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Elphaba Thropp was good at breaking things. The most recent thing being Glinda’s heart. And though she tried, Glinda had never been very good at fixing what Elphaba broke.
—
Glinda opened the attic doors, the Grimmerie tucked in the crook of her elbow. The doors had been repaired since that day five years ago when the palace guards smashed through them. The attic was dusty, the air stale. As Glinda stepped in, she noticed that everything had been repaired. Discarded evidence of the Wizard’s old life still cluttered the space, pointedly ignored and untouched. But the windows, as far as she could tell from the bottom of the stairs, were fixed, and the glass cleaned up. It was as if Elphaba Thropp had never stepped foot in this room. Or flown out of it.
Glinda told herself that she was here because she thought the Grimmerie would function better close to somewhere Elphaba’s presence lingered. Or maybe she might function better if she felt close to Elphie. But, it was more than that. Glinda’d had a sudden urge to visit this forgotten place. And because there was no one around to stop her anymore, and no one to tell her what to do instead, she went.
But now that she was here, she wondered if she was actually punishing herself.
During the day, as she’d traveled through Oz celebrating the death of the Wicked Witch, Glinda had perfected the art of crying without tears. It was an odd sensation. A bit like dry heaving through her eyes. Less violent, but just as painfully unsatisfying. Easy to smile through, though.
As she began to climb the attic stairs, the dry crying started again. Glinda tried to squeeze out real tears. Maybe if she could truly cry, some of the hollow emptiness might drain out with the tears. But they wouldn’t come. Perhaps Oz—or her own subconscious—was trying to remind her that she didn’t deserve relief from the pain.
Glinda continued to glide up the steps, climbing higher and higher in her perfect pink dress. This really was an exquisite dress. Equally beautiful and powerful; whimsical and graceful. And pink. How right it felt to wear pink so aggressively again. Over the years, as she lost more and more of herself, she let Oz—Horrible Morrible, really—coax her away from pink. She couldn’t help but see the symbolism in it. After all, pink goes good with green. Good in a way that means something. The more distance between her and Elphie, the less pink she wore. Fitting, because the Glinda that didn’t wear pink didn’t go well with Elphaba. Didn’t deserve to be good with Elphaba.
But now the pink was back, and it felt like coming home. She was determined to be worthy of it.
Because Glinda understood now. Glinda understood that she was never supposed to fix what Elphaba broke. Because Elphaba didn’t break things, not really.
Elphaba cracked things.
And cracks were something else entirely.
Elphaba cracked the image of the Wizard in the quad on their first day at Shiz, and revealed the fresco of historical Ozian Animals beneath it. She cracked through the Emerald Palace—through this very attic—and revealed the Wizard’s lies. She cracked the yellow brick road and revealed the dead land and forced labor beneath it. She cracked through Glinda’s wedding (thank goodness!) and revealed the empty production of her and Fiyero’s relationship. And she’d cracked through Glinda’s mask all those years ago, at the Ozdust.
Elphie liked to say that it was the first time they truly saw each other. But Glinda knew that Elphaba had always seen her—seen through her— from their very first meeting. And as unsettling as it often was, Glinda loved her for it. Because the Ozdust was the first time Glinda had truly seen herself. That night, Elphaba had cracked through Galinda’s mask and revealed how truly ugly she was inside.
No, Elphaba Thropp didn’t break things. She cracked them wide open.
Except the windows. Why did she always have to crack the damn windows? Glinda, paused for a moment at the first landing of the stairs and huffed out a sound that could have been a laugh on any other day. She shook her head as she continued up. The irony of the broken windows being the one thing that actually looked cracked was not lost on her. But what could a cracked window reveal? It was already transparent. And the only thing on the other side was Elphaba Thropp herself.
Glinda supposed Elphaba couldn’t really help cracking things. Even things like windows that didn’t need to be cracked. It’s what she was meant to do. She cracked open fragile facades to reveal dark truths. And Ginda had been trying to fix the cracks when she should have been prying them open and bringing the truths to light. Because Glinda wasn’t meant to fix things. Glinda was meant to make things shine.
She’d spent years trying to fix the cracks in herself, but Elphaba kept coming back to add more and more. And when Glinda's mask shattered, she had her bubble. And well, the bubble didn’t really hide her ugliness at all. She still looked good, yes. But good in the way that was just a word. It didn’t mean anything.
Elphaba had always known what was under Glinda’s mask, and somehow she saw past the ugly. She saw the potential for good that was underneath. The kind of good that means something. She saw it in Glinda just like she saw it in Oz.
So Glinda had stopped trying to fix her cracks and stopped trying to hide in her bubble. Instead, she popped the bubble and brought her ugly out into the light. Just like Elphaba had tried to do all along. She made herself stare at it and instead of trying to cover the ugly, she tended it. Like a garden, she pulled the weeds to reveal the flowers. She watered and fed the plants so that they were good all the way down to the roots. Because that’s the kind of good that means something. That’s the good that shines. And this particular good shines in pink.
Yes, Glinda the Good—who finally felt somewhat worthy of her title—would shine in pink. She would shine in pink and do good. The kind of good that’s more than just a word. The kind of good that means something. She would shine in pink, and do good, and she would go good with green. With Elphie’s green, specifically.
Because if anyone could take all the bad in Oz and make it good—the kind of good that truly means something, the kind of good that shines—it was Glinda.
At least, that’s what Elphaba believed. That’s the task Elphaba had left her with. But Elphaba had always had more faith in Glinda than she deserved. And Elphaba wasn’t here.
She wasn’t here with Glinda. She wasn’t in the attic tower. Even when Glinda reached the top of the stairs, Elphaba still wasn’t here. Why had Glinda expected her to be? Elphaba was gone. Truly gone. Maybe dead, maybe not, but she definitely wasn’t here. In death or otherwise, she’d left Glinda behind. And the empty attic was now the final proof.
Glinda didn’t realize that she’d expected Elphaba to be here until she felt surprised that she wasn’t. Finding herself alone in a place where she knew she would be alone was jarringly disappointing. A new wave of grief slammed into her, somehow stronger than the agony she’d already been living with since the moment Elphaba started screaming. It knocked her to the floor, and she sank to her knees. She let the Grimmerie fall to her lap and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, willing the tears to come. Dry crying this intense made her eyes feel like they were falling out.
She didn’t have to look up to know that she was in front of the large, round window where she and Elphie had wished each other well and said goodbye five years ago. Even knowing she couldn’t go with her, Glinda had clung to Elphaba until they were forced to separate. What would have happened if the guards hadn’t come and pried them apart? Glinda couldn’t imagine a scenario where she would have willingly let go of Elphie in that moment, even if she knew she had to.
Another wave of grief washed through her as her mind produced story after story of all the ways their lives could have been different, if only she’d never let go. All the what ifs hurt, but Glinda couldn’t stop them from coming. So many possibilities. Some lovely, many a disaster. But all of them more bearable than reality, because in all of them, they were together.
This time, the tears did come. Or at least one tear. Glinda removed her hands from her eyes so she could watch the tear fall onto the cover of the Grimmerie. The leather quickly absorbed the tear but left a noticeable wet spot on the cover. The air shifted slightly and although it didn’t move or give any outward sign, Glinda felt the book stir.
She sighed. The book was asking to be opened. Glinda didn’t care enough to wonder how she knew that, and she didn’t see any reason to put it off. The Grimmerie was the reason she had come up here, after all. Of course, the book wouldn’t just open for her the way it had for Elphaba all those years ago, so she would have to settle with prying the cover open herself.
She took a deep breath to steady her nonexistent tears and let it out as she opened the first spine of the book. As soon as it opened, she felt the air swirl with magic. The second spine of the book flew open on its own, and to Glinda’s surprise, the pages started to flip just like they had for Elphaba. The magic around her was intense, and so reminiscent of Elphaba’s magic that for a moment, Glinda expected her to appear. But Glinda didn’t let her mind follow that disappointing path, instead she concluded that Elphaba had enchanted the book to open to a specific page for her.
The pages of the book stopped, revealing an old Emerald City brochure tucked inside. Glinda carefully opened the worn cover and encountered her own handwriting.
I hope you get what your heart desires.
Galinda ♡
Her breath caught and the magic continued to move through the air around her as new words appeared below hers, the handwriting unmistakably Elphie’s.
It was you.
You always felt like home.
~E
A sob tore through Glinda’s throat and her ears rang with the echoes of what never was, drowning out the silence around her. When she finally gasped another breath, the tears came. Heavy and fast, they blurred her vision. She quickly tucked the brochure back into the Grimmerie, not wanting to damage its already fragile pages with the evidence of her heartbreak. As she closed the book, she tilted her head back, wanting to finally feel the path of tears running down her face.
“Elphaba Thropp,” she whispered to the silence, “if you’re out there…you’re my home too.”
She leveled her head, taking in her dusty, empty surroundings, and breathed the last selfish wish she would allow herself to have. “I want to be home.”
Blurred by her tears, her eyes caught on the window in front of her and she froze. She swiped furiously at her face, trying to brush away the tears and clear her vision, convinced that when she looked again, the mirage that she’d imagined would be gone.
Eyes squeezed shut in denial, Glinda tried to remember if she’d glanced at the window at all since reaching the top of the attic. Surely she would have noticed them before. Surely she was imagining them now.
Maybe they were leftover from a previous visit. Maybe the Grimmerie had caused them to appear. Maybe a bird had accidentally crashed into the window. Or a Monkey.
Maybe Elphie was back. Maybe they could be home. Together.
No.
No more wishing. Glinda wasn’t allowed to be selfish anymore. And her heart couldn’t handle any more wounds. Elphaba was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.
When Glinda finally opened her eyes, vision clear, there they were.
Cracks. Unmistakable on the window. Very familiar cracks.
Startled, Glinda gasped.