened, and, oh, she exclaimed softly.
“Miss Elphaba, look at you. You’re beautiful.”
Beautiful. Not a word meant for her. Beauty she remembered as something to be feared, and Galinda has terrified her with it, with the weight of what it meant. Excuses are made, their room is left, and Elphaba had been certain she caught herself before she dreamed too far.
She had been wrong, of course, because even her blessings were turned into curses in due time.
They had left, together for the Emerald City, and Elphaba had pretended like the simple act of Glinda going with her had not made her heart soar. She’d pretended, however silly Glinda had sounded in the moment, that the thought behind her new name had not left her grinning for the entire duration of their trip towards the culmination of her destiny.
In a way, it felt only right to have Glinda with her for it. Madame Morrible might have been correct to lift a brow at Glinda’s capabilities with regard to sorcery — she had still been struggling in their sessions by the time they had chosen to leave — but whatever Glinda lacked in raw talent, she made up tenfold in passion. It was for Glinda that she had continued on, for Glinda’s faith in her, for the way she cheered, for the way she believed.
Without her, Elphaba was not sure where she might have ended up.
Perhaps it was the act of being with her that was fated to doom them both. The pounding at the doors mirrored the pounding of her own heart, and the Wizard — oh, in a horrible way, it made sense. All along, guided toward him, she had been expected to obey.
What reason did she have to rebel?
She had a reason to stay, she knew for certain. Beyond the Wizard, beyond his deceit and his ploys for power and pulling her into them, Glinda was there. Glinda was pleading with her, begging. She could apologize. They could go back.
The Wizard, Madame Morrible — both had thought to exploit her naivete, her yearning for somewhere to belong. They had taken the twisted parts of her and only twisted them further, every bit of her a weakness to be preyed upon, but they had missed just one .
Finally, Elphaba realized Glinda had never been dangerous. She was crying, she was beautiful, and her emotions unfurled from her like the petals of a flower curling away from the center. Elphaba wanted nothing more than to kiss her, a dawning realization that it was far too late for. She knew, after all, that Glinda was in love. Elphaba was, too.
It would not be enough to save her.
Only one of them had ever been poisonous, marked from the start with ivy green skin, a garish warning sign. The oleander and its empty threat was little more than a farce, something Elphaba could believe in to convince herself that there was some trace of good inside of her waiting to be pulled forth. Glinda might have cloaked herself in the illusion of it, pretty and pink and all too obvious, but had she not said it herself? Beautiful, Glinda called her, and only as her hand trembled on the handle of a broom did Elphaba finally understand it.
She wished she’d told Glinda she was beautiful, too, and meant it in the way she deserved.
Far away, she knew Fiyero would be waiting. Far away from her , she knew Glinda could have a future. At her side, the poison would only seep out, the danger would only creep closer. Elphaba recalled the way her father had instructed her to get rid of oleander, in a show of fire and flame. Burn the roots. It was the only way.
With Glinda’s hand clutched firmly in the space of her empty one, Elphaba lifted the conjoined pair towards her. She settled for the ghost of fingertips across her face. When she released her hold, Glinda reached once more for the brim of her hat and pressed it down firmly onto her head. Elphaba closed her eyes, then, certain she would never be brave enough if she watched. Behind her eyelids, a vision of ballroom lights danced.
In a rush, a warm breath was exhaled — not her own — against her lips. The doors pounded open. Elphaba jumped, she blinked, and Glinda was torn from her side. The guards reached for her, and she went — up, up, as far as the highest flame could crawl.
Below her, her world burned away.