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Summary
Glinda the Good; some days, she despises the mask so utterly that she wouldn’t terribly mind if the entire Emerald City were cinders– the role, the name, the loathsome, juvenile wand that makes her feel like a circus sideshow.
Yes, some days, she resents the adoring populace. How eager they were to proclaim her Good, when they crowed over the death of the best woman she’d ever known. Damn them, but they get to move on, while she spends every private moment with the ghosts of might-have-been and should-have-done.
The western sky has been terribly lonely every night these last years.
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post canon gelphie reunion