Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I knew you in another life

“Because I knew you, I have been changed for good.”

It was all a blur now.

Visions of glitter, pink satin, golden strands, wide doe eyes, and that dimpled, radiant smile linger in Elphaba’s memory, once vivid and achingly real. Now, they scatter like fractured fragments, slipping further from her grasp with each passing day.

No magic in her hands, no sorcery in all of Oz could conjure that face, not the way it truly was. The sharp clarity of memory she once took for granted has dissolved into something distant and dreamlike, distorted by time’s merciless hand.

Even her touch—the warmth of her fingers, the softness of her voice—once so familiar, now feels like a distant echo, drowned in destiny’s cruel cacophony. It’s a horrifying realization: to lose someone not only in life but in memory too. 

She thought she could control this one thing, that no force in Oz could steal her from there . But even that was a lie.

If she had known this was her inevitable fate, she would have lingered longer in the moments they shared, memorized the exact shade of her eyes under the morning sun, counted the freckles that appeared only when she laughed too hard. She would have stayed still just a little longer, soaking in the quiet, precious moments she always thought they’d have more of.

(She doubts it would have helped. The ache would have remained all the same.)

Elphaba lets the memory go and wonders: What kind of face is Glinda making right now?

Is she smiling? Laughing at some clever remark? Perhaps someone else is at her side, making her laugh. (Dear Oz, she hopes not.)

Maybe she’s crying. Mourning, crushed by the weight of her absence, haunted by memories that refuse to fade.

The thought sparks a strange guilty thrill in her chest.

It’s a selfish wish, she knows. Horrid even. But part of her clings to the hope that somewhere, Glinda feels the same ache and the same hollow tug in her chest that refuses to heal. A stubborn, relentless mark. A reminder that a wicked witch had once lived there, carved deep into her heart, leaving a scar that would never fully fade.

Perhaps that’s the wickedness in Elphaba speaking. Or perhaps... it’s just her.

She glances sideways, a faint, weary smile tugging at her lips. This life she’s forged feels both heavy and resolute, a destiny not just forced upon the Wicked Witch of the West, but claimed by Elphaba Thropp. A life built from defiance, resilience, and purpose.

Beside her, a man with a kind smile and skin of straw meets her gaze. He chose her, loves her. She tells herself she has no regrets. But as her eyes drift toward the horizon, past the burning crimson sky and endless clouds, she wonders... What would Glinda’s smile look like now?

Would it still light up the world around her, as dazzling as ever? Would her laugh still echo like music in the quiet places of Elphaba’s mind?

The memory of their connection tightens around her heart, a bittersweet anchor, tethering her to something distant yet never fully gone.

“If I’d known you were going to consume so much of me… maybe then I—”

The words trail off like smoke, slipping into the wind before she can stop them.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, tilting his head in quiet confusion.

Elphaba blinks, meeting his warm, questioning gaze, but she doesn’t answer.

Instead, she lets the fading fragments of pink, gold, and blue fill her mind once more—a puzzle she will never, ever complete.

—

It was one of those dreams again, the kind that left Elphaba more confused than frightened. For as long as she could remember, these hazy, fragmented visions haunted her. They felt like memories from a life she couldn’t place, familiar yet distant, always just out of reach.

The dreams always put her in a foul mood.

Not because of what she saw (she never really remembered enough of it to care), but because of the lingering feeling. A heavy, crushing weight seemed to press down on her already overburdened shoulders. As though the universe had decided her plate wasn’t already full of enough hardship, enough battles, enough loneliness.

Like she needed more .

“Bad dream?”

Dulcibear’s voice was soft and soothing, the way only her Dulcibear could be. She wasn’t just a nanny; she was the closest thing Elphaba had to a parent and a comrade. She grounds her, makes her feel secure, safe and she’s always grateful for it.

Before Elphaba could lament her response to Dulicbear, Nessarose wheels into the room, practically glowing with excitement—a stark contrast to Elphaba’s brooding stillness.

“Oh, Elphaba,” Nessa teases, her voice light and sing-song. “Must you ruin this beautiful morning with that hideoteous look on your face?”

Elphaba forces herself not to scowl. Of course Nessa is excited. Today marks the start of something new , a fresh beginning at Shiz, far from the suffocating walls of their home.

For Nessa, at least.

Elphaba clenched her jaw, willing herself to be happy for her sister. This was what they’d both dreamed of: freedom . But dreams were funny that way. Nessa was always the one destined to be free. Elphaba’s path had always been... different.

It’s fine , she tells herself. It was never going to be her anyway.

A soft giggle pulled her from her thoughts. Nessa was already spinning her wheelchair playfully, humming a cheery, unfamiliar tune as she rolls toward the door, utterly unaware of the ache twisting in Elphaba’s chest. Her sister deserves this: happiness, adventure, a world that didn’t see her as a burden.

“Elphaba.” She blinks, realizing Dulcibear was watching her, expression gentle but firm. “Try to enjoy today. For your sister.”

Elphaba exhales slowly, swallowing the familiar bitterness. Let Nessa shine. Let her have this moment. Don't let anyone see how much it hurts to be left behind.

–

Before long, they stand at the docks, boarding the boat bound for Shiz University. Between Nessarose’s delighted squeals and excited chatter, they manage to load everything they need, though their father’s stiff posture and tight-lipped expression make his displeasure clear.

The Governor of Munchkinland lingers at the edge of the dock, finding excuse after excuse to delay their departure. He stumbles through empty pleasantries, reluctant to let his favorite daughter go.

Elphaba stands off to the side, arms crossed, a familiar ache settling deep in her chest. She watches as her father hovers over Nessa, his every word, every glance, every ounce of affection reserved solely for her. Not once does his gaze flicker toward Elphaba, not even by accident.

Her fingers clench at her sides, the sting of being invisible digging deeper, sharper. She forces the bitterness down, swallowing it like a bitter pill. It doesn’t matter , she tells herself. It never has .

“We should leave,” she says flatly, her voice cutting through the strained air.

Nessa brightens instantly, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Yes! We don’t want to miss the welcome ceremony!”

The boat creaks as it pushes off from the dock, gliding steadily toward the horizon. Shiz’s spires slowly rise from the morning mist, sharp and distant, promising something new.

Elphaba keeps her eyes on the water, focusing on the steady ripples and the soft splash of fish breaking the surface. The sky is streaked with pink and gold, pretty enough to be distracting if she lets it.

Her gaze snags on a boat ahead, piled high with luggage, so much that it looks ready to tip at any moment. Its bright pink deck gleams obnoxiously in the morning light, making the whole ridiculous thing even harder to ignore.

“How is that thing still floating?” she mutters, frowning at the impossible sight.

Before she can get too lost in her thoughts, Nessa slips her hand into hers, squeezing once, then twice, warm and familiar. Elphaba looks down, caught off guard by the soft, hopeful expression on her sister’s face.

“It’s going to be wonderful,” Nessa says, smiling like she truly believes it.

Elphaba’s chest tightens, but she squeezes her sister’s hand back, shoving all the positivity she could muster in her smile.

As the towering gates of Shiz draw closer, Elphaba feels a sharp pang in her chest, a familiar discomfort she can’t shake. Around her, students beam with excitement, their uniforms crisp, their faces glowing with hope and possibility. Nessa blends in effortlessly, her wide-eyed wonder matching theirs like she’s always belonged.

Elphaba, though, feels every inch of her green skin like a beacon announcing her difference.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots that boat again, the obnoxiously pink one, docked now and unloading an endless parade of matching pink suitcases and glittering trunks. She watches with detached amusement as servants struggle to manage the mountain of luggage, grumbling under their breath.

Moments later, their own boat bumps gently against the dock, and her father wastes no time ushering Nessa’s things ashore. At his pointed insistence, Elphaba steps off first, clearing the way so he can stay by Nessa’s side just a little longer.

Fine by her.

This buys her time to explore, to get a feel for this new place before anyone has a chance to define it for her. She straightens her back, shoulders square, and steps forward, her shoes clicking sharply against the stone. The sound echoes with an almost commanding resonance, steady and sure.

A strange surge of confidence unfurls in her chest, it almost feels alien to her.

The sea of students part instinctively, clearing a path for her as she strides forward. She watches their faces twist—disgust, unease, fear. They recoil, whisper, stare.

She’s spent her whole life being seen as a spectacle, never as a person, always as a curiosity, an other . But now, for the first time, she feels something different: power. Power over the sea of students that part to make way for her to go through.

Up ahead, a choir belts out what’s clearly meant to be a welcoming melody, but to Elphaba, it sounds more like something fit for a funeral procession. She’s just about to mutter something snarky when the sharp click of a heel cuts through the air, snapping her attention forward. Curious , she thinks.

A girl steps into the spotlight, her voice rising above the strained choir, effortlessly extending the melody with a dramatic flourish. Gasps ripple through the crowd, followed by thunderous applause. She commands awe with startling ease, like the world was built to adore her.

She’s a spectacle too, Elphaba muses. But her kind of spectacle draws people in, it enchants them. They don’t stare out of disgust or fear, but out of admiration. It's... interesting .

The crowd shifts, parting even wider, and Elphaba spots a familiar blur of pink and gold cutting through the sea of blue uniforms like a beacon.

The air thickens, the choir’s strained melody fading beneath gasps and whispered horror as her presence registers. Students reel back, their expressions twisting into something between fascination and revulsion.

And there, standing at the center of it all, is her: decked out in an aggressively preppy pink uniform, her golden curls practically glowing like a halo under the sun. She seems like the type who likes being studied, observed, worshiped .

But right now, she’s staring at Elphaba with wide-eyed bewilderment, as though she’s just stumbled across a wild animal loose from its cage and can’t decide whether to be terrified or intrigued.

“What? What are you staring at? Do I have something in my teeth?”

The girl takes a tentative step forward, her bewildered expression still plastered across her face. It grates on Elphaba’s nerves.

“No, it’s just–” she trails off her words faltering as her gaze deepens, momentarily shifting into something far more piercing. It’s disconcerting and it makes Elphaba genuinely self aware.

For a fleeting second, her gaze seems to recognize something in Elphaba that Elphaba herself can’t fully understand. Its intensity unsettles her, as if the girl is on the brink of saying something profound or perhaps, naming a truth she couldn’t quite grasp. But just as quickly as it appears, the moment dissolves.

“You’re green” instead, she says what Elphaba expects.

Elphaba glances down at her green hands, feigning shock. “I am!” she exclaims, her voice dripping with sarcasm as a smug smirk slowly spreads across her face.

When she’s only met with confused and curious looks, she lets out an exasperated sigh and launches into her usual tirade, already anticipating the questions about her unconventional skin colour.

“And yes, I've always been green”

The golden-haired girl’s expression—equal parts confusion and thinly veiled disgust—nearly amuses Elphaba. It’s almost entertaining, watching her attempt to maintain an absurdly large distance between them while maintaining the facade of being high and mighty as they move in cautious circles around each other.

“Well” she starts, “I for one am so sorry that you're forced to live with… this ” she gestures vaguely at Elphaba, looking her up and down with mock sincerity.

Elphaba’s frown deepens, her distaste palpable, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, she straightens her shoulders, daring the blonde to continue her insincere tirade.

“Is that so?” Elphaba replies coolly, her voice steady, though irritation simmers beneath the surface.

“Yes,” the blonde says, her saccharine smile unwavering. “And it’s my intention to major in sorcery, so if at some future time you wanted to address the… problem? Perhaps I could help.” She finishes with an angelic smile, dimples popping in place.

The crowd erupts in applause, as if the offer of unsolicited “help” to a complete stranger were some grand act of charity. Elphaba’s stomach churns. The audacity of it, the pretense, the applause, the assumption she’s a problem to be fixed. It all sends a wave of disdain coursing through her.

This school is utter horseshit. Two-faced, patronizing horseshit.

The blonde, Blondie , flashes a tight, dimpled smile, her insincerity palpable yet maddeningly captivating. It’s no surprise everyone around her hangs on her every word, putty in her hands. Perhaps if Elphaba had been born with normal skin, a normal life, she might have fallen for Blondie’s polished facade, charmed just like these bratty, starry-eyed students.

But that thought is pointless now, she decides, as Blondie tosses her hair around theatrically with an air of self-importance, basking in the awestruck attention of her already impressionable audience. Elphaba rolls her eyes, teeth clenching. The present reality is clear: this girl is a menace, and Elphaba can’t wait to put her in her place.

“Offering to help someone you don’t know, with skills that you don’t have. I'm sure everyone is duly impressed.” Elphaba starts, addressing everyone in the crowd.

“I could care less what others think” 

Blondie responds, defensive. Her brows pinch together, forming an unsightly crease in her otherwise perfect face. The sight and the knowledge that she caused it sparks a smug flicker of satisfaction in Elphaba’s chest. Though, for the briefest moment, a tiny part of her feels a pang of regret for marring such a pretty face. The thought, however, is fleeting, quickly erased as she presses on.

“Couldn’t”

“What?”

The crease on Blondie’s forehead deepens, and Elphaba fights the urge to snicker as she elaborates.

“You couldn’t care less what other people think,” she says, pausing to let the correction sink in. A smirk curls on her lips as Blondie’s expression darkens, irritation flashing across her face.

“Though, I doubt that,” Elphaba finishes smugly, her satisfaction growing as she catches the faint confusion and flicker of defeat in the girl’s frown.

Her triumph is short-lived, however, as a familiar voice calls her name, and she clenches her jaw, straightening her face as her father and sister emerge through the crowd. The onlookers disperse, the confrontation ending as Blondie walks off without another word to her, muttering with her friends. Whatever they say is drowned out by her father’s hushed reprimands.

Elphaba spares a glance at her sister, whose disapproving look only adds to her mounting frustration. With a sigh, she retreats inward, defeated. As always, her father’s attention is lavished on her sister, his praises echoing in a way that makes the space between them feel insurmountable.

Out of instinct, her gaze flicks to the side and catches the blonde's retreating figure. She would never admit it out loud, but something about the blonde intrigues her, even if she’s maddeningly small-minded.

As her focus returns to her family, she could almost swear she feels a pair of large, brown, curious eyes watching her through the throng of passing students. She doesn’t dwell on the thought more than she should as she watches her father give her sister something precious that she could never wish for herself. 

–

At this hour, she should have been on her way back to Munchkinland, back to her room, back to being secluded, ignored, and alone. Yet, in a slightly twisted turn of events forced upon her by her father himself, Elphaba finds herself in the orientation hall they call the Quad , surrounded by students as though she belongs among them. She glances around, taking in her unfamiliar surroundings with cautious curiosity.

And then, as if drawn by some cruel inevitability, her eyes land on pink and blonde. It seems she can’t escape her.

As though sensing Elphaba’s gaze, the blonde turns, their eyes locking. Again, for a fleeting moment, their stares linger, heavy with an unspoken familiarity, like two souls flipping through the pages of each other’s stories. The moment feels profound, almost surreal.

But, just as quickly as it comes, it goes. The blonde’s eyes widen in shock, and she gasps audibly. Her head jerks away, then back again, as if needing to confirm something she can’t quite believe before darting away once more in a flurry of confusion.

Elphaba smirks, slightly amused despite herself. If anyone noticed the upwards tilt of her lips, they should know it’s because of the grand entrance of none other than the famous Madame Morrible. And certainly not because of one silly, spoiled blonde girl.

She watches Nessa from afar, her sister’s view partially obscured by the crowd. But seeing the smile on her sister’s face, Elphaba decides to stay put and let it be.

Then, almost instinctively, her gaze shifts, yet again, to her. (How many times has it been today?) Perhaps this girl is a true enchantress with the way she’s so easily captured Elphaba’s attention without even trying. Is this how her followers feel? How utterly irritating. 

Good thing it’s only for today. Any longer, and Elphaba isn’t sure how she’d survive this place, being inexplicably and endlessly drawn to someone so mind-bogglingly insular and infuriating. 

She watches as the blonde squeals and bounces with unrestrained excitement at the sight of the esteemed professor. Elphaba snorts, unable to suppress her amusement at the ridiculous display.

Madame Morrible’s speech is brief but concise. Elphaba watches her with wide-eyed wonder, captivated by the sorceress’s commanding presence and the effortless poise with which she holds the room’s attention.

For the first time today, she finds herself understanding Blondie’s excitement all too well.

Soon after, the dormitory designations and room assignments are announced. Elphaba forces her attention back to her sister, determined to get a grip and stop wasting her thoughts on a bratty, spoiled blonde.

Unbeknownst to Nessa, Elphaba stands quietly behind her in line. Miss Coddle’s exaggerated gasp of horror upon noticing her presence nearly makes Elphaba roll her eyes, but she resists, she needs to make at least a well enough impression for Nessa. It takes every ounce of restraint she has not to snort at the dramatic display, however. Dear Oz, these people are insufferable .

In another annoying turn of events, she has once again managed, as her father very eloquently put it, to make a spectacle of herself.

Wheels screech to a halt, and benches scatter violently, all at her will. Before she fully realizes it, her sister is hovering precariously in the air, and a wave of tension ripples through the crowd. The murmurs and gasps grow louder, the commotion swelling around her like a storm.

The sound of Nessa’s horrified screams as Elphaba's witchery had impulsively lifted her in her wheelchair still lingers, sharp and raw. Nessa’s helpless terror had been difficult enough to bear, but it’s nothing compared to the heartbreak etched on her face. Her sister had been so hopeful, so eager for a fresh start, and Elphaba had shattered that hope in a single moment.

If it were possible to shrink further into herself and simply disappear, she would.

To make matters worse, among the sea of eyes watching with cautious awe, one gaze weighs heaviest to her. Blonde hair and brown eyes fixed on her with unsettling intensity. Elphaba doesn’t dare look back, afraid of the judgment she’s sure to find there. Worse still is the inexplicable prickle in her chest at the very thought of it.

The tension in the room eases, if only slightly, thanks to Madame Morrible skillfully smoothing over her own destructive little hiccup.

Elphaba isn’t sure why, but Morrible’s gaze lands on her with something resembling genuine wonderment and curiosity. Not the usual scrutiny or disdain, but actual interest. For once, she feels seen. It’s... weirdly nice.

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches a figure rushing toward them. She doesn’t need to turn to know who it is, the sharp click-clack of heels ricocheting off the floor says it all, like a tiny warning siren parading towards her.

It takes everything in her not to look.

“Which of you would volunteer to share a room with—”

Thud . Blondie hits the ground in a flurry of limbs, followed by a series of muffled, almost polite, “ow, ow, ow”s. Without missing a beat, she bounces back up, grinning like she didn’t just faceplant in front of everyone, and thrusts her hand into the air.

“Madame Morrible, um—”

“Thank you, dear. That is very good of you” Morrible interrupts smoothly, cutting her off with the warmest smile she’s flashed all day.

Blondie’s grin falters, tilting into a confused half-smile. “What?” she asks, blinking like she missed the punchline.

Elphaba raises an eyebrow, watching the scene unfold with growing curiosity. Where was this heading, exactly?

“Miss…?” Morrible prompts, her gaze settling on her.

“Elphaba,” she replies, a small nod accompanying her name. There’s a faint curl to her lips, being noticed by someone important enough to ask for her name is unexpectedly... gratifying.

“Elphaba,” Morrible repeats, letting the name roll off her tongue with a smirk as her eyes flick between her and Blondie. “You can room with Miss Galinda.”

A loud, dramatic gasp cuts through the moment.

“Wait—what?!”

Morrible, unbothered by their stunned expressions, offers no room for argument. With a graceful turn and a dismissive wave, she retreats, shooing away the gawking crowd like a queen dismissing her court.

Elphaba glances to her left, her gaze settling on Blondie—no, Miss Galinda. A name to go with the pretty face at last. This time, she doesn’t bother to look away, letting her eyes linger. She studies the girl (her roommate?) openly, taking in every detail.

Miss Galinda, as if sensing the weight of her stare, slowly turns her head and meets her gaze.

For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of them. They remain still, silent, locked in an unspoken exchange. Neither approves of this new arrangement, that much is clear, but neither looks away either. It’s a battle of stubborn oddity, wrapped in a quiet tension neither fully understands.

“And you,” Madame Morrible calls sharply, breaking the spell.

Miss Galinda’s head snaps toward her like a moth drawn to flame, her face lighting up with an eager, almost childlike smile.

For reasons she can’t explain, Elphaba’s eyes don’t follow Morrible. They stay fixed on Miss Galinda. There’s something about her, something strangely magnetic, eerily familiar. It tugs at Elphaba, pulling her in despite her best judgment.

Her gaze trails after Miss Galinda as she skips forward, her movements as light and airy as her smile. But before she gets far, Madame Morrible lifts a hand, halting her mid-step.

“Not y—” Morrible begins, only to pause as a figure rushes to her side, whispering urgently into her ear.

Morrible listens, frowning slightly before humming in thought. Her eyes flick back to Elphaba, a decision clearly forming.

“You,” she beckons, her voice calm but firm.

Elphaba hesitates for only a moment before stepping forward, her feet moving past Miss Galinda without sparing her another glance. She can feel the other girl’s presence lingering behind her, but something compels her to keep moving.

The esteemed professor takes her hand without hesitation, her face free of malice or disgust. Instead, her eyes shine with warmth and sincerity.

“My dear, I have waited many years for a gift like yours to appear. A talent such as yours deserves to be nurtured and shared with the world at the grandest levels,” Madame Morrible whispers, leaning in closer.

“I cannot stay long, but you must know this, Miss Elphaba,” she continues, her voice brimming with importance. “I intend to write to the Wizard himself and tell him of your extraordinary talents. With a talent like yours, dear, there is a definish chance”

Elphaba’s lips twitch upward, barely able to suppress her excitement as she meets the professor’s sincere gaze.

Then, louder this time, loud enough for anyone nearby (Miss Galinda, perhaps) , Madame Morrible declares, “I would like to teach you privately and take no other students.”

Elphaba’s heart soars, and she manages a sincere, “Thank you so much,” accompanied by a wide smile. Madame Morrible squeezes her hand one last time before stepping back.

“Miss Galinda,” Morrible says, her voice lilting toward the blonde, who perks up immediately, though the dismay still lingers faintly in her pout.

“Please help Miss Elphaba to her room,” Morrible instructs before sweeping away, leaving the ruined Quad behind her.

Elphaba watches Morrible’s retreating figure, a bright smile still glued to her face. It feels surreal, impossible even, and yet it’s real. It takes her a moment to pull herself from her reverie, but the sensation of a burning gaze on her back does the trick.

Turning slightly, she finds Miss Galinda staring daggers at her, no words spoken, just an intense, unrelenting glare.

Elphaba sighs audibly, fully turning to face her. The Quad is deserted now as most students have already moved on to their rooms, but Galinda remains, rigid as a statue. Elphaba refuses to be the first to speak, instead lifting her chin and meeting Galinda’s glare head-on.

Miss Galinda, as if reading her defiance, narrows her eyes further and purses her lips so tightly that her dimples deepen into twin crevices, as if they could hold enough water to sustain a school of fish.

Elphaba can’t help but smirk. Two can play at this game. She narrows her own eyes, standing tall and resolute, her lips quirking upward at Galinda’s blatant irritation.

The blonde lets out an exaggerated huff, clearing her throat dramatically before turning on her heel with a swirl of her skirt. She strides forward, her chin high, but when she notices Elphaba isn’t immediately following, she halts, spinning around to glare pointedly. With an almost imperceptible tilt of her head, she gestures as if to say, Well? Are you coming?

Elphaba shakes her head, biting back a grin as she falls into step behind her. Galinda, for all her attempts at looking intimidating, only manages to look adorably flustered. Not that Elphaba would ever admit it.

–

Elphaba stands behind an unmoving Galinda, who’s just staring at the door like she’s forgotten how to open it. She taps her foot impatiently, biting back the urge to ask what on earth is going through her mind. Just as she’s about to break the silence, the sharp click of Galinda’s heels cuts through the quiet hall. The blonde spins around abruptly, and suddenly, their faces are mere inches apart.

Elphaba freezes, momentarily stunned by the proximity and by the details she can’t help but notice. Galinda Upland (as she’s recently learned her name) has an undeniably striking face, annoyingly perfect in a way that almost feels intentional.

Galinda narrows her eyes, her lips curving into a faux-friendly smile that practically glows under the sunlight streaming through the nearby window. It’s dazzling, but Elphaba swears it’s the kind of smile that comes with a hidden knife. After a pause that feels like an eternity, Galinda snaps herself out of whatever thought she was having, unlocks the door with an exaggerated flourish, and steps aside.

“Ah! Come in,” Galinda says, her tone syrupy sweet.

Elphaba steps inside cautiously, her gaze sweeping over her first-ever dormitory assignment. It’s... exactly what she expected. The room is a sea of pink, glitter, and bedazzled chaos. The space is spacious enough for two students, or so she assumes, but Galinda’s mountain of luggage has claimed every square inch, making it unclear where Elphaba is even supposed to exist.

Ah, so this was the “pink boat” from earlier, she thinks, studying the room with a mix of disbelief and mild horror.

“The rest of my bags should be arriving shortly,” Galinda chirps, brushing past Elphaba.

Elphaba turns to her, incredulous. Is she planning to move here permanently ?

Galinda tilts her head at Elphaba’s incredulous expression as though she didn’t understand it, or perhaps as if the expression itself was offensive.

“Do you really think this is fair?” Elphaba presses, looking at the chaos of luggage and clutter that has swallowed the room whole.

“Oh, I do not !” Galinda replies with alarming enthusiasm, as if her agreement is supposed to make sense. “I was promised a private suite.” She flashes a smile so bright it’s almost blinding, like she and Elphaba are somehow on the same side of this absurd injustice. “But—thanks for asking!”

Elphaba can only nod, stunned by the sheer self-centeredness of the response. With a hum of dismissal, she decides to drop it entirely. There’s no point in arguing with someone so obliviously absurd. Instead, she turns toward the open door to the balcony, the cool breeze making the already uncomfortable situation just a bit chillier.

She takes a step forward to close it, only for Galinda to let out a startled shriek, jumping back like she’s been threatened.

Elphaba freezes mid-step, confused by the over-the-top reaction. “What?!”

“What—oh,” Galinda stammers, visibly flustered.

“I was just gonna—close the door,” Elphaba explains, gesturing to it with what she hopes is a friendly enough face.

Galinda stares at her blankly for a moment, then her eyes widen with sudden realization. “Oh!” she exclaims, as if everything makes sense now.

Elphaba’s eye twitches. Did she really think she was going to attack her ?

Galinda visibly relaxes, letting out a relieved sigh before flashing a dazzling smile. “Well, could you not?” she says, her tone pleading but with an air of finality that leaves no room for negotiation.

Elphaba raises an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry I just–I so enjoy air,” Galinda replies dreamily, stepping onto the balcony with half her body precariously leaning out as the wind tousles her golden hair. The breeze sweeps around her, catching the light just right, and Elphaba has to admit— grudgingly —that the sight is objectively majestic. It’s infuriating, really, that someone could be this effortlessly picturesque.

“You know what I mean?” Galinda sighs, letting out a pleased groan as if the wind itself were a divine gift. She pauses, turning to Elphaba with a glowing smile and wide brown eyes as if she knows very well what a sight she is to behold.

A second later, Galinda is about to tell her something probably utterly ridiculous again but before she could do that, Elphaba decides to take a bold move forward, meaning to tease her just a little.

“No, I don’t think I do,” she says flatly, stepping forward without breaking eye contact.

Galinda blinks, startled by Elphaba’s sudden proximity but too stunned to move. Elphaba takes another step, narrowing the space between them. She leans forward, tilting her head as if to inspect whatever it is Galinda finds so enthralling.

For a moment, Galinda freezes, her posture stiff but her expression open. Instead of fear or annoyance, there’s something else in her gaze, a flicker of curiosity, even warmth.

Elphaba closes her eyes briefly, letting the breeze brush against her skin. Her nose wrinkles as the chill pricks uncomfortably, but she doesn’t pull back. When she glances to the side, she’s met with Galinda’s wide, perplexed eyes staring deeply into her.

It’s unnerving, almost disorienting. There’s something eerily familiar about the way Galinda looks at her, like she’s trying to solve a puzzle she didn’t know she’d been handed.

Galinda clears her throat abruptly, stepping aside and breaking whatever odd spell had settled between them.

“You are one peculiar character, aren’t you, Miss Elphaba?” she says lightly, her voice tinged with something that isn’t quite teasing.

Elphaba smirks. “I could say the same about you, Miss Galinda.”

Galinda straightens, tossing her hair over her shoulder with practiced precision. “Well, if you care to know, I saved you some space, by the way.”

Elphaba raises an eyebrow at this, doubtful. The blonde waves her hand toward the far side of the room and bounds ahead enthusiastically.

When Elphaba follows, she stops dead in her tracks. The “space” Galinda so generously “saved” for her is laughable—no, it’s insulting. A cramped corner of the room barely big enough for the twin bed shoved against the wall. It might even be smaller than Galinda’s closet.

She turns to Galinda, giving her a pointed look, hoping her silence will do all the talking. It doesn’t.

“It was nothing… roommates do these things for each other” Galinda says brightly, completely oblivious. “So I've been told” she adds as an afterthought. 

Elphaba exhales sharply, choosing to focus her energy on dismantling the dusty, haphazardly hung curtains around her designated area, coughing as the dust disperse into her nose. She moves boxes out of the way, brushes stray papers off the bed, and begins clearing the stacks of pink clothing carelessly dumped onto her mattress.

Galinda trails after her with an expectant smile, clearly gearing up for something.

“And in return,” she begins, her voice lilting with unmistakable calculation, “perhaps you could, let’s see…”

Here it comes , Elphaba thinks, pointedly ignoring her as she continues tidying the disaster zone.

“...put in a good word for me with Madame Morrible?” Galinda finishes, her tone as sweet as syrup, as though the request is entirely reasonable. “Deal?”

Elphaba doesn’t respond, letting the silence speak for her instead.

Galinda leans closer, blinking innocently. “...Deal?”

Elphaba glances up briefly, her face blank. Then she returns to her work without a word.

Galinda huffs, flipping her hair back with exaggerated flair. “Well,” she mutters, “some people simply don’t appreciate generosity.”

Elphaba hides a smirk as she stacks the last of Galinda’s pink monstrosities into a corner.

“That was you down there who made all that happen. I know it was” Galinda says, her tone light but unmistakably accusatory.

Elphaba keeps her head down, busying herself with the task at hand, refusing to dignify the comment with a glance.

“If that’s what helps you sleep at night,” she mutters, her tone dismissive. She hopes—prays, even—that the blonde will drop it.

As she moves to close one of the many oversized boxes (naturally, Galinda’s), she’s met with unexpected resistance. Elphaba looks up, finding Galinda’s perfectly manicured hands gripping the other side, her face alight with determination.

“How did you do it?” Galinda asks, tugging at the box.

Yank and pull.

“Tell me, please! I can keep a secret,” Galinda adds, her voice dripping with sweetness so practiced it almost sounds genuine.

Elphaba doesn’t bother replying this time, choosing instead to yank harder, wrestling the box free with one decisive motion. She shoves it aside, ignoring the indignant huff from across the room.

“Fine! Be that way.” Galinda crosses her arms and watches as Elphaba moves with increasingly frantic energy, her discomfort with the topic all too obvious.

“But it is really rather selfish on your part. I asked you really nicely, plus, I saved you a drawer—”

A drawer ? What was she supposed to do, swoon at the very prospect of having her own 10x10 drawer among dozens of drawers that belong to Galinda? Was she expecting her to weep with gratitude? Declare her undying devotion? The absurdity of it is almost too much, It’s so ridiculous it's making her lose control, making her— Snap !

A loud clatter shatters the room’s tense silence as the balcony doors slam shut with a burst of unintentional magic. Glass splinters scatter across the floor, sparkling in the light.

Galinda gasps, her wide, starry eyes darting from the broken door to Elphaba, as if she’s just witnessed a miracle or a crime.

Elphaba stares at the shattered glass for a moment, then turns to Galinda, her expression tight and measured.

“There,” she says, her voice calm but pointed. “Enjoy the air.” Elphaba strides out of the room, leaving her alone in the too-chilly space.

Galinda looks back at the broken door, her mouth agape. Slowly, she crosses her arms, shivering as the cold wind rushes in.

“Well,” she mutters to herself, “that was rude.”

–

It’s one thing for Galinda Upland not to get her way with Madame Morrible. It’s another entirely to endure an unbearably peculiar roommate, the lonesome creature at Shiz (besides Madame Morrible, who, let’s face it, is only ever present for the lone green student) who she cannot seem to.. What’s the right word for it? Control .

And worse? This girl is utterly immune to Galinda’s indubitable charm.

Take their first night as roommates, for example. Unable to sleep, Galinda had turned on her fabulocious night light, its vibrant pink, purple, and blue glow a comforting presence in the room. However, Miss Bossy Elphaba Thropp, had demanded it be turned off. 

And when Galinda, in a noble effort to brighten their dreary shared space, carefully arranged her colorful belongings at the foot of Elphaba’s bleak, monochrome bed? Somehow, she became the villain, her treasures unceremoniously dumped into an unsightly heap in the middle of the room.

Even being blonde, a trait Galinda has always considered one of her finest, seems to be a problem. No one else has ever dared call it an eyesore before, but Miss genius brunette is somehow both unimpressed and relentlessly critical. She doesn’t get it. Who doesn’t like gold?

Galinda tosses her hair back? Everyone loves it. Everyone but Elphaba, apparently.

But the most infuriating thing? That strange, inexplicable feeling Galinda gets whenever Elphaba looks at her. Her pulse rushing, her head reeling, and her face flushing. It must be sorcery. Surely. Or—perish the thought—it’s just… loathing . Yes, sheer and utter loathing .

Galinda loathes the way Elphaba props her feet on the balcony railing, engrossed in her book while wearing those horrendous glasses. 

She loathes the fact that Elphaba’s hair is always the same. Would it kill her to try a different hairstyle? 

And most of all, she loathes the way Elphaba looks her directly in the eye, unflinching, completely unbothered by her charm where others would be too mesmerized to even dare.

And Madame Morrible. Oh, don’t even get her started. That woman is clearly mesmerized by Elphaba, doting on her every move as if she were the most brilliant student Shiz has ever seen. Meanwhile, Galinda, who has perfectly natural charisma and talent, is left fuming in the background. It’s maddening.

Perhaps Elphaba Thropp was sent to test her will. Well, Galinda won’t falter. She’ll rise above it.

She storms into her room, slamming the door and exhaling sharply, relieved to be free from the green menace. Finally, a moment’s peace.

Click.

“Boo!”

Galinda yelps, startled as Elphaba bursts into laughter, loud and unrestrained.

“Ugh!” Galinda stomps away, her irritation flaring as Elphaba’s laughter echoes in her ears. She throws herself onto her bed with far less grace than she’d like, face buried in the mattress.

From her side of the room, Elphaba pokes her head out, an infuriating smirk plastered across her face.

“I would very much like it if you stopped looking at me mockingly,” Galinda mutters, her voice muffled by the bedding.

Elphaba raises a brow, feigning surprise. “You can’t even see me from there. You can't possibly tell that I'm looking in your direction at all.”

“Oh but I do.” Galinda twists her head to face the wall, her tone huffy. “I always know when someone’s looking at me. It’s how I can tell if someone is interested.”

Elphaba’s smirk widens. “Are you insinuating that I may be interested in you ?”

Galinda bolts upright, eyes narrowed, her cheeks tinged with pink. “I'm insinuating that you are interested in making a mockery of me, yes!”

“That is quite the accusation, Miss Upland,” Elphaba replies, her tone light and teasing.

“Well, am I wrong?” Galinda challenges, leaning forward as if to close the large distance between them.

Elphaba shrugs, her expression unreadable, the faintest hint of amusement lingering in her gaze. “I suppose that depends on your definition of ‘mockery.’” She picks up a book and the discussion ends there.

Galinda glares, but her pulse races all the same, and she hates herself for it.

–

Galinda would admit, history class wasn’t her best showing today. But it wasn’t that bad. Surely, the awkward tension had more to do with Dr. Dillamond’s inability to pronouncify her name correctly.

Is it really so difficult to say Galinda with a Ga? Must she endure being called “Glinda” for an entire semester just because one goat couldn’t pronouncify it right?

Normally, she wouldn’t care so much. But for some unfathomable reason, the sight of Elphaba’s perpetually displeased face gnawed at her, like a smug, green thorn in her side.

Maybe it’s because she knows she won’t be able to endure the stifling awkwardness when Elphaba returns, and they’re left alone together. Or maybe, though she’d never admit it, she just doesn’t like the thought of Elphaba being upset.

Whatever the reason, an unfamiliar need gnaws at her, a need to smooth over the lingering tension.

Galinda’s face flushes with a mix of annoyance and reluctant concern. It’s strikingly past midnight, long past the haunting hours and well beyond what she considers a respectable bedtime and yet Elphaba still hasn’t come back.

Where is she?

This is so unbecoming of Galinda Upland, tossing, turning, letting her mind run wild over Elphaba Thropp of all people. Her beauty sleep is sacrosanct. And yet, she’s one minute away from marching out the door when—

Creak.

The sound is subtle, but the room is so silent it may as well have been a thunderclap.

The door squeals open. Footsteps. Floorboards groan as Elphaba tries, and fails, to silently sneak back in. She’s a shadow in the dark, nearly invisible, except Galinda has spent hours staring at that very spot on Elphaba’s side of the room. She’s already locked in.

With a dramatic clearing of her throat, Galinda flips on the lights.

Elphaba freezes mid-step, blinking against the sudden brightness like a deer caught in the headlights. Her posture stiffens as though trying to summon dignity, but the exhaustion on her face makes it a losing battle.

Galinda sits up, arms crossed and legs crossed over the edge of her bed, lips pursed in disapproval. She waits.

Elphaba clears her throat awkwardly. “Miss Galinda,” she begins, overly formal, clearly stalling.

“What’s gotten you up so late?” she adds, as if she’s the reasonable one here.

Galinda’s brow arches. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“I was…” Elphaba hesitates, glancing toward the window as though considering escape. “I was at the—uh—book place. Lost track of time.”

Galinda’s eyes narrow. “The book place?”

“Yes. The book place. You know, where the books are. And if you must know, I ran into the rudest man who decided to trample me with his horse on the way back.”

That gives Galinda pause. She tilts her head, her tone shifting, just slightly. “Are you okay?”

“What do you care?” Elphaba scoffs, dropping her bag on the floor. “Isn’t the Artichoke steamed ?” Elphaba waves her off, rummaging through her things as if Galinda isn’t still glaring daggers at her.

Galinda sighs loudly, flopping back against her pillows in the most dramatic fashion possible. “Must you always antagonize me?”

“You make it remarkably easy, Miss Galinda.”

“Ugh, stop calling me that!”

“Why?” Elphaba smirks faintly. “Would you prefer Miss Gllllinda ?”

“No! Ugh—whatever!” Galinda huffs, sitting back up. “For your information, I didn’t mean to offend Dr. Dillamond. I just don’t understand why he can’t pronouncify my name right. He could pronouncify your name right!”

Elphaba finally stops moving, fixing her with a look that manages to be both tired and incredulous. 

“The pronouncification of your name isn’t as simple for others as it is for you. Sometimes you just have to start understanding that the world doesn’t revolve around you , others are different and that's okay.”

Galinda gapes at her for a moment, caught off guard. “Well… that’s just wrong.”

Elphaba snorts softly, turning away to finish getting ready for bed.

Galinda huffs again, switching off her light with a final, pointed tug of her blanket. “The world does revolve around me. It’s just taking people too long to figure it out.”

The silence stretches for a moment before Galinda hears it—Elphaba’s quiet, muffled chuckle.

She doesn’t say anything, but as Galinda drifts off, despite fewer hours of sleep than she deems acceptable, she finds herself smiling and when she wakes up, that smile hasn’t quite yet faded.

The morning breaks over the university in a cascade of golden light, bathing the campus in a glow so perfect it feels almost staged. To Galinda, it’s nothing short of a sign, an omen of something extraordinary. Today is destined to be unforgettable.

Prince Fiyero Tigelaar of the Winkie Country is arriving at her school. A prince ! The very thought sends a thrill through her chest. It’s like something pulled straight from a prophecy, the kind of moment she has dreamed about her entire life. Her prince, here to sweep her off her feet and rescue her from the mundane.

Naturally, she hopes he’s as handsome as the illustrations suggest: sharp jawline, dazzling smile, regal poise. But really, that’s a given. Princes are naturally born beautiful , fairy tales have taught her that much.

Behind her, a groggy voice groans.

“Why are you like this so early in the morning?” grumbles her roommate from the bed.

Galinda barely acknowledges her, too absorbed in perfecting her appearance. She stands before the mirror, tilting her head as she deliberates over the final touches of her ensemble. Her choice: a demure yet striking pink dress, paired with delicate high heeled shoes and a flawless hairstyle, radiating elegance with just enough flair to stand out.

As Galinda finishes her final touch, she senses a pair of eyes on her. With a dramatic toss of her hair, she pivots gracefully, angling her body just so. Turning her head to glance over her shoulder, she fixes her roommate with a practiced, confident pose.

“Well?” she prompts, her voice dripping with expectation. “How do I look?”

Elphaba, still sprawled on the bed, stares at her blankly, silent.

Galinda flutters her lashes, waiting impatiently. Finally, Elphaba clears her throat with a cough, her tone dry. “Are you asking me for an opinion on the workings of womanly fashion, Miss Galinda ? Have you forgotten who I am and how I dress? Perhaps you are sick, maybe you should take today off”

Galinda huffs, dropping her pose with a dramatic slump, though her grace remains intact. “Would it kill you to stop being so difficult for once? All you have to say is, ‘Galinda, you look fabulocious,’ and that’s it. No critique. No sarcasm. Just that.”

Elphaba raises a single brow. “If you already know how ‘ fabulocious ’ you look then why ask?”

“Because I want to be coddled and told I’m pretty first thing in the morning!” Galinda snaps, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Elphaba sits up lazily on her bed. “Oh, I’m sure half the school would line up to shower you with compliments, Miss Galinda.”

“I thought we agreed you would stop calling me that,” Galinda retorts, pouting slightly as she returns to her vanity for a few finishing touches.

“My apologies,” Elphaba says, her voice dripping with mock politeness. “It must have slipped my hazy morning mind… Miss Glllinda .”

Galinda rolls her eyes but doesn’t turn around. 

“You must drop the honorifics, it sounds too… impersonal.”

“I didn’t realize we were getting personal.”

“We are roommates,” Galinda begins, her voice lilting as she delicately dabs powder onto her face. The puff moves with careful precision, her focus entirely on perfecting her look.

"it’s only natural for—"

She jumps, startled, when she notices how close Elphaba has come. She hadn’t heard the faintest sound of her approach, but now the green-skinned girl is right there, standing much closer than Galinda expected, or was prepared for. Her heartbeat quickens, pounding against her chest like a drum.

The proximity is peculiar, stirring something unfamiliar and disorienting in her. It isn’t just the sudden nearness, but something about Elphaba herself—her face, her presence—that feels so strangely familiar. There’s an odd pull, as though Galinda has known her forever, though she can’t quite place how or why.

Her train of thought derails entirely as her gaze locks onto Elphaba’s face. Her dark hair woven into countless micro-braids, some slipping loose and others clinging at odd angles. Yet, despite the obvious disarray, the braids look as if it were artfully arranged to capture this moment of wild, effortless beauty. The subtle green of her irises holds Galinda captive, speckled with flecks of amber that glint like sunlight through leaves. Tiny freckles dot her skin, forming patterns that remind Galinda of constellations in a night sky. The slight bend of her nose and softly curving lips seem impossibly balanced, a study of contrasts. Galinda has never been so... taken by someone before.

“Let’s see...” Elphaba says at last, her voice low and teasing. She takes another deliberate step forward, then another, until Galinda is practically pinned against the edge of her vanity. The air feels charged, heavy, as if the world itself has drawn a collective breath.

Galinda’s pulse roars in her ears, drowning out all rational thought. Elphaba’s gaze drops, roaming slowly, taking her in as though Galinda is an exquisite painting to be analyzed, admired, and appraised. Galinda swallows hard as Elphaba’s hands hover near her arms, so close her skin tingles with anticipation. The hairs on her arms rise in response to the invisible pull between them.

Galinda fights the urge to sigh, her chest tight with the effort of holding her breath. She must keep her composure. Elphaba cannot, must not , see how flustered she is.

(But she does. Oh, she does. And it only fuels her mischief.)

Elphaba’s eyes glint with a playful sharpness as she inches closer, her confidence growing with every second of Galinda’s obvious unease. She lifts a hand slowly, brushing back a loose strand of Galinda’s hair. Her fingers trail lightly along Galinda’s shoulder as she adjusts the strands to rest neatly down her back.

The touch sends a jolt through Galinda, her face heating to a deep, unmistakable red. Elphaba, unfazed, continues her movements with maddening nonchalance.

“Why, Galinda ,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, her breath warm against Galinda’s skin. “You are no sore sight, that’s for sure.”

Their faces are impossibly close now, close enough for Galinda to feel the steady rhythm of Elphaba’s exhale. Her own breath catches, refusing to come out in anything resembling calmness.

Elphaba leans in just slightly, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Also,” she says, her tone full of sly amusement, “you might want to breathe now. I’d hate to have to carry your ass to the infirmary if you faint.”

The spell breaks. Galinda exhales loudly, the breath rushing out in an unflattering huff. Elphaba immediately steps back, laughing, a rich, unapologetic cackle that fills the room.

Mortification turns quickly to indignation. Galinda grabs the powder puff from her dresser and throws it at Elphaba. It lands short, barely grazing her arm. Determined, she grabs the next closest object, a hairbrush, and lobs it in her direction.

Elphaba dodges, but not gracefully, her laugh only growing louder as she evades Galinda’s poorly aimed missiles. One after another, Galinda hurls whatever she can reach, her frustration mounting with each miss.

By the time she runs out of things to throw, Elphaba is doubled over, wiping tears from her eyes as her laughter finally begins to subside.

“Is that personal enough for you, Galinda?” she asks, her voice still tinged with amusement.

Galinda, flustered and still red-faced, glares at her. “I take it back, Miss Elphaba . Please never be personal with me again.”

Elphaba chuckles, the sound softening now into something almost fond.

Without another word, Galinda storms out of the room, her heart still racing. She doesn’t look back, determined to regain her composure before meeting the prince.

Prince Fiyero is every bit as handsome as Galinda imagined, and she falls in love in an instant. He carries himself with a flamboyant charm and a carefree spirit, almost thoughtless, that mirrors her own. He’s perfect.

She’s perfect. Together, they seem like the perfect match, and Galinda is convinced that the fairy-tale ending she’s always dreamed of is well within reach.

For an instant, an unwelcome image intrudes—green skin, braided hair, and glasses. Galinda shoves it aside, fixing instead on Fiyero’s boyish grin. She returns his gaze with a flirty smile and drifts away, knowing he’s watching her go. Then, just before disappearing from sight, she glances back over her shoulder and catches his now-amused smile.

Beyond Fiyero, she notices Elphaba chatting quietly with her sister, paying Galinda no mind. In a sea of admirers who see her, it’s unsettling how much Galinda cares if Elphaba sees her and how disappointed she is when she doesn’t get it. 

(Galinda doesn’t catch the pair of eyes watching her from afar when she turns around.)

Back in the dormitory room, Shenshen and Pfanee fuss over her appearance with admiring eyes and fulsome compliments.

Amid the flurry of party preparations, Pfanee stumbles upon a half-open closet box and pulls out a pointed black hat. His face twists with distaste as he holds it at arm's length, pinching the tip as though it might soil his fingers.

“Galinda… What’s the reason?” he asks, his voice dripping with revulsion.

Galinda glances over her shoulder, cheeks flushing faintly, granny’s hat , she thinks. She quickly masks her embarrassment with a dismissive eye-roll. She knows Pfanee and Shenshen would never understand what that hat means to her and for the longest time, she didn’t either. Not until—she stops herself from thinking. There shall be no thinking tonight.

“I know , It’s my granny,” she huffs, turning back to her mirror and resuming her makeup. 

“She always makes me the most hideoteous hats.” Her voice sharpens with annoyance. 

“I’d give it away, but I don’t hate anyone that much.” She catches Pfanee and Shenshen’s mischievous, knowing glance reflected in the mirror and she gasps in realization.

“I couldn’t ,” she says as if scandalized, but the thought lingers. Her mind drifts back to that infuriatingly green skin and that maddeningly smug smile she loathes so much. The way that sharp, unyielding gaze pierces through her mind uninvited, seeing more than anyone ever should. The way she has Madame Morrible’s attention full, undivided attention when it should’ve been her. 

But most importantly, she loathes the way she’s been making her feel things she hasn’t before and the way her presence feels too close , too intense , too compelling .

It must be sorcery , Galinda thinks.

“...Could I?” she murmurs, mostly to herself.

Her eyes flick back to the mirror, meeting Pfanee and Shenshen’s expectant, wry smiles. Slowly, deliberately, she returns their smirks with one of her own, dimples popping.

Perhaps it’s time for a little petty revenge.

As if on cue, the door swings open, and Elphaba steps into the room. Pfanee and Shenshen waste no time making their exit, tossing wry goodbyes and insincere compliments in her direction. Galinda watches, amused, as Elphaba’s glare trails after them until they’ve fully disappeared from sight.

The moment the door clicks shut, Elphaba turns toward Galinda. Her posture is noticeably less certain than before, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes flickering with uncertainty. After a hesitant pause, she speaks.

“Galinda—”

A strange rush prickles through Galinda, but she masks it behind an arch of her brow, feigning casual interest.

“um, Nessa and I were talking about you just now and—” Elphaba stammered. The confident edge she’d carried earlier that morning seems to have vanished. She deliberately avoids meeting Galinda’s eyes, letting Galinda’s gaze drift down to the stack of sorcery textbooks cradled in her arms.

Galinda’s chest tightens slightly at the sight of those books, books granted only to Madame Morrible’s favored student. She tries to swallow the bitter taste of jealousy creeping up her throat as she wills herself to cut Elphaba off.

“Oh, we were just talking about you,” Galinda said, gesturing toward the door where Pfanee and Shenshen had just disappeared.

“How you should join us tonight.” Her voice held a note of practiced casualness, though a spark of excitement flickered beneath the surface. Whether that thrill came from the prospect of humiliating Elphaba or something... different, she couldn’t quite tell.

“I don’t follow,” Elphaba said, her brow furrowing.

“You. Join us. At the Ozdust.” Galinda rose gracefully, closing the distance between them with practiced ease. Elphaba instinctively took a cautious step back, suspicion etched into her sharp features.

Galinda perched atop her vanity dresser, legs elegantly crossed, her expression shifting into something unreadable, half daring, half inviting.

“I’m inviting you,” she finished, her lips curling into a mischievous smile.

“ Why ?” Elphaba asks, guarded. Her voice is sharp, but Galinda doesn’t miss the flicker of curiosity in her intense gaze. Good. She took the bait, Galinda thinks triumphantly.

“Oh, because everyone will be there,” Galinda replies airily. Before Elphaba can muster a single excuse, she presses on.

“And don’t tell me you've got nothing to wear, because you could wear this.” With deliberate flair, she pulls the pointed hat seemingly out of nowhere, her expression poised between innocence and mischief.

Elphaba’s eyes narrow with suspicion, but there’s something else beneath that guarded stare, intrigue. She’s weighing Galinda’s sincerity, uncertain but unable to look away.

“I mean, it goes with everything you own,” Galinda adds smoothly, the corners of her mouth lifting in a sly smile.

She hops off the vanity with practiced grace, closing the distance between them in a few light steps. Elphaba instinctively retreats, wary, but Galinda follows, undeterred.

With a playful flick of her wrist, she taps Elphaba’s stomach with the point of the ridiculous hat. Elphaba flinches, though the touch is barely felt, her gaze never leaving Galinda’s.

Sensing hesitation but refusing to relent, Galinda slips beside her, sliding an arm around Elphaba’s stiff shoulders. With the hat raised like a prized treasure, she leans in, voice sweetly persuasive:

“You deserve each other, this hat and you! You’re both so… smart,” she trills, her tone teetering between mockery and something almost genuine.

Before Elphaba can react, Galinda gently takes her hands, pressing the hat into her grasp with a flourish.

“Here, out of the goodness of my heart.” Her words drip with theatrical sincerity, but her gaze softens when Elphaba peers down at the hat, her green fingers tracing its brim with something close to wonder.

Elphaba looks up, her eyes unexpectedly bright behind the crooked frames of her glasses. Gratitude shines there, tentative, fragile, real.

Galinda’s breath catches. For a fleeting moment, guilt twists in her chest, sharp and unwanted. She blinks it away, forcing her features into practiced indifference.

Without another word, she turns and glides toward the door. At the threshold, she risks a glance back. Elphaba still stands where she left her, cradling the hat with a small, uncertain smile playing at her lips.

The pang in Galinda’s chest tightens, but she wills herself not to feel it. She turns away, head high, leaving the room without so much as a goodbye.

Deep down, she hopes Elphaba won’t come.

–

It’s way past the sleeping hours. The lights in Shiz University have dimmed, leaving the grounds cloaked in darkness, the perfect cover for young, reckless students eager to sneak out and break every rule they can.

Worn black shoes tap softly against the stone path, blending into the quiet of the still night. Her uniform fits snugly over green skin, her hair tightly braided, and her glasses rest neatly on the bridge of her nose. There’s something electric in the air, anticipation, perhaps. Excitement, even.

If she listens closely, she can hear distant murmurs and muffled cheers, her classmates sneaking through Shiz’s gates toward a certain party.

Elphaba still can’t quite believe it: Galinda Upland, of all people, was kind to her today. She invited her to a party, even gifted her something… something that felt… special. Sincere, somehow.

Her first party.

She doesn’t know what to wear or how to act, but she can’t deny the rush of excitement tangled with dread. It’s a strange, unfamiliar feeling, thrilling yet terrifying.

But Elphaba isn’t foolish or naive. Galinda’s sudden kindness could be fleeting, a whim fueled by boredom or something more calculated. She knows she’s unconventional— she’s green, for Oz’s sake —and painfully aware of how different she is from the polished, glamorous girls like Galinda.

She doesn’t know the first thing about makeup (would they even make makeup for her shade?), she doesn’t have fashionable dresses, and she’s never been much for dancing or being noticed at all. She knows her oddities make her an easy target for ridicule.

And yet…

Galinda invited her. Her. The first person who ever has. The first person who even thought to.

Maybe the night won’t be smooth sailing but if Galinda is on her side, maybe… maybe it’ll be okay.

But before any of that, she has something important to do. For Galinda.

She straightens her shoulders and knocks once. Then again.

The door swings open to reveal Madame Morrible in her sleeping attire, her expression one of mild irritation.

Elphaba takes a steadying breath. This is the only way forward. She forges on.

In the distance, a young woman draped in delicate shades of pink and orange looks up at the man standing before her, the embodiment of effortless charm. His hands are steady as he gently tucks a flower into her hair, and she giggles on cue, playing the part she knows she’s meant to play. His touch is soft but certain, just like every fairytale she’s been taught to expect.

He takes her hand with practiced ease, leading her toward the waiting boat that will carry them to the scandalocious Ozdust Ballroom: a place where stories like theirs are meant to unfold.

There, they dance. They dance like nothing else matters—spinning, laughing, sweating, and drinking, losing themselves in the heady rhythm of the night. The room pulses with relentless energy, a sea of students and Animals swept up in the intoxicating whirl of music and motion.

As the party ebbs into something slower, softer, the young man pulls her close, his arm firmly circling her waist. She feels his warm gaze lingering on her, and she rests her head against his chest, giggling at some half-forgotten joke he murmurs just for her.

His embrace is steady, protective, strong yet comfortable. Galinda can hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her ear, the warmth of his presence anchors her in a way she had always expected from the perfect prince from the stories she’s been raised to believe in.

This is nice , she thinks. Simple . With him, she knows exactly who she’s supposed to be. They deserve each other, Fiyero and Galinda.

Fiyero makes sense. He’s beautiful, carefree, and uncomplicated, a perfect match for someone like her. With him, there’s no need for introspection, no uncomfortable feelings to untangle. She can be swept along in the ease of it, untethered and thoughtless.

They sway together in time with a rhythm she barely registers. It doesn’t matter if the beat feels slightly off. Fiyero is what she should want, what everyone expects her to want. And maybe that’s enough.

When she tilts her head up, his pretty, practiced smile is already waiting. Their lips meet—soft, familiar, inevitable. It’s not the heart-stopping, breathless kind of kiss from the romance books she once read, but it’s steady, predictable. Right .

When they break apart, she laces her fingers through his and pulls him away from the crowd, toward someplace quieter.

Galinda had expected many things tonight, more kissing, more flirting, more dancing, and perhaps more drinks. Maybe, when they’ve had enough, he’ll take her somewhere more—.

“You.” She hadn't expected Madame Morrible to appear out of nowhere or, even more startlingly, to be addressed directly by her.

Galinda jumps, startled, her heart leaping with excitement.

“Me?” she asks dumbly, wide-eyed, still half-aware of Fiyero’s arm draped lazily around her waist, his breath warm against her neck, tinged with the sour scent of alcohol. It hadn’t bothered her earlier, but now it feels cloying. She subtly pulls away, redirecting her full attention to the esteemed sorceress she admires so much.

“And you,” Madame Morrible adds, her sharp gaze shifting to Fiyero, who only blinks back at her, still dazed from Galinda’s kisses and perfume.

“You may go back to doing... whatever this is,” she dismisses him with a wave of her hand.

It takes Fiyero a moment to comprehend before Galinda emphatically shooes him off. He finally stumbles away, disappointment etched on his handsome face.

With a bored expression, Morrible thrusts a magic training wand into Galinda’s hands. The gesture feels almost mechanical, devoid of ceremony. Galinda blinks, momentarily unsure how to react but there’s no way she can let this opportunity slip through her fingers.

“Madame Morrible,” she gushes breathlessly, holding the wand with reverence, “how can I express my gratitution? It is my heart’s desire to become a sorceress. Thank you…for having faith in me.”

Madame Morrible’s eyes gleam with something between amusement and disdain.

“Actually, I have no faith in you.”

Galinda freezes, confusion flashing across her face. Before she can voice the question forming on her tongue, Morrible continues coldly:

“This is your roommate’s idea. Not mine.”

“I'm confused,” Galinda says, stunned.

“Miss Elphaba has requested that I include you in our sorcery seminar and insisted that I tell you on this very night or she would quit.” Morrible’s irritation is plain, her tone sharp and impatient.

“Elphaba did?” Galinda asks rhetorically and Morrible hums in confirmation.

Galinda’s mind reels. “But... why?”

She can't fathom it. Elphaba—the aloof, impossible, insufferably intelligent Elphaba—had done this for her? Advocated for her so fiercely she’d risked her own position?

Galinda’s chest tightens as her thoughts spiral. She’d always assumed Elphaba looked down on her, saw her as shallow, frivolous, someone unworthy of her intellect or respect. Why would she do something so monumental for her, something that she knows she can’t return?

“I’m a sorceress, not a mind reader,” Morrible drawls, sarcasm heavy in her voice. “I have no idea why. But I can't risk losing her, so here I am”

Galinda exhales shakily, still grappling with the weight of what she’s just learned.

“My personal opinion dear,” Morrible adds with deliberate cruelty, “is that you don’t have what it takes.”

The words sting like a lash, but Galinda forces herself to hold her composure, unwilling to let the professor see the crack in her facade.

“I hope you prove me wrong,” Morrible finishes with a thin, dismissive smile. “But I doubt you will.”

It’s not the professor’s dismissal that lingers, it’s Elphaba. Green skin. Braided hair. Sharp eyes behind old glasses.

Elphaba, who challenges her, confounds her, makes her think .

Galinda hates that about her. With Elphaba, she can’t simply exist in the glossy, perfect world she’s always inhabited. Elphaba forces her to question, to wonder, to want the things she’s never needed before.

It’s terrifying how much she suddenly wants to know about Elphaba’s causes, her mind, her thoughts... her likes, her dislikes. Her .

The realization unsettles her deeply.

Madame Morrible leaves but not before telling her Elphaba has arrived at the party. A quiet gasp escapes Galinda’s lips as panic twists in her chest as an image flashes through her mind: Elphaba stepping into the crowded ballroom, wearing that hideoteous hat.

The very same hat that, despite everything, Galinda holds far closer to her heart than she’d ever admit. (No one knows that. No one ever can.)

But worse than the hat itself is the thought of everyone seeing Elphaba like that, a target for ridicule.

Elphaba steps into the throng of the party, dressed in a simple black gown and crowned by Galinda’s hat, worn high and proud. She adjusts it, inhaling as she pushes herself onward, deeper into the crowd.

As she nears the center, the laughter and clinking of glasses fade until the silence is almost jarring. She falters, taking in the smirks and sneers. It’s exactly what she expected. It’s no different from her first day at Shiz. Nothing new. 

Yet the tightness in her chest hasn’t faded with familiarity. She’s always been a spectacle, an object of ridicule, and the weight of it never seems to lighten.

Her father’s scorn and embarrassment of her, her sister’s reluctance to invite her, these moments replay endlessly in her mind. She’s prepared for scorn, but the sting refuses to dull. 

Elphaba forces herself down the steps, scanning the crowd as if searching for something, anything. A friendly face, perhaps. A comrade. Perhaps someone green like her, to share in this burden. Ridiculous , she knows. 

She is alone. An ogre among princes and princesses.

“Ridiculous hat.” She hears the words cut through the quiet amongst the quiet mockery of the crowd. Her chest constricts; each breath is a struggle. Still, she keeps moving, eyes drifting until they settle on a flash of gold hair, doe-like eyes, and a pink dress. 

Galinda. Elphaba realizes she’s been looking for her all along, though she can’t say why. Maybe to confirm Galinda’s cruelty, or, foolishly, to find some spark of solidarity. Perhaps she hoped Galinda would stand by her just because Elphaba wears something that belonged to her, something that might mean something .

But Galinda doesn’t move or speak. There’s no sneer on her face, just sadness and guilt. It would have been easier if Galinda smirked, easier to hate her then. Unable to bear that wounded look, Elphaba turns away, catching her sister’s pitying glance. 

It’s all too much.

If they want a spectacle, they’ll get one. 

Elphaba carefully removes the hat and sets it down in front of her as she backs away at the edge of the circling crowd around her. Closing her eyes, she shuts out the jeers, willing herself not to see, not to hear, not to feel. She takes a deep, arduous breath.

Then she begins to dance. Her limbs flail, movements odd and graceless, each step a defiance of their expectations. The crowd’s laughter rises along with their mockery of her, fueling her strange choreography. 

She doesn’t hear, she doesn’t see, she doesn’t feel.

She reaches out abruptly, making them recoil in confusion and fear. It’s enough to shift the balance. Now they watch her warily, uncertain what she’ll do next. Surrounded by their judging eyes, Elphaba finds a strange peace. The laughter fades behind her heartbeat, suddenly she feels nothing, and breathing gets easier.

Across the room, Galinda watches with silent remorse and guilt, heart sinking. 

She’s responsible for this —every cruel joke, every belittling comment, every refusal to give Elphaba any space in their shared room. She mocked Elphaba’s skin, set her up for ridicule, and never tried to understand her. 

Because of Elphaba, Galinda is forced to think, to reflect, and she hates the ugliness she sees within herself.

When Elphaba retrieves the hat—Galinda’s hat—something shifts. On Elphaba’s head, the “hideoteous” hat looks rather striking. Perhaps Galinda needs to broaden her perspective in more ways than one. Emotions surge inside her as she hears Fiyero whisper beside her, 

“I’ll say this much, she doesn’t give a twig what anyone thinks.”

Galinda studies Elphaba’s face, noting the tense set of her jaw, the downturned eyes. Most people think this is all Elphaba is—a grim, awkward creature. They’ve never heard her laughter or seen her real smile. They never gave her a chance.

“Of course she does,” Galinda murmurs softly, eyes fixed on Elphaba standing tall amidst the hostility. “She just pretends not to.” 

A pang of guilt knots her stomach. “I feel awful,” she whispers, barely audible.

“Why? It’s not like it’s your fault,” Fiyero tries to reassure her, but his words don’t help. Galinda grips her wand, passes it to him, and steps forward towards the green girl in the middle of a crowd. She takes the risk.

Elphaba retreats instinctively as Galinda approaches, suspicious and guarded. Why wouldn’t she be? She’s been hurt too many times. But Galinda’s expression is not mocking or pitying. It’s worried and determined. 

Galinda raises a hand, palm upward, fingers wiggling in a parody of Elphaba’s awkward dance. The other hand mirrors the gesture. She tries to mimic Elphaba’s strange movements. 

When she twists around in Elphaba-esque fashion, she suddenly finds herself face to face with a disgruntled Pfanee and Shenshen demanding her to stop.

“No.” her answer is definitive and firm as she dances back towards Elphaba.

All the sensations Elphaba worked so hard to block rush back, overwhelming her. Tears prick at her eyes. Galinda stands before her, their hands nearly touching, moving together as if they’ve practiced this dance all their lives. It’s flawed and uncoordinated, but it feels right. 

Finally, tears slip down Elphaba’s cheeks. Galinda cups her face with gentle hands, murmuring soft reassurances that shut out the laughter around them. With Galinda beside her, Elphaba no longer needs to feel numb. 

She’s not alone anymore, Galinda Upland of the Upper Lands is right there, dancing proudly at her side.

All that remains is glitter and pink, golden hair and dimpled smiles and Elphaba finds it strangely, breathtakingly beautiful. When Galinda pulls her into a fierce hug, Elphaba clings back just as fiercely, unwilling to let go.

Only when Galinda takes her hand, without the slightest hesitation, and pulls her off the dance floor does it finally click. The pieces fall into place, and Elphaba understands. The girl from her dreams, the one whose face she could never fully picture, is standing right beside her. It’s Galinda.

As they row back toward the Shiz docks, Elphaba studies Galinda’s face with a knowing smile. Galinda returns it, looking almost, dare she say, shy.

“Have I known you before?” Elphaba blurts, unable to contain her curiosity.

Galinda arches a brow but indulges her, voice turning playfully flirty. 

“Well, Miss Elphaba Thropp , if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to be sly and pick me up.”

Elphaba rolls her eyes but lets an amused grin slip through. 

“Technically, I am right now, aren’t I?”

Galinda sighs dramatically, tossing her curls for emphasis. 

“You and your technicalities… I hate to break it to you, but you’ll have to do more than this to woo me.”

Elphaba pretends to think hard, furrowing her brow as though searching the depths of her mind. Then, with a theatrical snap of her fingers, she conjures a poppy flower into her palm, one of her latest sorcery lessons put to quick use.

It takes all of Galinda’s willpower not to look impressed, so instead she inspects her nails, feigning disinterest. 

“Is that supposed to impress me?”

“Maybe not,” Elphaba says, wiggling her fingers again. This time, shimmering magic trails from the poppy’s petals, sending it floating gracefully around them, a swirl of pink and green sparkles bathing the small boat in enchanting light.

Galinda can’t help herself; she looks utterly mesmerized as the glowing poppy twirls overhead. 

“Now you’re just showing off,” she says, aiming for nonchalance, and Elphaba breaks into laughter. The moment lingers, the original question drifting away unanswered.

It’s only later, when they’re sneaking through the halls toward their dorm, the Ozdust ballroom and the night’s curious magic behind them, that Galinda speaks again. 

“Perhaps, Miss Elphaba Thropp, in a different life, we knew each other well.”

Elphaba says nothing, just smiles and follows Galinda’s trail of gold and pink light all the way into their shared bedroom.