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The wind outside the castle window blows harshly against the usually strong glass, being so high up the cons out way the pros when it comes to natural gravity. Storms like the one flowing through oz right now are the biggest and usually rare.
Glinda’s pen hits the paper gently as she drops it to get up and lock her window. Closing the blinds with it before retreating back to her desk. She sniffles, rubbing at her aggravated nose with her robe sleeve. It's disgusting and needs to be cleaned desperately but she couldn't care at this point.
It’s been six months since Elphaba passed. Days she has been counting —without thought— since the incident. Every anniversary is a marker of how long ago she failed her.
Small letters piled up on the corner of her desk, ones she has been writing every week or so since. Everyone who knew about them being friends, and has come by within the recent weeks has said the same thing; she's creating an unhealthy coping habit. But she doesn’t want to believe it. These letters are her ways of talking with Elphaba, whether she’s getting an answer or not.
Sometimes she does get answers, not written but things fall into place in mysterious ways. Missing items reappear, candies Elphba would eat and keep in a little jar on her desk still appear in random places. Problems out of order fall into fruition. Maybe it’s the universe playing a mind game on her. But she’d much rather believe it was her old roommate.
Finally she comes to, the words forming in her head and the ink hits the paper gently.
Dear Elphie,
The same cursive tongue to her name, a swirl the E that falls into the swoop with the L and the last E with a swiggle.
“It has been six months to the date I wasn’t there to protect you. I wish I would have left that closet you stuck me in, to protect you for once. Like you had protected me all those times before. I never did do that correctly, did I? If I couldn’t have saved you, at least I could've held you before you perished. So it wasn’t you alone floating into a dark abyss. I hope to Oz you don’t remember dying alone, the thought is throat lumping.
I somedays wake up thinking that this was only yesterday, and other days I think it was centuries ago. I can’t remember the last moment before you disappeared very well, and it haunts me everyday. I just remember you speaking, your mouth moving then the door is shut. Maybe it’s my brain protecting itself from the horror it would unleash if I did.
If I could remember and reply, that scene would be on repeat like my life depended on it. I would rewatch it so much it would be the only thing stuck in my head. Forget crown duties, forget work or sleep. My mind is always you. No matter how hard I try for it to not be.
Tears stain the paper, wetting the edges as they blend into the table, and smudging the ink. The words falling off from a nice cursive to chicken scratch with the quickness of her hand.
She had always practiced her handwriting like it was the most important thing in the world, because at the end of the day it was. Neat clean handwriting got good marks, got good looks and made everything look more structured. But if she was tired or her hand was cramps it fell right back into her original form. Chicken scratch and unreadable.
Elphaba however, was never like that. She wrote between her middle and pointer fingers which was unheard of, and hated by many teachers the same way as left hand writing was. It made her have a slanted type of cursive, it was unique to herself and herself only just like everything else and she was either praised for it, or hated.
It didn’t seem like Elphba ever spent time making sure her writing was done well like she had, because it was just always like that. She was just naturally good.
Glinda would do anything to go back and tell her how lovely her hand writing was. One of the many things she never did was compliment her, even when she deserved it. But now, as the date tells her.
It’s six months too late.
—
It’s cold where they are. Cold and dry like everything has been freeze dried till it’s nothing but a shrivel. Somehow they keep walking further, and further into the sand and light that never seems to end.
Fiyero has given up acting like he’s fine when it wasn’t believable in the first place. His trail of happiness was slowly left behind, bit by bit till it became nonexistent and the wind swept it up. With that anything that contained any ounce of joy followed. Fiyero is upset all the time, and Elphaba tries to stay away from him as much as possible.
Hard to believe only a few months ago they had been so close they were almost one. And it all changed under her nose.
They don’t look at each other and smile anymore. The straw on his face is covered in a layer of frozen dust that has now begun to stick out and poke her lips. Her chin has a small scar from when she would ignore the burn, and continue to kiss him.
Just to keep the peace.
But the peace isn't there anymore. All they do is fight if they open their mouths. Every sound is bitter and harsh. Resources are scarce and Elphba feels herself getting sicker as they continue to move day in and day out.
The only time she feels okay is when she’s sitting beneath the dark sky, crumbled paper in hand that she had tucked into pockets. Her pen heavy with words left unsaid and addressed to the fire.
Elphba sighs, letting herself fall against the sand. Her eyes stay unfocused as she looks up until she grasps onto a star. Familiar in a way she can’t quite explain.
Shiny, and bright, contrary to the memory that plays beside it. Glinda’s eyes glossy and widening as the door closes in her face. A loud sob heard through the heavy wood that wasn’t concealed well if that was an attempt at all.
All her letters start the same way.
Glinda,
I doubt you’ll ever get this but I must say it. The last glimpse I saw of your face was six months ago, when I came back once last time to clear out my things. You stood unfaltering and so poised I wondered if they replaced you with a robot. But your home still smells like you, vanilla and pink.
Even though I said, you cannot smell pink.
As a young child I never thought my life would have such a horrible turn. I knew I was born and not loved by my father, or by many like him. But never did I think the whole world would cheer for my death.
I know you had to do what you had to do, but I hope you didn’t cheer along, I hope you just held that fake smile and nodded. One that fooled everyone, everyone but me.
I wish to be fooled by it then. So it’s easier to say goodbye.
It’s not a letter of sympathy, her words are always harsher than she wants to make them but it makes her sigh. Her shoulders drop and she feels the pain on her head mute just for a second.
The pen drops out between her fingers, and she listens to the sound of plastic hitting paper. It echos, and she smiles. It’s a new sound, something she hasn’t heard for days and days on end.
Which is so silly. But any new sound out in the wasteland they walk, fills her with a happiness she hasn’t been able to feel for so long.
The longer she will continue to walk, the further away from Glinda she will become. It tugs on her heartstrings, like a magnet field pulling her back to Oz. A place she can no longer even be seen in.
Glinda does not know she is even alive, and it kills her everyday to remember that. Glinda mourns her as much as Elphba mourns her old self. The one who could run back to the comfort of her life when she could, because now that’s gone.
It’s all gone.