Archive of Our Own

The Emerald Palace was a glittering spectacle redesigned specifically for and by the Wizard when he came into power. It was the tallest building for miles around, gleaming in the sunlight and nearly blinding those who dared to gaze directly at its polished walls. And every single inch of it, from the ground up, was green. 

Well. Every single inch, but one room. For one person. Who would’ve sooner gone mad than allow herself to live in a room full of the one color she both despises and cherishes with all her heart. 

Glinda the Good woke each morning inside a story she did not recognize as her own.

Her quarters had been redecorated in pale pinks, with beautiful cherry blossom decor and large archways leading to the separate rooms of her suite. It was the kind of bedroom her younger self would’ve dreamed of, with a closet full of beautiful gowns and servants to wait on her hand and foot. 

She was beautiful. She was important. She was powerful and beloved. And above all else-- Glinda the Good was tired. 

She moved through the days as if pulled on thin wires, performing to the whims and wishes of Morrible and the Wizard. Her schedule was packed from sunup to sundown, often sending her to the far corners of Oz. A ribbon-cutting in Munchkinland, a fundraiser in Gillikin, a ball in the Vinkus, a festival in Quadling Country-- all within a fortnight and all requiring speeches that would be “encouraging” and “spread good cheer.” 

If Glinda paused, if she strayed, if she forgot one little clause about vigilance or unity or the Wicked Witch, she would be sure to feel it later-- a sharp grip on her chin, a bruised wrist under her sleeve, a hissed lecture in her ear. Morrible allowed nothing but perfection, and perfection was what everyone else saw. 

They liked to tell her so. The Ozians. You’re an inspiration, Glinda! You’re exactly what Oz needs. Strangers handed over their babies for a kiss on the forehead, and even the noble men all bowed in her presence. It seemed surreal, like a childhood dream come true. And yet--

Glinda found the whole thing exhausting. She didn’t sleep well, didn’t eat well. Her smile was brittle and fake, forced onto her lips through sheer willpower and more than a small bit of fear. She thought she would love being this popular, and perhaps for a time she did, but as it turns out, having all her dreams come true is a bit more complicated than she expected. 

The wonder had run out years ago, and now all that was left was a numbness. 

Glinda barely saw Fiyero these days. When she did, he was usually still in his Gale Force uniform, stressed and busy and about to head off to his next task. The boy who’d come dancing onto Shiz’s campus without a care in the world now seemed bogged down by nearly as many worries as Glinda. He didn’t see her often enough to know she wasn’t still the same girl as three years ago. 

Pfannee and ShenShen were always close by, having been personally promoted onto her team when Glinda despaired of ever seeing a familiar face again. But her friends were high on the power rush of living in the Emerald Palace, and they took their jobs too seriously for Glinda to be able to confide in them. 

Everyone in her life, from the servants who cleaned her room to the guards who escorted her around, saw her only as Glinda the Good. Glinda was surrounded by people, and yet, she’d never felt more lonely. 

“You need to get it together,” Morrible snapped at her one afternoon. “Your concentration is slipping.”

“Sorry, Madame,” Glinda said, dull and automatic at this point. She said those two words probably more than any others. She flinched minutely as the stern sorcereress came to loom over her shoulder, glaring down at the coin on the table. 

Glinda was supposed to make it levitate. Like a witch could. Like Elphaba could. Yet in three years of trying, the most she’d done was make it wobble, and today, she couldn’t even manage that. 

“Sorry isn’t good enough. You haven’t made a single improvement. I knew this was a worthless venture from the start.” Frustrated, Morrible stalked around the room again, the clouds overhead rumbling dangerously in response to her poor mood. 

It was almost always overcast in the Emerald City. 

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed those horrendible bags under your eyes. You’re supposed to be an inspiration, dear. You’re hardly inspiring anyone by looking like a walking zombie.”

“I-I haven’t been sleeping well,” Glinda said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. She winced, knowing her mistake immediately as Morrible’s eyes narrowed. 

“Haven’t been sleeping?” Morrible repeated, her voice suddenly honey-sweet. “And why might that be? Bad dreams?” She glided closer, forcing Glinda to look up at her. “Something on your mind? Something keeping you awake? Or perhaps…someone?”

Glinda’s hands clenched into fists beneath the table. Morrible’s tone had hardened on the last syllable, her brown eyes piercing as she glared at the blonde. She knew Morrible didn’t like it when she brought up Elphaba. She’d learned that the hard way ages ago. 

“Sorry, Madame,” she said again, the only words she could think of. “I’ll do better.”

Morrible sniffed, turning away and waving her hand dismissively. “See that you do.”

For the next few days, Glinda applied even more concealer than usual before she left her room, but even she knew it was only a temporary measure, and not one that was likely to fool Morrible’s keen eyes. It was good enough from afar, for when she was waving from a platform or balcony. But up close, the mask fell apart, the people in the palace able to see the wan pallor of Glinda’s skin, the heavy bruises beneath her eyes, and the dullness where there used to be life. 

At night, her sleep remained troubled, her hours spent tossing and turning but able to sleep only in short bursts. She had never felt worse, drifting through the day and trying to keep herself functional even as her body begged to shut down. When she did manage to sleep, she often woke feeling even worse than before, her limbs heavy and her mind sluggish. 

Morrible was displeased, a fact she made perfectly clear through biting words and sharp pinches. Glinda was having to apply concealer to more than just her eyes soon enough, Morrible’s grip on her wrist or elbow often bruising in strength, and her well-timed pinches keeping Glinda’s awareness from fleeing in the middle of important speeches. 

Glinda spent a lot of evenings out on the balcony. Not the one attached to her room where anyone walking below could see her-- but the one up at the top of the attic tower, where things had gone so wrong and a single choice had changed her whole life. She was too high up to be seen by anything, anyone, who couldn’t…fly. 

Morrible didn’t like her coming up here. Glinda thought the woman might even have a point. The feeling of being back in this room, at this spot, was a crushing sort of weight in her chest, a rib-breaking squeeze that forced the air from her lungs. It never failed to bring tears to her eyes, her gut tangled in guilt and regret. 

Sometimes, she walked all the way to the other side, to the large broken window, now boarded up by wood. She could still see through the gaps to the drop below, the long way down to the ground. Sometimes, she imagined what it might be like to make that leap, to see if she found her own wings on the way or just…hit the bottom and broke. 

Glinda didn’t want to die-- it wasn’t like that. In her head, there was no blood, no gore. She shattered across the emerald streets like porcelain, just another broken doll who’d been tossed out and deemed useless. An empty, hollow shell with no life and no meaning. A pretty face that was dressed up and played with until someday, she was no longer wanted. She was no longer loved. 

She’d never do it, of course. Glinda was many things, but brave had never been one of them. And jumping--flying--took courage. It took courage to confront who you really are. Instead, she did her best to lock those depressing thoughts deep within her mind, forcing herself to continue keeping up the act. 

As though if she played her part and smiled wide enough and looked pretty enough, someone would look at her and tell her that was enough. 

***

The insomnia didn’t get any better. Glinda tried every method she could think of, but nothing helped, and it was starting to be noticed by more than just Morrible. ShenShen was the first to say something, but then the girls who brought Glinda tea and breakfast made a few comments, and suddenly it seemed everyone was asking Glinda if she was sleeping alright. 

She knew it made Morrible furious, and when the sorceress hissed something about fixing it if Glinda wouldn’t, Glinda knew something needed to be done. She didn’t want to find out what Morrible’s version of “fixing” things was. Not after last time. 

Technically, Glinda had never finished school. She’d returned to Shiz briefly, but Morrible had whisked her away on an extended “internship” in the Emerald City at the end of her first year. Once there, Morrible hadn’t cared in the slightest for keeping up with any of Glinda’s classes other than sorcery seminar, a class that was disappointing to them both. A part of Glinda still longed to have true magic, and a part of Morrible still longed to have a true magical student. 

But the rest of Glinda’s education had been thrown to the wayside, and she honestly didn’t know if she even had a valid degree or not. Likely not-- but it wasn’t like it mattered. Glinda didn’t even know if she was technically employed. Her days were packed either way, and she’d simply never questioned it, figuring she didn’t have time for classes even if she’d wanted them.

Besides, Glinda had never been very good at school. She’d cared about getting good grades, but she didn’t have the same passion for learning that someone like…someone like Elphaba did. In fact, there’d really only been one class she was any good at or got any enjoyment from-- and that was alchemy. 

Alchemy was the only class at Shiz where Glinda had been the top student. She’d always had a certain knack for making potions, a skill she’d first discovered and cultivated as a small child, bored out of her mind and searching for something fun to do while her parents were out of the house. She’d stumbled upon her granny’s old alchemy book, and before she knew it, she’d whipped up a proper potion, gleaming in the sun as she’d proudly shown her parents. 

Glinda had been Professor Shale’s--the alchemy teacher at Shiz--favorite student, and once she and Elphaba had become friends, it was the only class in which she’d helped Elphaba with their homework instead of the other way around. Throughout the months she’d spent at Shiz, she’d often dabbled in and experimented with various potions and tonics, coming up with everything from a shimmering body lotion to a mixture that made plants grow. 

First Year students didn’t get to try the really tricky potions, but Glinda had been more talented than usual, and she’d still had her granny’s old book, full of recipes that the other students could only dream of trying. Several potions had already come in handy during her time as Glinda the Good-- from potions that assisted with her makeup, to potions that gave her the type of boost caffeine could only dream of. 

But there was one she hadn’t done yet, one that if she could get it right, would be more helpful than any other: a sleeping potion. 

Glinda had actually tried making this exact potion twice already. Once when she was in school, a half-hearted attempt to assist Elphaba when she’d gone through a bout of insomnia leading up to their first final exams. And once when she arrived back in the Emerald City, plagued by nightmares and guilt and terrified of what her unknown future might hold. 

She’d failed both times, the potion never settling into the right consistency that told her it was safe to consume. Glinda had therefore shoved it from her mind, thinking it was beyond her abilities, especially with no teacher to guide her on the parts she struggled with. The growing exhaustion was leaving her desperate, however, and Glinda was at her wits’ end with even the most powerful of pick-up potions starting to wear off within the hour. 

They also had the rather terrible side effect of making her anxiety way way worse, her heart stampeding away in her chest and leaving her faint and gasping. She’d be shaking slightly the whole way through a speech, her nerves fried, and she’d all but collapse into a panicking ball once off stage. Glinda might not be the smartest person, but even she knew that these were signs to hold off on the potion unless absolutely necessary. 

So. She needed to sleep. And if she couldn’t do it the natural way, and she couldn’t afford to knock herself out the old-fashioned way, then a potion would have to do. Determined, Glinda made her way to the back of her closet, to the stack of pink trunks that she’d barely even touched since they’d been transported from Shiz. 

Somewhere in the pile, there was a simple pink trunk that held a single precious item. A pair of black boots. Glinda tried her best not to think of them as she searched. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, let herself go there. She’d spent so much time when she first started living in the palace thinking of and missing Elphaba Thropp. But Glinda had had to move on. She’d had to accept that Elphaba wasn’t returning any more than Glinda was leaving. 

Glinda shook her head and focused on dusting off the old, leather-bound book in her hands, a weighty tome that smelled of parchment and herbs. The first time she’d opened this book, she’d barely been able to read the swirling cursive letters that danced across the page. Even now, her eyes skittered right past the messy symbols and settled on the pictures, flipping through the pages until she spotted the familiar purple tonic. She gathered the ingredients in silence, carefully cutting and measuring and stirring. 

Back at Shiz, they’d had black cauldrons--well, everyone else’s was black while Glinda’s was pink--to give a certain ‘ambiance’ to the classroom, something that plenty of the students had giggled about on day one. But here, all she had was a mixing bowl she stole from the kitchen and a few random candles. The process was slow-going, with Glinda struggling to get the words and numbers to stay still on the page long enough to make sure she was doing it all right. 

When she came to the last ingredient, she almost gave up. She stared at the fake cherry blossoms that hung from the trees by her balcony doorways, and she thought of the poppy fields on the hills outside of Shiz. She closed her eyes and let her feet steer her toward her closet, the one full of mementos from her short-lived time as a college student. 

There, on the vanity, sat a single pink rose, its petals in full bloom, as they had been for years. Elphaba had given it to her on that fateful day in the attic just moments before everything had fallen apart. Glinda changed the water in its vase every day, but she knew it was some kind of magic keeping it alive. 

It…was just what she needed to finally perfect the potion. With gentle fingers, she reached out and plucked a single soft petal from the rose, one of so many that clustered around the center that it hopefully wouldn’t be missed. She brought it to her mixing bowl, carefully chopping it up and releasing its sweet scent into the air, still doing her best not to think. 

Thankfully, there were a few benefits to being so tired her brain froze. One of them being that it was surprisingly easy to pretend like none of this felt familiar. Like it didn’t sit in her chest with the achy weight of longing. 

In the end, it took Glinda until the morning to finally have something that looked and smelled even remotely like the book described. She hadn’t had the time to even try to sleep, so after carefully setting the potion aside, a corked bottle keeping it safe, she used the rest of her ingredients to mix up one last batch of pick-up potion, gulping it down right as the sun broke past the horizon. 

It tasted awful, just as it did the last time and the time before that. She grimaced at the bitterness, shaking her arms out as she started to clean up. Her hands were shaking by the time she went to the closet to pull out a new outfit for the day, the adrenaline boost making her shiver even though the room was more than warm enough. Already, the worries she was usually too tired to process fully were spiraling through her mind, faster and faster as the potion took hold. 

Glinda sighed, clenching her eyes shut hard enough to see stars. Today was going to hurt. 

***

By the time Glinda dragged herself back to her suite that night, she was tired down to her bones. One other side effect of the pick-up potion was that the more of them she took in a day, the worse the resulting crash in the evening. She almost thought she’d be tired enough to sleep all on her own, but as she changed from her gown to her pajamas, she spotted the little purple potion on her desk. 

Thank Oz, she thought, a flash of relief spiking through her as she took the bottle in her hand. Finally, she could get a good night’s sleep. Finally, she could wake up not feeling like death warmed over. Glinda gave the concoction a quick sniff, her nose scrunching up at the strange scent. It wasn’t exactly…sweet, like it was supposed to be. But the color was right, and the consistency seemed pretty tea-like to Glinda. 

She was sure it would be safe. The worst that could happen is that it just wouldn’t do anything, leaving her to suffer through yet another sleepless night. Uncorking the bottle, Glinda took a deep breath and brought it to her lips. 

She hesitated at the last moment. Some small part of her paused just as she was about to take a gulp, the sharp scent overwhelming this close. Be careful, it said. A little niggle of doubt reminded her that playing around with alchemy, with potions, could go very very wrong very very easily. 

But Glinda was too desperate to listen and too tired to care. She had to do something about the insomnia, and this was the best option she’d come across so far. Closing her eyes and trying not to wince at the unexpected tartness, she swallowed a good third of it in a single sip. 

A double dose. Just to make sure she’d be down for the count. She had nothing on her schedule until midday tomorrow, so even if she slept too long or awoke groggy and strange, she should still have plenty of time to get herself in order before Morrible would be expecting her. 

Glinda settled down on her plush pink bed. She closed her eyes and exhaled, trying to shove the nerves and anxieties out of her. A wave of potion-induced drowsiness washed through her system. And finally, easier than it had in months, sleep took her.

It did not do so kindly.

She was back in the Ozdust Ballroom. The chandeliers were too bright, the floor tilted maddeningly, and the crowd blurred and whispered. Across the floor, Elphaba stood, staring as if she had never seen Glinda before. Hurt. Betrayed. Everyone was laughing. Glinda was laughing. 

No! she thought wildly. No, I don’t mean it!

Glinda tried to walk, no- run to her friend, but her feet were stuck to the floor. 

“Elphie!!” she screamed, but her voice was snatched right past her lips. “Elphaba!”

Panic burst in Glinda’s chest as she struggled and fought and shouted, but nothing changed. She couldn’t reach Elphaba. She couldn’t stop the smirk that grew across her face. “Freak,” she heard herself spit, her tone laced with more venom than she’d ever heard in it before. “Did you really think I gave you that hideodious thing as a gift?”

Around her, the crowd kept laughing and laughing, uncaring for the way Elphaba staggered back, a single tear sliding down her cheek. She kept her gaze locked on Glinda, her green eyes blazing. How could you? they said. Glinda watched them harden, watched Elphaba’s hands curl into fists. 

Between one breath and the next, Elphaba moved, rocketing across the floor and slamming into Glinda, a wall suddenly at her back as she gasped. One of Elphaba’s forearms was pressed against her collarbones, pinning her to the wall. Her face was twisted into an uncharacteristic sneer, looming over Glinda as she leaned in. 

“You did this,” she hissed, and suddenly they weren’t in the Ozdust anymore. They were in the Emerald City, the snickering Ozdust students transformed into an angry mob, swarming the streets under large banners depicting the Wicked Witch. 

Elphaba’s eyes were a burning golden glow, narrowed and accusing as she forced Glinda to look. Her black clothes were in tatters, cuts and burns and bruises showing on the exposed green skin. The laughter had changed to shouting, the pointing fingers became swords and torches. Somewhere, someone was screaming. Somewhere, Elphaba was screaming. 

“You did this,” the Elphaba in front of Glinda repeated. Glinda was panicking so much by now, so confused and frightened, that she could barely hear the girl. Her eyes refocused on the face before her, eyes showing so much more hate than Elphaba had ever aimed her way, even in the midst of their loathing stage. 

“N-no,” she stuttered, gasping as Elphaba’s arm pressed harder to her throat. “I- I didn’t--”

“You did this!” And suddenly, Elphaba was being yanked away, caught by a hundred hands as she was consumed by the mob, Glinda screaming her name as she pitched forward but found that, once again, her feet were stuck in place. All she could see was Elphaba’s eyes, burning and burning and burning her--

Glinda woke screaming.

She burst from her sheets, panting and panicked as she scrabbled for purchase on slippery silk. Her chest was heaving, her mouth open to try to suck in air despite the fact that none of it seemed to reach her lungs. Her heart galloped, her mind spun. Tears cascaded down her cheeks. She’d never-- she’d never had a nightmare so visceral before, one that still lingered so sharply in her mind even as she came to her wits. 

She needed-- she couldn’t-- she--

Air. She had to get air. 

Glinda scrambled to her feet, tripping and stumbling as she made for the balcony doors. Her bedroom was on the top floor of her suite, and she almost fell down the stairs in her rush to get outside, one hand fisted over her aching chest, her whole body trembling and gasping. The world tilted and spun, her own screams mixing with Elphaba’s in her mind, a deafening chorus that had her sobbing as she flung the doors open. 

The brisk air felt freezing against her bare skin, goosebumps popping up beneath the sweat. She staggered over to the base of her brand-new bubble, floating serenely just a foot or so off the ground. She collapsed on the wooden structure, sliding down and curling against the pink-padded wall to her back. 

There, Glinda stayed for several moments, unaware of how much time passed as she closed her eyes and slapped her hands over her ears and focused on nothing but breathing. In…and out. In…and out. The breeze tugged at her thin nightgown, her head tucked down by her knees as she fought to calm herself. She was shaking, rocking slightly back and forth like a child. 

“It was just a-a dream,” she whispered to herself. “It wasn’t real.”

Except--

The guilt that ate at her was real, not some figment of her imagination. Glinda blinked her eyes open, brushing the tears from her cheeks, and the first thing she saw was the little “Tap to Bubble” button. She knew if she were to peek over the edge of the balcony railing, she’d see banners similar to those in her dreams hanging from the emerald buildings. 

You did this, she heard, over and over and over again. You did this. 

And Glinda knew that she had. 

***

She swore to herself she wouldn’t take it again. It hadn’t even helped-- while Glinda had technically “slept” longer than usual, it had been far from restful. She had been a wreck all week, barely functional when she’d attended the meetings and dinners and events on her schedule.

That was probably why Morrible had felt it necessary to escort her back to her room tonight. It wasn’t unheard of for the woman to invite herself inside, discussing all the things that Glinda needed to improve and reminding her of the consequences if she didn’t. 

Glinda hadn’t seen her parents in years. But she heard them mentioned. Often. 

“What’s this?”

Glinda felt her heart seize as she looked over from her place by her vanity and saw the familiar purple potion dangling from Morrible’s fingers. The sorceress was squinting at it curiously before she turned to Glinda. 

“I-It’s just something I was messing around with,” she stammered, trying to play it cool. But by now, Morrible was an expert at reading Glinda, and her eyes narrowed immediately. 

“Don’t lie to me,” she hissed. She stalked closer, closing the bottle in her fist. “I recognize this color. This is a sleeping potion-- a rather advanced alchemic solution.”

Glinda swallowed hard, nodding. “Y-yes.”

“And you made it.”

“Yes.”

Morrible’s gaze swept over her, calculating and sharp. Glinda quivered beneath it, trying to keep from curling in on herself. She should be used to Morrible’s scrutiny by now. The older woman was not cruel to her. She’d never done anything more than talk harshly and leave the occasional fingerprint bruise.

Well- there was that one time, but… No. Galinda is lucky. It- it could be a lot worse. 

Yet Glinda feared her, a deep-rooted wariness that made her a slightly different person around Morrible than around anyone else. After all- she owed everything to Morrible. When the guards had grabbed her and brought her before the Wizard, Glinda had been sure she’d spend the rest of her life in a dungeon. When the Wizard had offered her a job at the palace, she’d been terrified he’d take back his word.

It was Morrible who had found a place for her. Morrible who had come up with a way to make her useful. Glinda could recognize that she was being manipulated. Being used for her popularity and her way with people. But she could also recognize that she knew too much. Too much about the Wizard and his secrets to be allowed out of line. 

“You have such a pretty head, my dear. It would be a pity if anything were to happen to it.” 

“Interesting,” Morrible said, pulling Glinda back to the present. The sorceress turned the potion over in her hands, watching the way the purple had a faint shimmer in the light. “And is it working?”

Glinda clasped her hands in front of her to hide the way they were trembling. “No, it- it doesn’t.”

“I told you not to lie to me.”

“I’m not! It doesn’t work.” Glinda thought quickly, her mind racing. What if Morrible could help her? Glinda had always been told that alchemy had a magical component-- that the best alchemists and potion masters were those who were also adept at sorcery. 

It was part of what had sparked her initial passion for magic back when she was just a child. Her granny used to tell her that she had huge potential, that she had a special talent that meant she was destined for greatness. Glinda had devoted much of her childhood to becoming the best she could at it in the hopes that one day, she’d find what made her magic flourish. 

Morrible seemed so sure that Glinda was useless, that she didn’t have what it took to perform a single spell. Maybe this was what could change her mind. Show her that Glinda had talent in something. And perhaps, in addition, Morrible would know how to get rid of the nightmarish side effect. 

Tentatively, Glinda explained what had gone wrong. She didn’t describe all of the nightmare, but the shakiness in her voice made it clear it had been less than pleasant. Morrible was silent throughout, though she had a certain intrigued look to her face that Glinda was unsure about. 

“And you haven’t tried again?” the sorceress asked. 

“No, Madame.”

“Then how do you know it was from the potion? What if it was just a coincidence?”

“W-well, I’ve- I’ve never had a nightmare like that before--”

Morrible scoffed, cutting Glinda off. “You can’t make a decision like that based on one attempt. You must take it again, to see if it’s true.”

Glinda reeled back, shocked. She had just spent several minutes explaining how horrendible the effect of the potion was, and Morrible wanted her to take it again? She immediately refused, shaking her head wildly as she backed away. 

“I can’t!” she cried. “It w-was awful! I-- please, Madame Morrible, you can’t possibly want me to--”

“What I want,” Morrible interrupted, “is for you to do as you’re told.” Her eyes flashed dangerously as she grabbed Glinda’s wrist and forced her hand to close around the potion. 

“But-- What if it happens again?” Glinda whispered. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t see Elphaba like that for a second time. 

Morrible didn’t seem the least bit sympathetic. She merely told Glinda to come find her in her study the next morning and report her findings on the potion’s effects. She had stayed in Glinda’s apartment until the girl had taken the potion-- just a single dose this time. 

She was hoping it would help. She was not so fortunate. 

Glinda screamed so loudly she was sure she woke the whole palace, and it took until the sun was starting to bathe the balcony in gold before her legs were strong enough to return her to her rooms. She staggered into Morrible’s study like a drunk, tears in her eyes as she begged the sorceress to fix it for her. 

Morrible hummed, curious, and told Glinda she’d look into it. There were still a few doses left, and Glinda was more than happy to turn the bottle over to her teacher and never have to see it again. Sadly, Morrible seemed to have other plans. 

Just two days later, she forced Glinda to take it again. This time, as she curled up outside, Glinda had to press the bubble button lest her cries be heard by the city. This time when she went to her, Morrible asked for the recipe, and Glinda felt the tiniest bit of hope that maybe the sorceress could succeed where she had clearly failed. But a week later, she asked Glinda to make more, exactly the way she’d made it the first time. 

Glinda sobbed as she cut up another rose petal, her tears splashing down into the bowl. Somehow, these nightmares were even worse. 

Glinda tried begging; she tried bartering. But Morrible kept making her take the potion, even as she told Glinda that she was working on it behind the scenes. It wasn’t the first time Morrible had made Glinda take something she didn’t want to take, but somehow this was worse, the nightmares seeping out into her daily life until she spent every day an anxious, shaking mess. 

Miraculously, she managed to get through her public appearances without errors, the fear of repercussions keeping her in line as she spat out the prepared script and smiled tightly. This part was easy for her. Glinda had grown accustomed to her role over the years. She’d grown to find comfort in the smiles and cheers. 

But everyone who spent even a few hours alone with her could see the toll this all was taking on her, Glinda turning into a jumpy disaster who flinched at every shadow and noise, her…incidents becoming increasingly frequent as she hid from sight and tried to remember how to breathe. 

“Are you okay?” Fiyero kept asking, seeing her only in brief snatches of time between excursions, his work in the Gale Force taking him to just as many corners of Oz as Glinda’s work with Morrible. She never took the potion while on the road, too scared of the close quarters and of people hearing her nightmares. 

No one in the palace had said anything yet, about the many times Glinda had woken screaming. 

“I’m fine,” Glinda responded, patting Fiyero on his green-clothed chest and forcing her lips into a smile and even managing to make her eyes crinkle just enough to seem genuine. To keep it realistic, she gave a light sigh and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just tired.”

Fiyero didn’t seem to believe her, but he couldn’t possibly know the extent of the issue. Their relationship had been more than a little rocky recently, despite the picture-perfect couple they presented to the public. He was no longer the person who Glinda could trust to tell her secrets to, and without Fiyero, there truly was no one else who could know what Glinda was going through. 

In all honesty, Glinda would like to keep it that way. She was terrified that if anyone found out, they would ask what the nightmares were about. And-- she had no idea what she would say. 

Because every nightmare, every night, without fail, was about Elphaba. 

Not the sweet, shy, stubborn, impulsive, reckless, tender, sarcastic, caring Elphaba that Glinda had fallen for back at Shiz. But a twisted caricature of her with hate-filled eyes and sharp teeth and screams that haunted Glinda long after she woke up. This Elphaba despised Glinda. She said so every night, accusation after accusation falling from her lips. 

Her long green nails turned into wicked claws, piercing straight through to Glinda’s heart as the pitiful organ tried desperately not to break any further. It failed, every time, the nightmare always starting with Elphaba pitted against Glinda, but always ending with Elphaba falling to the masses, Glinda helpless to stop them as they ripped the witch away from her. 

She screamed and screamed and screamed herself awake, but she was never able to save Elphaba. Never able to confront her. The twisted visage haunted her, glaring down at her from posters and up at her from flyers. Everywhere she turned, there was Wicked Witch propaganda, and every time she saw it, all she could think was: You did this. 

This was Glinda’s fault. This was Glinda’s doing. She could’ve stopped this, somehow. She should’ve stopped this, somehow. Somewhere back at the beginning, before the banquets and balls and banners. Somewhere before Glinda stopped seeing the cheerful Animal faces in the crowd and started seeing that cold, accusatory look in Fiyero’s eyes. 

You did this. 

You chose this. 

“I know,” Glinda whispered, curled once again in her bubble. Her emotions were all over the place, confused and conflicted by the nightmare and the sleep deprivation. She turned her west, her tears blurring the stars into a streaky haze. “But so did you.”

It was true, wasn’t it? Glinda hadn’t been the only one who had made her choice. Both of them had been in an impossible situation, had they not? Both of them did the best they could with it. And both of them chose to keep going, to keep making the divide wider and wider. 

Glinda hadn’t been forced to make those speeches; deep down, she knew that. Subtle threats didn’t mean she was held at gunpoint. Yet neither had Elphaba been forced to make those raids. To wreck those train tracks. To set those fires. Elphaba had caused chaos all over Oz, had scared the people, had done nothing but make the rumors worse.

Glinda knew she had made mistakes, but what was there left to do except live with them? The guilt was a gnawing, starving thing. It ate and ate and ate at her, telling her that no amount of good cheer and soothed spirits was enough. That she should say something, tomorrow. She should speak out. She should do something. But-- 

“I’m sorry, Elphie.”

Glinda knew she wouldn’t. 

***

“I need a rose,” Glinda whispered. It had been another week, and she’d gotten yet another demand for a new potion. The pink rose from Elphaba was starting to look a tad small, and Glinda was unwilling to sacrifice any more of its precious petals. 

“A rose?”

“Yes-- for, for the last ingredient.”

“Are you sure poppies wouldn’t better suit your purpose?”

And-- Glinda’s head jerked up, eyes wide, because- how did she know? Why would she think that? 

“No, I- I’ve been using a rose,” Glinda said softly, and Morrible scrutinized her for a moment before seemingly accepting the answer. Within the hour, she had a dozen roses brought to Glinda’s room, sickly sweet and a brilliant red. 

Making the potion was easy now. Practically muscle memory. But unlike her first few attempts, this one actually did smell sweet, an almost calming scent wafting from it before she put the cork in. Glinda’s whole body was tense with trepidation as she swallowed a mouthful, barely even noticing the lack of aftertaste as she shuddered. 

The balcony doors were left open that night, as they had been for weeks. Glinda crawled into bed with the false drowsiness pulling at her and was asleep before she hit her pillow. The next time her eyes fluttered open, it was morning. 

It was…morning? 

Glinda jolted upward, nearly falling on her face as she untangled herself from her sheets. The sun greeted her as she stepped out onto the mezzanine, gasping as she saw the way it filtered in through the open balcony doors. Glinda always shut them behind her when she returned from her bubble. Always. 

Dressing quickly, she grabbed the purple potion from her desk and rushed down the hall, barging into Morrible’s study. She had finally done it. She had made a potion that didn’t give her nightmares! She was about to say as much to Morrible, reaching into her pocket for the bottle, when the sorceress cut her off, waving her hand dismissively. 

“No need for the dramatics,” she said. “I’ve got it all figured out.”

“You-- What?”

Morrible smirked, reaching into her robe and producing an almost identical vial of potion as the one in Glinda’s pocket. “This is from your last batch,” she said, plunking it down on the table. “I’ve had a few other staff members take it, just to make sure. It works exactly as intended.”

“But--” 

But Glinda’s last batch had still given her nightmares. And she’d used all of it, throwing the empty bottle away herself. She never liked to keep them, always wondering if lingering traces would remain in the bottle even after cleaning. She always hoped a new bottle would help. 

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t, my dear. Watch closely now.” Morrible leaned over the table, brow puckering in concentration as she held her hands over the bottle and started muttering under her breath. 

The scent of ozone briefly flooded the room, and with a sharp crack! a brand-new, completely identical bottle appeared next to the first. Glinda gasped, blinking in shock. She’d never seen Morrible perform that spell before. The new bottle was held up triumphantly, the sorceress’s eyes gleaming. 

“You have made the Wizard very, very happy, my dear,” she all but purred. She handed Glinda the potion, Glinda leaving her own bottle in her dress as she clasped the new one. 

Glinda still didn’t understand. Her previous potion was-- it was wrong. Unless…

Unless Glinda was the only one it affected. Swallowing hard, she looked down at the glass she was holding loosely in her fist. “That’s…good,” she whispered, though she had no idea what the Wizard might need a sleeping potion for. Perhaps he suffered from insomnia, too. 

“Yes, Glinda. Very good. You have been very good.”

She should probably hate it, the way the praise warmed her soul. Glinda offered Morrible a weak smile, turning to leave and make herself slightly more presentable before her first meeting of the day. She set both potions on her nightstand, trying to push them from her thoughts as she went through the motions of her schedule, Morrible in a particularly good mood. 

They practised with the bubble today-- the new machine still wobbly in the air as Glinda learned how to steer it. Soon, she wouldn’t even need the train to travel around, able to fly over the land like…like Elphaba did. 

When she turned in for the night, she didn’t even look before she grabbed one of the potions, relieved to think she’d get another good night’s sleep. She grimaced at the tartness, but she was used to that-- and now at least she could start catching up on lost time and erase those awful bags from her eyes. 

Glinda dropped off to sleep with her balcony doors already shut. It wasn’t even three hours later that she was shoving them back open, gasping and heaving as she struggled to keep her dinner down and her mind intact. 

That had--

That was--

Glinda passed out. 

***

“Morrible, the- the p-potion. It--” Glinda was shaking too hard to speak, standing outside the doors to Morrible’s own suite, clutching a robe with both hands and barefoot on the cold, emerald floors. She’d raced straight here once she’d figured it out, not even caring if anyone saw her in such a state, her cheeks streaked with tears and her hair a tangled mess. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” Morrible had explained, and now Glinda was trying her best to get the explanation out. But all she could see was that face. All she could hear were those screams. 

“Speak, child!” Morrible snapped, impatient and annoyed by being woken so late. But Glinda couldn’t even breathe, let alone talk, and she could feel herself sliding back into that spiral, her clenched fists pressed harder to her sternum as she fought for air that wouldn’t come. 

With a vexed sigh, Morrible grabbed her by the arm and yanked her inside the room, slamming the door shut loudly enough to make Glinda jump. She-- She couldn’t--

“Breathe, Glinda. This is a bit pathetic even for you.” 

Breathe. Glinda tried, she really did. She heard a soft voice counting in her ear, but it kept getting warped, deepening into a vicious growl. Breathe, she heard again, but this time it came out a snarl, Elphaba’s hand around her throat, squeezing and squeezing and--

“Glinda!” 

Glinda gasped, coughing, all but doubled over where she’d fallen to her knees. She was stammering out apologies, broken regrets coating her tongue as she pleaded and begged and sobbed. She didn’t know how long it took her to calm down, just that when she did, Morrible was still there. 

For the first time since she’d met the woman, there was perhaps a touch of empathy in her gaze, a candle casting shadows across her stony face. “Have you found your wits?” she asked, and Glinda nodded helplessly, brushing a hand over her cheeks and swallowing against the dryness in her mouth. 

“M-Madame Morrible,” she tried again. “The potion, it-- it wasn’t fixed.”

“Whatever do you mean, dear?”

“It still gave me nightmares.”

Glinda expected some sort of shock or confusion, but instead, Morrible just sighed. “I had rather hoped you’d stop taking it once I told you there was no need,” she said. She turned away, moving deeper into her quarters, and after a few seconds, Glinda scrambled to follow her. 

She’d never been in Morrible’s rooms before, but she was a bit too distracted and on edge still to pay attention to her shadowy surroundings. Oz, it was barely past the thirteenth hour. 

“You were making them for the Wizard, right?” Glinda said. “You have to warn him about the nightmares!”

Morrible came to a stop, pausing for a moment before she glanced back. “My dear,” she said, voice silky smooth. “The nightmares were rather the point.” 

…what?

Morrible sighed again, moving to a small counter to pour herself a cup of tea. She didn’t offer Glinda any, simply making the girl wait in itchy silence as she took a sip. “I took some time to test that potion of yours. Tricky thing, it was. Didn’t quite work when I tried the recipe myself. But what I discovered was rather intriguing. Tell me, Glinda, who is the star of these nightmares of yours?”

“The…star?”

“Yes. Who do you see when you have them?”

Cold, icy dread washed down Glinda’s spine. Suddenly, she wanted very badly to have never come into this room. To have never started this conversation. To have never made that Oz-damned potion. 

Morrible clearly saw her answer on Glinda’s face, and she smiled, taking another sip of tea. “Yes, exactly. As it turns out, that little detail isn’t unique to you. It happened to everyone who drank the potion, without fail. Horrendible nightmares, all featuring the same wicked person.”

“She’s not wicked,” Glinda said weakly, but her heart had started hammering again, and she could feel the panic beginning to rise. What had she done? What had she done? 

Morrible set the tea down, glided over to her desk, and plucked a thick stack of papers off the top. She handed them to Glinda, letting her squint down at the page as she struggled to read the headline. 

“D’ozy Sleepy Potion,” she carefully sounded out. “Wizard Approved.”

The dread solidified, hardening into sharp icicles that stabbed at her chest and gut. Glinda looked from the paper to Morrible as her fractured, tired brain tried to piece it all together. “You’re…going to sell it? To the public?”

“Yes, dear.”

“And…it will give them all…nightmares. About…” And here, Glinda quite lost the ability to breathe again. “About Elphaba.”

“Yes, dear.”

Her vision tilted. The room dipped and twirled. Glinda put the paper down carefully because she rather felt like she was about to pass out again. Morrible was saying something else, but Glinda didn’t hear her. She couldn’t hear anything over the rush in her ears. At some point, she blinked again and found herself back in her room, looking around in a daze. 

“Miss Glinda?” a voice asked, and Glinda turned to see a young servant talking to her. “I have your morning tea.”

Still feeling oddly like she’s dreamwalking, Glinda just nodded, letting the girl set the tray down and vanishing back out the door. There was a newspaper resting on the side of the tray. Glinda already knew what it would say. 

Slowly, she let her feet take her out of her room, down the hall, across the bridge, and up the spiral staircase. Climbing and climbing until she reached the topmost balcony, still glittering with broken glass. She fell to her knees in it, not caring for the way it scraped at her bare skin. 

When Glinda was little, after the very first potion she’d ever made, her granny had warned her, soft and gentle. “You must never use your gifts to hurt someone,” she said. “Potions are what you put into them.”

Those words had stuck with her for years, always in the back of her head when she’d fooled around with new recipes at Shiz. It was something she’d told Elphaba, back when their friendship was still new, and Elphaba had agreed to let Glinda help her on an assignment. 

“It won’t hurt you,” Glinda had said softly, waiting for permission to paint the golden potion across the girl’s green skin. “I promise-- I would never hurt you.” 

Glinda had broken that promise several times over by now. She’d broken it the same day Elphaba had broken one of her own, the pair of them both trembling and teary as they embraced in this very spot. The sun was still rising, and Glinda turned away from it toward the shadowy western horizon. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but she knew it wasn’t enough. By midday, the stores would be full of a poison of her own making, and Glinda would have yet another reason to want to throw herself from this tower. “I’m so sorry, Elphie.” 

If she were brave enough, Glinda would do it. 

If she were brave enough…Glinda would’ve done it the first time.