Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Ah, the esteemed Uplands of Gillikin." 

The Wizard's voice carried across the vast space of the Grand Throne Room. 

Glinda perched rigidly in the gilded chair - a piece so exquisite she might have admired it, had its placement not so clearly been designed to cast her as a supplicant. Her parents flanked her - Larena with her hands folded in studied calm, Highmuster with the rigid bearing of a man trying not to show his nerves. 

They had been "invited" to the capital three days ago, an invitation that was, naturally, not the sort one declined.

Oscar Diggs looked every inch the ruler as he settled into his throne, his ornate cane resting against the armrest. "How refreshing to host such... interesting guests."

Glinda's practiced smile faltered for the briefest moment. The way he spoke carried implications she desperately hoped weren't what they seemed.

"Your Ozness," Highmuster rose to bow, his voice tempered with the careful modulation of a man navigating treacherous waters. "We are honored by your summons."

"Yes, well." The Wizard waved a dismissive hand, studying them with eyes that missed nothing. "I do hope your journey wasn't too arduous. I find myself in need of clarification on certain matters that have come to my attention."

Larena's hand found Glinda's, a subtle squeeze of maternal comfort that did nothing to ease the growing dread pooling in her stomach.

"You see," Oscar continued, his tone conversational - too conversational, "I have the most remarkable network of correspondents. They keep me informed of the most fascinating developments across our great land." His smile was all teeth. "Including certain... medical consultations in Gillikin."

The blood drained from Glinda's face. 

Her mother's grip tightened.

“I’ve come to understand that the princess’...   physiology differs from what one might expect given her appearance. Something about male organs? I’m afraid the details elude me - science and I have never been well acquainted."

He knows. The thought crashed through Glinda's mind like thunder. The most powerful man in Oz knows my deepest shame.

Highmuster's voice carried the defensive edge of a father who'd fought this battle before. "Your Ozness, my daughter is perfect as she is. The physicians explained that sometimes nature creates... variations. Glinda is wholly and completely a woman, merely with differences that-"

"Oh, I'm not questioning her womanhood, Lord Upland." The Wizard's interruption came with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Quite the contrary - I find it rather... convenient ."

Glinda felt the world tilt further off its axis. Convenient? The truth that had shadowed her since she turned thirteen - the reason she never bled as other women did, the reason she never would - was now deemed convenient?

"Well, that is rather fortuitous, isn't it?" The Wizard continued, clearly enjoying their bewilderment. "You see, I'm sure you've heard whispers... rumors involving myself having a child?"

Of course Glinda had heard them - everyone had. The tale was half legend, half scandal, and wholly impossible. A secret heir of The Wizard? It was the kind of story passed around schoolyards and salons alike, usually ending in laughter. But hearing it now, from the man himself, chilled her blood.

She managed a nod, her throat too tight to risk speech.

"Those rumors," Oscar mused, steepling his fingers with theatrical deliberation, "happen to be entirely accurate. But here's the delicious irony - my daughter also has a peculiarity. Only hers is not quite so easy to conceal..."

Before anyone could respond, massive doors on the side of the throne room swung open. Guards stood behind a figure that stepped into the golden light, and Glinda's breath caught in her throat.

The woman was draped in black from neck to toe - a high-collared dress that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, dark boots that clicked against marble with precision, and gloves that gleamed with an almost metallic sheen. But it was her exposed face that explained the Wizard's cryptic words with devastating clarity.

She was green.

Not pale, not sickly - green . The color of spring leaves, of deep forests, of something altogether otherworldly.

Glinda’s mind reeled, struggling to grasp the revelation - still too overwhelmed by the crushing weight of feeling exposed.

The Wizard rose and moved to his daughter’s side, his hand settling on her shoulder with paternal possession. "Elphaba, dear, these are the people I mentioned… the ones who've come to meet you."

The green woman - Elphaba, apparently - regarded them with deep green eyes that held intelligence and something else. Resignation, possibly. Or calculation. Her acknowledgment was barely perceptible, a nod so slight it might have been imagined.

Larena's gentle prod at her back snapped Glinda from her spiraling thoughts. Court training kicked in like muscle memory, and she rose to offer a curtsy that would have made her deportment instructor weep with pride.

"Your Highness, it is an honor."

She lifted her eyes, expecting the customary response drilled into every royal since birth. Instead, Elphaba simply stared, her expression unreadable.

The silence stretched until Oscar filled it with ease. "Apologies, Lady Glinda. Elphaba has always been more... economical with her words. But no cause for concern - you'll have ample opportunity to become acquainted."

"Acquainted?" Highmuster's voice carried a note of confusion that Glinda felt echo in her own chest.

"Ah yes, I haven't shared my proposition yet, have I?" The Wizard clapped his hands twice, a sharp sound that echoed through the room. "Guards!"

Two uniformed men entered with efficiency - one carrying parchment and quill, the other wheeling an ornate table between the throne and the Uplands' seating area. They arranged everything before melting into the background.

"Now then," Oscar settled back into his throne, clearly relishing the moment. "Since the Princess of Gillikin cannot produce an heir through... conventional means, I find myself in a position to offer a rather elegant solution."

Glinda's heart hammered against her ribs. She could feel the trap closing around her, though she couldn't yet see its shape.

"My Elphaba possesses immense magical power - vast enough to create life itself." At this revelation, Glinda's attention sharpened on the silent princess with genuine interest. "And she possesses a perfectly functional reproductive system."

Larena and Highmuster traded a glance - a silent conversation in the space between heartbeats. They both knew where this path led.

"The mathematics are quite simple," the Wizard continued with the satisfaction of a chess master announcing checkmate. "A marriage uniting both kingdoms, securing succession for Gillikin, and..." His smile turned calculating. "Your daughter's renowned charm could prove invaluable in making my Elphaba more... palatable to our subjects."

The words hung in the air. 

Glinda felt something shift inside her chest - not the crushing weight of shame she'd expected, but something sharper. Something that tasted suspiciously like opportunity.

"Your Ozness," Larena began, her voice carefully controlled, "this is quite generous, but perhaps we might discuss-"

"I accept."

The words left Glinda's mouth before she'd fully formed the thought, cutting through her mother's diplomatic dance.

"Darling," Highmuster's voice carried paternal concern, "you don't need to-"

"No," Glinda turned to face her parents, her voice steady. "I do need to. We all know you'd consider this the perfect solution to my... situation ... if I weren't sitting here. I'm simply saving us the pretense of deliberation."

She could see the truth of it in their faces - the relief mixed with guilt, the love tangled with pragmatism. They would have agreed, of course they would have. This arrangement solved every problem they'd been too polite to name.

Glinda looked directly at Elphaba, speaking to her for the first time as an equal. "Has Your Grace consented to this arrangement?"

For a moment, something flickered in her eyes, but the blonde couldn’t quite decipher what it was. Elphaba glanced at her father, a micro-expression that spoke volumes about power dynamics, before meeting Glinda's gaze and offering another of those barely-there nods.

"Excellent!" The Wizard's satisfaction was palpable. "I do so appreciate efficiency in negotiations."

"I have conditions."

The words shocked everyone, including Glinda herself. But as the room focused on her with varying degrees of astonishment, she felt something solidified inside her chest. If this was happening - and it clearly was - then it would happen on her terms.

Oscar's eyebrows rose with genuine interest. "How refreshing. Please, enlighten me."

"First: nothing discussed today leaves this room. The true circumstances of our union remain sealed." Her voice carried an authority she hadn't known she possessed. "Second..."

She paused, casting a glance at the princess of Oz - her own selfishness, the refusal to be tied to someone so reviled by society, tangled with a strange, unexpected solidarity for the woman who had been just as commodified in this arrangement as she had.

"I want the capital redesigned. Everything touched by royal authority should be emerald green. Every building, every banner, every surface that catches the light."

The throne room fell silent. Even Elphaba's carefully controlled expression shifted, one eyebrow rising.

Glinda continued, her strategic mind fully engaged now. 

"Emerald City sounds quite lovely, doesn't it?"

The chapel - tucked within the palace grounds - smelled of turpentine and wet plaster. Glinda stood stiffly between half-painted walls - the new verdant pigment still glistening in streaks where the decorators had rushed their work. 

It was nothing like the weddings she'd imagined as a girl: 

No flowers.

No veils. 

No string quartet (or full orchestra, depending on which fantasy she was indulging that week).  

Just the hollow tap of her heels against stone, the scratch of a painter's ladder being dragged across the floor somewhere unseen, and the oppressive weight of four pairs of eyes watching her.

Her parents stood to the left, their postures stiff. 

The Wizard loomed near the altar, satisfaction written in the curve of his lips.

A Bear - hulking and silent - stood to the right, dark eyes tracking the new couple with an unwavering focus.

And her.

The Princess of Oz stood like a thing carved from the same stone as the chapel pillars - impassive, gloved hands clasped, face obscured by her raven hair and yet another mourning-dark gown (did the woman even own a single piece of clothing that didn’t look like… that?). She hadn’t spoken a word since entering. Hadn’t even glanced at Glinda.

The officiant hurried through the rites, his voice thin under the vaulted ceiling. Glinda's own responses came out too loud, too bright, the false cheer cracking on the word "forever." The princess didn’t answer at all. Just inclined her head - once, sharp - when prompted. The Bear made a low noise in her throat, and the officiant took it as assent.

Then it was done.

Glinda had absolutely no idea how to proceed from this point. But one thing crystallized with perfect clarity: she would not endure a kissless wedding.

If I must forfeit my ten-tier cake and apparently all sense of joy, then surely I deserve this one consolation prize! 

With sudden, reckless determination, Glinda positioned herself directly in front of Elphaba, hands clasped behind her back in what she hoped was an inviting pose, chin tilted up expectantly. When that failed to register, she rose slightly on her toes and leaned forward with obvious intent - only for the green woman to jerk away at the last instant, the skillful evasion of someone well-versed in dodging contact. Glinda's lips grazed the sharp corner of her mouth instead, a fleeting press of warmth against startlingly cool skin.

The chapel held its breath.

Oh, Glinda thought as they stood staring at each other in the paint-scented aftermath, so this is what rejection feels like.

How novel.

Guards in emerald livery stood at rigid attention as their carriage rolled through the main castle gates.

The moment the wheels stopped, one of them rushed forward to open the doors. "Your Highnesses," he murmured, bowing deeply as Glinda accepted a hand to help her down. 

"This way, if you please," another guard intoned, gesturing toward a massive staircase that seemed to disappear into shadows above.

Glinda lifted her heavy skirts and began the ascent, her silk pumps slipping slightly.

Elphaba moved beside her, neither helping nor hindering, her face still indecipherable.

By the time they reached the top, Glinda's breathing had quickened from both exertion and growing anxiety. 

There was no turning back now. 

The guards bowed once more before withdrawing with the discreet urgency of men who knew when they were no longer needed. Glinda looked around the dimly lit corridor, lined with heavy wooden doors and towering tapestries, then turned to her wife.

Wife. 

I have a wife. 

A mute and green wife.

"Your Highness... pardon the question, but where exactly are our chambers?"

We’re meant to share quarters, aren’t we? That’s what married couples do.

Elphaba finally looked at her - truly looked - eyes widening as if she'd seen something horrific rather than her new bride.

Glinda's defensive instincts flared. "Sweet Oz, don’t look too thrillifyed."

Elphaba tried to adjust her expression, her jaw working silently, but whatever mask she'd been attempting to don crumbled immediately. With a sharp turn that sent her dark braids flying, she spun on her heel and strode toward the far end of the corridor.

"Hey!" Glinda called out, indignation replacing hurt. "Come back!"

But Elphaba's pace only quickened. The blonde gathered her heavy skirts and hurried after her, making an effort to not stumble.

"Wait! I’m wearing heels!" The Gillikin princess hissed, her wedding train catching on a decorative pillar. "Have you forgotten every lesson in courtly etiquette?" She gave the fabric a decidedly unladylike yank and resumed her chase.

This is ridiculous. 

I was not designed for pursuit! 

I am the pursuit-ee! 

Why do I feel like the pathetic one in this scenario?

Just as the green princess reached for a door handle, Glinda lunged forward and caught her gloved wrist. The contact sent a shock through both women. For a clock tick, the blonde felt the rapid pulse beneath emerald skin.

Then Elphaba pulled her hand back as if burned.

Glinda folded her arms across her chest, chin raised in practiced royal bearing despite her racing heart. "Your Grace, if the mere thought of... fulfilling our matrimonial obligations fills you with such evident dread..." Her voice dropped to a whisper, heat blooming across her cheeks. "I want you to know that I have no intention of forcing any... intimacies upon you."

Elphaba's expression remained frustratingly inscrutable.

Panic gripped Glinda’s tongue. "Unless you- that is to say, if you wanted me to-" The words came in a breathless rush now, her voice climbing half an octave. "Which I would! Amenably! Enthusiastically! But only with matching enthusiasm from your side , obviously, never through obligation alone!" 

Ah. 

No need to wonder. 

I am the pathetic one.

She took a shuddering breath. "I apologize profusely for my forwardness, Your Highness. I seem to have misplaced both my eloquence and my composure in the span of a single day.” Her trembling hands fussed with the folds of her gown, a futile attempt to reclaim dignity. “Could you perhaps... write your intentions? Or employ some manner of gesture? I fear I’m utterly adrift when it comes to interpreting your wishes." 

By now, Glinda had unconsciously stepped closer, and Elphaba found herself pressed back against the door. 

The green woman raised one hand - palm out in a clear "stop" gesture - her first unambiguous communication of their brief acquaintance.

Afterwards, she turned the handle and disappeared behind the door, leaving the blonde alone.

"Absolutely unbelievable," Glinda muttered, beginning to pace. Her hands gestured sharply as her mind carried on the argument with an invisible adversary: I am Glinda Arduenna of the Upper Uplands, heir to the Gillikin throne, and I’m being dismissed like a common maid!  

People cross kingdoms just to bask in my presence. They write poetry about my (left) dimple. They faint - actually faint - when I smile! And now I’m expected to scamper after some brooding, green-skinned recluse who couldn’t even be bothered to look at me? What sort of-

Her internal tirade was cut short by the groan of heavy wood and the appearance of a figure - though not the one she’d been expecting. The Bear from the wedding ceremony emerged, her graying fur catching the lamplight. She wore a modest but dignified servant’s uniform.

With practiced reverence, she extended a slip of expensive parchment. The blonde accepted it, unfolding the fine paper to reveal a sparse yet elegant message in formal script:

Dulcibear will accompany you to your chamber - E.

Glinda’s brittle smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Delighted to meet you properly, Dulcibear.”

“And I, you, Lady Glinda,” the Bear replied, her voice warm with a tone reassurance. “Shall we?”

Their procession through the halls felt long, with servants curtsying a beat too late and whispers dying as they passed. 

At last, Dulcibear paused before an arched doorway. The chamber beyond was the kind one might only find in the pages of a fairytale: a four-poster bed with silk sheets, a chandelier dripping crystal teardrops, a carved study table, tall wardrobes, and a walkway Glinda assumed led to an equally grand washroom.

Beautiful.

Opulent.

Not home.

“Your belongings will arrive within a month,” the Bear said gently. “Your parents… informed you?”

Glinda’s nod was a tiny, mechanical thing. Oh, they did inform me - albeit in passing, while busy packing their trunks and fastening their own traveling cloaks.

“Well then, I’ll leave you to settle in. Sleep well, Your Highness.” Dulcibear turned toward the door, her paw on the handle when Glinda’s voice stopped her.

“Is she…” The question came out as a whisper, stripped of pride. “Is my wife- the princess, always like this? Or is it just me she loathes so thoroughly?”

The ache in her voice was impossible to miss - confusion, rejection, and a desperate longing to understand what she had done wrong.

The Bear turned back, her expression softening. She padded over and gently touched Glinda’s shoulder.

“Your Grace,” she said softly, “I wouldn’t take tonight to heart. Elphaba… she’s not the easiest soul to navigate, but don’t let this first impression discourage you. Just… give it time.”

The casual use of Elphaba’s first name caught Glinda’s attention. There was familiarity there. Closeness. But she tucked the observation away - this wasn’t the moment for probing. 

It was still her wedding night, after all.

“Very well. Fresh dreams, Dulcibear.”

She gave the princess some time.

Four weeks and two days. 

An eternity, measured in the slow, excruciating crawl of minutes.  

Each morning, Glinda rose with the same practiced grace, permitted Milla - her newly appointed and endlessly patient maid - to sculpt her into something presentable, and then descended into the emptiness of solitary days. 

The Wizard was off touring the countryside, spreading honeyed words of new beginnings.  

Not that his absence troubled her.

On the contrary, she welcomed it.

The true insult was far closer. A few hallways away, in fact.  

Her wife had not deigned to show her face. Not at dawn, not at dusk and definitely not in the later hours when the castle slept. The only evidence that Elphaba remembered she existed at all came in the form of brisk, impersonal notes, delivered each morning like clockwork.  

Glinda now clutched the latest stack in her hand, her delicate fingers tightening with each reread.  

Good morning. If the food isn’t to your liking, inform a servant of your nutritional requirements. - E.

Good morning. I’ve been told you spend your days in idleness. Provide the staff with a list of your interests so they may accommodate you. - E.

Good morning. Dulcibear reports a delay in the arrival of your possessions. Should you require anything, Milla can escort you to the city shops. She is familiar with the necessary protocols. - E.

Good morning. It has come to my attention that you find your chambers “dreadful” and “lifeless.” An architect will call upon you this afternoon to discuss renovations. - E.  

“Ugh!” The sound tore from Glinda’s throat before she could help it, her free hand slapping the vanity.  

Milla, mid-task of extracting a hair curler, paused. “Is something amiss, Your Grace?”  

“No,” Glinda snapped, tossing the notes aside with a flick of her wrist. “Nothing at all.”  

The maid hesitated, lips parting - no doubt to challenge the blatant lie - when Glinda abruptly twisted in her seat, disrupting Milla’s work.  

“I simply wish to understand,” she began, voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness, “am I truly such horrendible company?”  

Milla blinked. “My lady, I-”  

Glinda raised a silencing hand. “Rhetorical, dear. Obviously, the deficiency lies with my wife. It’s the only conceivable explanation for this…”  

“Avoidance?” Milla supplied.  

Glinda swiveled back to her reflection, lips pursed. “I was going to say appalling lack of manners, respect, and basic human decency. But yes, avoidance works.”  

A stifled laugh escaped the maid before she could smother it. Her new mistress was nothing if not entertaining. “Have you considered… reaching out to Her Royal Highness?” she ventured, resuming her work.  

Glinda’s spine stiffened. “Certainly not.”   

A beat.  

“…Why?” Milla prodded gently.  

“Because,” Glinda enunciated, as if explaining to a particularly slow child, “she is the one behaving abominably. Therefore, she is the one who must approach me - preferably with a groveling apology and a big, expensive gift.”  

Milla hummed. “With all due respect, my lady, I know little of the princess, but… I suspect change is unlikely to come from her.” She chose her words carefully, toeing the line between honesty and insolence.  

The blonde made a noise of disgust, yanking open a drawer with unnecessary force and retrieving parchment and quill. “Tell me, Milla - are you married?”  

“No, my lady. But I have an intended.”  

“Ah.” Glinda’s quill scratched furiously across the page. “Then take my advice: keep them at the intending stage as long as humanly possible.”  

Milla bit her lip, eyes dancing with amusement. “Duly noted, Your Grace.”  

With a final, emphatic bang , Glinda slammed the quill down and thrust the freshly inked missive at her. “See that this is delivered… please.”  

The maid accepted the note, resisting the urge to peek at its contents. “At once, my lady.”  

She turned to leave, but Glinda wasn’t done.

“And Milla?”  

“Yes, Your Grace?”  

“If she sends another note,” The blonde warned, “Let the whole palace know that I will set something on fire.”  

Milla curtsied, hiding a smirk. “Understood.”

Darlignest Lady Wife,

I demand your presence in the morning room.

Now.

Don’t keep me waiting.

- G.

The morning staff moved through the grand dayroom with expected efficiency, their polished shoes clicking against marble floors as they arranged silver platters and adjusted gilded cutlery. The scene was familiar - the same sunlit room, the same hand-carved mahogany table, the same spread.

Only today, there were two place settings.

Every member of the palace understood the implication. Yet few truly believed it would come to pass - after all, it never had before. Not even prior to the arrival of their new Gillikin princess.

Glinda occupied what had swiftly become her designated throne - the chair that captured the morning light most advantageously. Her posture was regal, her expression carved from ice, save for the simmering fury in her eyes as she fixed them on the opposite wall, as if sheer willpower alone might set it ablaze.

She had not touched her napkin. Had not so much as glanced at the delicate pastries the kitchen had, by now, memorized were her favorites.

She simply waited .

And waited.

Just as she began mentally drafting the most efficient way to commit arson, the double doors at the far end of the hall swung open - revealing the object of Glinda's concentrated wrath.

A hush fell.

Gone was the stiff, suffocating dress that had made Elphaba appear more specter than woman. In its place: a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, tucked into a tailored vest and a skirt that fell just above her boots. Black still dominated, of course - some things seemingly never changed - but the effect was startlingly human.  

Even more disarming were the round spectacles perched on her nose, softening the sharp angles of her face, making her look... younger.

Almost approachable.

The metallic gloves, though - those remained. An oddly specific accessory to cling to, Glinda thought.

Elphaba’s gaze swept the room - as if seeing it for the first time.

When it became abundantly clear that no acknowledgment would be forthcoming, the blonde took matters into her own hands.

“Ahem.”

The green woman turned to her immediately, offering the slightest inclination of her head - acknowledgment, if not greeting.

Glinda’s smile was razor-thin. “Sit.”

A gasp could be heard in the background. 

One did not command the heir to Oz’s throne.

Elphaba regarded her for a moment longer. Then, with the sort of unhurried deliberation designed to test every nerve in Glinda's body, she moved to comply.

Folding her hands primly atop the tablecloth, Glinda leaned forward. “Still no urge to speak?”

Silence.

“Marvelous!” Glinda chirped. "As it happens, I find myself possessed of considerable verbal energy this morning, so your listening skills shall suffice admirably." She didn’t wait for a response - not that she expected one. "I do hope you'll forgive my need for clarification, but you are aware that the ceremony we participated in not quite a month past was, in fact, a wedding? I shouldn't blame you for any confusion - it certainly bore little resemblance to one."

Nothing. Not a twitch.

“I’ve decided,” Glinda continued airily, “to interpret your silence as enthusiastic agreement. It makes conversation so much more efficient, and I do appreciate when my words receive their proper due.”

A flicker - just the ghost of a smirk - tugged at the corner of Elphaba’s lips.

Ah, she thought with satisfaction, so those ears do function.

"What I'm endeavoring to communicate, Your Highness- oh, that reminds me. Might we dispense with these exhausting formalities? They're becoming rather tedious."

Another near-smile.

"I'll interpret that as an energetic ‘yes’. See? Progress."  Glinda's tone warmed with mock approval. "Where was I? Right, we must establish some manner of... coexistence. Surely that's not an unreasonable request? A portion of each day dedicated to mutual presence. Take breakfast, for instance." She gestured elegantly to encompass their current situation. "You are my wife, regardless of your personal feelings on the matter. That designation generally implies a certain degree of… interaction."

Elphaba studied her for a while, digesting what was being said.

Then, with unhurried poise, she lifted her napkin and draped it across her lap before plucking an apple from the fruit bowl.

Glinda blinked. "Are you simply agreeing with everything I say in hopes of expediting this conversation?"

The crisp crunch of Elphaba’s bite was her only reply.

At first, it was civil.

Stiff.

Glinda would offer a perfunctory "Good morning" , and Elphaba would acknowledge her with some type of head movement before retreating behind the safety of her breakfast. They ate in near-silence, the clink of silverware the only conversation between them.

But Glinda, never one to abide a vacuum of attention for long, soon filled the quiet with words. 

So many words.

"-and the undertones were all wrong, Elphaba. Rose quartz, not peach blush. Entirely different pigments, entirely different impact-”

Glinda, mid-sentence, paused.

Elphaba was tilting dangerously to one side, her chin propped on her fist, her eyelids fluttering. The fork in her other hand hovered over her plate, forgotten.

"Elphaba!" Glinda snapped.

The princess startled, nearly upending her water glass as she jerked upright. She blinked, adjusted her glasses, and fixed Glinda with a look of such innocence that it was almost insulting.

"Am I boring you?"

Elphaba’s eyes widened. She shook her head - emphatically .

"Hm." Glinda narrowed her eyes. "That’s what I thought. Now, I’ll have to start from the beginning, or you’ll never grasp the significance of the stitching."

Elphaba’s mouth opened - a silent protest - but Glinda was already launching back into her lecture.

"As I was saying…"

"The planning for my chambers renovations is finally complete," Glinda announced, setting down her teacup delicately. "Can you imagine the ordeal? The architect simply couldn’t grasp the vision - until I, of course, graced him with my illustrations." She sighed, "My mind operates on a scale most people just... can’t reach."

Mid-bite into her pear, Elphaba offered what she hoped resembled a solemn nod. Experience had taught her that it was safest to agree with whatever topic currently held her wife’s attention. Challenging it, she feared, might result in an even longer ramble.

"No need to worry, I brought the plans for your edification," Glinda continued, and before the green woman could so much as swallow, she trilled, "Milla!"

The maid appeared as if conjured by magic, lugging an enormous presentation board that looked heavy enough to kill a man and placing it beside the blonde.

With reverence, Glinda plucked a single, nearly invisible thread from the board - pink shot through with gold - and held it aloft between her fingertips.

"This," she declared, "was the genesis of everything."

Elphaba stared at the thread. Then at the blueprints. Then at Glinda’s triumphant expression.

Slowly, she leaned back in her chair, took another deliberate bite of her pear, and settled in for what was sure to be one of their long breakfasts.

Glinda snapped open the morning paper with decisive flourish. 

Her eyes caught on a headline, and she gasped (loudly).

"Oh, do look at this!" she declared, turning the paper toward Elphaba with excitement. "They're opening a new sorcery school in the City, one that integrates magic into the curriculum from infancy! How marvelous!"

Elphaba's fingers tightened around her cup. The liquid inside trembled - though whether from the table's vibration or her own grip, she couldn't say.

Too absorbed in her own thoughts, Glinda failed to notice the tension radiating from her wife. "This was always my dream, you know," she mused, tracing the article with a wistful fingertip. "Had I begun proper training that young, my magical ability would not be so… lacking." 

The green woman studied her wife - the way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, the forced lightness in her voice - and offered a slow nod. 

Shaking her head, as if to physically dispel her melancholy, the blonde said.  "Well! Regardless, this is amazifying-" She rattled the newspaper for emphasis. "We simply must visit once it opens!"

Elphaba's stomach lurched at the mere thought, but Glinda's expression - bright with fragile hope - left no room for refusal. She made an effort to conjure one of her faint smiles.

Glinda beamed as if she'd been handed the moon.

The clock on Elphaba's wall ticked slowly.

She stood before it, freshly dressed, her posture the very picture of indifference - if one ignored the way her fingers drummed a silent march against her thigh. 

I’m not waiting. 

Certainly not.

I’m merely occupying time in the most efficient manner possible until my... obligation... begins.

"You're quite eager this morning, dear," Dulcibear remarked from the doorway, her lips curved into a knowing smirk.

Elphaba turned from the clock to face the Bear, her response immediate - a magnificent eye roll paired with a scoff that managed to convey both disdain and mortification in a single breath.

Dulcibear opened her mouth, no doubt to unleash some fresh impertinence, when the clock's chime cut her off.

Ding.

Elphaba's head snapped toward the sound faster than she would like to admit. The moment the final note faded, she was on her feet.

"Please extend my regards to Lady Glinda," the Bear called after her, the words dripping with faux innocence.

The princess paused just long enough to deliver a glare before sweeping from the room.

Fine… now I’m waiting.

The breakfast table sat untouched.

Elphaba’s gaze flicked to the empty chair across from her that by now should have contained one spectacularly verbose blonde.

This was... unprecedented. Glinda had never once failed to materialize before her arrival, already positioned like a golden sunbeam - poised and ready to reach for whatever devastatingly sweet confection had caught her fancy that day as soon as Elphaba entered the room.

Around her, the morning staff stood frozen, their eyes darting between her and the vacant seat. These weren’t the servants from her wing - the ones who’d learned to smother their fear beneath layers of stiff decorum. No, these were strangers, their terror fresh and unvarnished. Whether it was her title, her skin, or the rumors of what her powers could do, she couldn’t say. Nor did she care to ask.

Rising with fluid grace, Elphaba swept from the room without acknowledging the small army of witnesses to her... concern. Because that's what this was, wasn't it? Concern for her wife's whereabouts.

She could be dead for all I know.

The problem, as problems had a tendency to be, was multifaceted. First: she possessed approximately the same navigational knowledge of this side of the palace as a blindfolded bat (understandable, given she hadn’t once ventured beyond her apartments before the blonde’s arrival). Second: she had categorically disregarded Glinda's endless lamentations and descriptions about the "absolutely barbaric distance" between their chambers.

"Do you think I have the plague or something?"

The memory surfaced unbidden, complete with Glinda's theatrical hand gestures and wounded expression. Elphaba's lips curved involuntarily. Her wife was certainly... expressive.

Left with no choice but to embrace the adventure of random corridor selection, the green woman began her impromptu expedition through what was now an emerald labyrinth.

By the fifth hallway, something caught her attention that made her steps falter. At the end of the corridor rose a mountain. A pink mountain. Composed entirely of trunks, valises, and what appeared to be enough personal effects to outfit a small army of debutantes.

The questions arrived with uncomfortable urgency.

Did she say anything about traveling?

She wracked her brain. Nothing.

Maybe she did, and I incorrectly categorized it as "safe to ignore".

Yes. That is entirely possible.

Her pace quickened as her mind began its familiar descent into increasingly dire possibilities. 

What if Glinda was departing?

What if she'd concluded this marriage wasn't worth the considerable effort required? 

What if she'd grown weary of dealing with a silent, green-tinted person?

Yes. That is also entirely possible.

Before her thoughts could excavate deeper into this particular pit of self-doubt, a sound halted her spiraling - a squeal of pure, undiluted delight that could only belong to one person in this known universe.

There, beside her textile mountain, Glinda practically vibrated with excitement. She bounced on her toes, hands clapping rhythmically as a guard deposited another armload of belongings before retreating and leaving the blonde to contemplate her acquisitions.

When Glinda turned to leave in that same direction, Elphaba felt something suspiciously like panic flutter in her chest. She deliberately made her footsteps heavier, hoping to catch her wife's attention.

Nothing.

She nearly snapped her fingers before memory intervened.

“People snap at dogs, Elphaba! I am your wife , not a pet!”

So she was left with only one option. One absolutely terrifying option.

"Glinda."

The sound escaped like something wild and barely contained. Even spoken softly, her voice felt foreign - unfamiliar from disuse.

Glinda froze mid-step, her golden head swiveling as she searched for the source of such improper address. When her gaze landed on Elphaba, her brown eyes widened to nearly comical proportions.

"Elphaba..." Glinda began, clearly struggling to process this development. "Did you just... speak?"

"Mm." The confirmation emerged quieter now that they were within conversational distance, but undeniably present. "Yes."

"AH!" Glinda stumbled backward, one perfectly manicured finger extended in accusation. "You did it again!"

Elphaba could feel her cheeks begin to burn.

"I thought you were mute!" the blonde’s voice climbed toward something approaching a shriek.

"Father told you I was economical with words," Elphaba replied with careful precision, "not non-verbal."

"Well, I assumed that was respectful euphemism!" Glinda's eyelids began their familiar narrowing process. "And you certainly provided no evidence to the contrary! Why break your vow of silence now?"

"I…" Elphaba cleared her throat, the sound rough. "You didn't appear for breakfast… we have an agreement."

Understanding dawned across Glinda's features. "Oh! I must have lost track of time, but it was for the most magnificent reason - look!" She spun toward her possessions with her usual flourish. "My belongings finally arrived!"

Hm. Not departing, then.

The relief that flooded Elphaba's system was both immediate and unwelcome. She wasn't prepared to examine what that particular emotional response meant.

She offered a nod she hoped conveyed “I’m glad”, but Glinda's raised eyebrow suggested more response was required. "So... you won't be joining me for the meal?" The question emerged awkwardly. 

Glinda's smile turned knowing, almost predatory. "You may begin without me. I'll be along shortly."

Elphaba nodded again and turned to flee, increasingly uncomfortable with the ever growing gleam in her wife's eyes.

"Elphaba?"

She paused, turning back with resignation.

"It's perfectly acceptable to admit you missed me this morning." Glinda's smirk was pure wickedness. "I am, after all, an exceptionally missable person."

Elphaba's response was a dismissive shake of her head before she continued her retreat, desperately hoping her wife hadn't noticed the telltale flush that warmed her cheeks to deeper jade.

They were having breakfast.

At last.

But Elphaba felt none of the satisfaction she'd expected from reestablishing their structured routine. She huffed - loudly and pointedly - as her fingers tightened around the silver knife, gripping it with unnecessary force to dissect the pineapple slice in front of her.

The green woman knew what her wife was doing. Hated that she was doing it. And loathed even more that it was working with devastating efficiency.

Glinda seemed entirely engrossed in her meal, exuding a suspiciously serene air that did little to hide the mischief behind it. Her head was tilted to the left in a pose that was as intentional as it was charming.

Another huff slipped past green lips.

Without lifting her gaze from the cinnamon-laden bun she was politely nibbling, the blonde addressed the hovering servants with honeyed authority. "May I ask you all to grant my Lady wife and me a moment of privacy?"

The sound of shuffling feet and the definitive click of the door assured them of blessed solitude.

"Just say what's bothering you, Elphaba." Glinda’s voice carried the intonation of someone who already had the answer - but took pleasure in asking all the same.

"Nothing." The word emerged as barely more than a whisper, delivered with all the conviction of someone trying to convince themselves the sky wasn't blue.

"Is that so?” Glinda leaned back in her chair, brow arched. “You're making an awful lot of hideoteous noises for someone with no troubles whatsoever..."

"It's just-" Elphaba struggled to articulate her frustration without sounding completely unreasonable. "You are doing everything wrong."

"Excuse me?" The blonde's laugh held genuine disbelief. "I'm eating. Quite successfully, I might add."

Elphaba shook her head with increasing agitation. "You are not… speaking… on purpose!" Her voice climbed toward something approaching actual volume.

"Such scandalocious accusations..." Glinda scolded, one hand flying to her chest with dramatical flair. "And against your own wife, no less!" She reached for another bun with deliberate leisure. "I’m saying plenty, dear - otherwise this delightful conversation wouldn’t be occurring."

"You know that’s not what I mean," Elphaba scoffed. "You’re not going on and on about… something. Anything!"

"I was under the impression," The gillikin said, taking a deliberately small, perfectly timed bite of her sweet bread, "That my discussions were merely endured by Your Royal Highness."

Green eyes locked onto brown with an intensity sharp enough to melt steel. "Could you simply... return to normal? Pick a topic. Do a monologue about it." The request came out more like a command, which was precisely the wrong approach to take with Glinda Upland.

"Well, certainly not while you're addressing me like that." Glinda crossed her arms. "No, no. I was never one for taking orders - and I’m definitely not about to start with you."

Elphaba drew a deep breath, her lips parting with what promised to be an irritated retort-

"My dears, how great it is to see you both!"

The Wizard's voice cut through their escalating standoff, startling both women.

Glinda shot to her feet, her curtsy flawless. “Good morning, Your Ozness. How lovely to have you returned to us."

She lies with remarkable skill, Elphaba thought while offering her own customary greeting - hands clasped behind her back, accompanied by a slow, measured nod.

"Wonderful to be back!" Oscar's cane tapped against the floor as he approached, his pleasure evident in every step. "I adore our magnificent realm, don’t get me wrong, but nothing compares to the feeling of being home." His eyes gleamed as they swept the transformed space. "Especially given how spectacularly the city's refurbishment is progressing! They've made extraordinary strides in my absence."

Elphaba nodded mechanically, shooting a discreet glance toward Glinda, who was performing some kind of enthusiastic approval.

"They truly have, Your Majesty."

She’s nervous. The realization - and the certainty of it - caught the green woman by surprise.

"Perfect timing, as it happens," The Wizard continued, his tone suggesting he'd been saving this particular announcement. "We're hosting a grand ball in five weeks' time."

Glinda's composure flickered for just an instant, her gaze darting toward Elphaba before returning to him. "Oh, and I assume we'll be... in attendance?"

"Naturally! It will mark the official announcement of my Elphaba as heir to the throne, and your marriage to the realm." He said as if stating the perfectly obvious.

A tremor began in Elphaba’s gloved hands, still hidden behind her back. She clasped them tighter, willing the shaking to stop, and bit back a wince.

"How fantastical, Your Ozness." The mask was back on the blonde’s face - perfectly poised, flawlessly composed.

"Indeed it is." The Wizard's satisfaction was palpable. "You needn't concern yourselves with anything… except-" His attention focused on Glinda. "You both have an appointment with the tailor tomorrow afternoon. I trust you’ll assist Elphaba with the process. Your parents spoke highly of your exceptional eye for aesthetics."

The words bore the weight of command, artfully disguised as suggestion - something the princess of Oz knew all too well.

"Of course, Your Majesty."

Elphaba was halfway to her chamber’s door when her father’s voice stopped her mid-stride.

"So, you are out."

Every muscle in her body paralyzed. She could hear him approaching, but didn’t turn as his footsteps echoed behind her.

"I must admit," he continued. "I found it rather hard to believe when I was first informed."

Not surprising. Since childhood, she’d known the palace walls had eyes and ears.

The footsteps halted.

Slowly, deliberately, Elphaba turned.

Oscar stood with deceptive ease, his weight resting lightly on his cane. “Not only that,” he continued, as if discussing the weather rather than dismantling her newly discovered freedom, "but you are speaking."

He paused, locking eyes with her.

“And nothing happened."

Beneath the silver-threaded gloves, Elphaba's hands spasmed. The familiar burn licked up her forearms, a warning written in scars beneath the fabric. She willed her fingers to uncurl, her face to remain impassive.

"I suppose," Oscar murmured, “our training served some purpose.” His hand settled on her shoulder. The touch was light - barely more than a whisper of contact. 

"Let’s just hope we continue without any... incidents. All right, dear?"

The squeeze that followed was brief.

Gentle even.

"This way, Your Grace."

Milla walked a half-step ahead of Glinda, who followed with her usual graceful glide. Her pink summer dress whispered against her legs with each step. 

The return of her wardrobe had worked wonders on her mood.

"I hope the tailor has those imported Winkie silks I adore," the blonde mused. "The ones with the silver thread woven through? Utterly essential for the ball."

Milla chuckled. "Looking forward to the appointment?"

" Oh, surely. " Glinda clasped her hands together, eyes sparkling. "There are few things that could bring me more joy than the knowledge that I'll acquire a new gown."

"Is seeing Princess Elphaba twice in a single day one of them?" The maid asked with a smirk forming on her lips.

Glinda's step hitched - just for a tiny clock tick - before she smoothed her expression into one of practiced nonchalance. "Now that's a tough question." She adjusted an invisible wrinkle in her skirt. "I do fancy her company, even if she's a little maddening at times. Like yesterday, for example. We had a little argument - a tiff between lovers, if you will."

" Lovers? " Milla nearly tripped over her own feet, flushing. "I wasn't aware you two were at that stage already."

Glinda waved a hand airily. "Well, not exactly - but I do believe in words of affirmation. A loveless marriage?" She shuddered. "I want no part of it."

"So... you have feelings for her?" 

Glinda's gaze drifted to a point just beyond her servant’s shoulder, "Of course I have feelings. Odd feelings, but feelings nonetheless." she murmured, lost in thought. Then, almost to herself, she added, "I’ve had this urge to touch her hair these past two days, you know?"

The maid’s eyebrows shot up.

Oblivious, Glinda went on. "It's always so - contained. All those braids. I just want to..." She made a vague, fluttering gesture with her fingers, then froze mid-motion, a faint flush creeping up her cheeks as she realized what she was saying.

Milla started to speak, then thought better of it, unsure how to respond. When the carved oak door they’d been looking for came into view, she settled for, "We’ve arrived, Your Highness."

The blonde adjusted her posture with quiet elegance, composure settling back into place. "Thank you for guiding me, Milla. And for the talk. I'll send for you if needed."

The maid curtsied before withdrawing. 

Alone in the hallway, the gillikin exhaled softly,  lifting a hand to her (now warm) face.

Great Oz above, what was that?

She shook her head, squared her shoulders, and reached for the handle - just as the door swung open from within.

And there stood Elphaba, in a light blue shirt with a high collar buttoned all the way up covered by a navy blue striped dress.

"Oh." The breath left Glinda's lungs in a startled rush. She knew her wife would be here (obviously), but seeing that verdant face right after her mouth had run wild with thoughts she’d barely acknowledged was... a bit jarring. "Hello, darling…" The endearment sounded almost like a question, as if she was testing how it felt on her tongue.

The green woman shot her an offended look but gave a small wave as she stepped aside, her movements bearing that distinct grace Glinda was beginning to recognize - contained, deliberate, and surprisingly fluid.

Upon entering the atelier, brown eyes were immediately drawn to the symphony of textures surrounding them. "I do hope you're in better spirits this afternoon," she said, letting her gaze wander across the fabrics draped along the walls."Our breakfast was so terribly... dull today."

Her admiration of the space was interrupted by a voice from behind her.

"Good afternoon, Lady Glinda."

She turned to find Dulcibear settling into one of the velvet armchairs positioned near the room's center, her features arranged in a gentle - if slightly amused - expression.

"Dulcibear!" Glinda's face brightened with genuine pleasure. "What a delightful surprise. How have you been?"

"Quite well, thank you. And yourself?"

"Absolutely amazifying! Just being surrounded by such beautiful things is already making me giddy with excitement!” She gestured broadly around the space.

"Oz help us..." came a whispered mutter from her right.

Glinda turned sharply to find Elphaba beside her, close enough for the intricate pattern of her braids to come into clear view. The proximity sent an unexpected flutter through her chest - one she promptly translated into irritation.

"You know," Her voice dropped to a (courteous) hiss, "if you’re going to speak, it might as well begin with the apology you still owe me. My patience isn't infinite, Elphaba."

"I have nothing to apologize for. I made a perfectly reasonable request. You were the one intentionally acting strange for the sole purpose of being an annoyance," Elphaba replied, stubbornness lacing every word.

"Request?" Glinda's eyebrows arched in incredulity. "Is that what we’re calling it now?"

“Ye-”

"Elphaba." Dulcibear's voice carried the weight of parental authority, cutting through their brewing argument. Both women turned toward her, catching the mild exasperation now covering her features.

"Don't be difficult, dear.” she said, the words leaving no room for argument. “Say you're sorry."

"You don't even know what happened-" Elphaba began, but Dulcibear raised a paw.

"I know you . Apologize."

Elphaba huffed, her shoulders sagging slightly in defeat. She turned to Glinda, who was now wearing a satisfied, dimpled smile.

"Go on then, Elphie," the blonde purred. "Tell me how sorry you are for being unreasonably rude."

"Elphie?!" The name exploded from Elphaba's lips like a scandalized gasp (well, as scandalized as her low voice could manage) . "What in Oz's name is that ?"

Glinda blinked, realizing her slip. "That's your name in my mind," she declared - too late for take-backs now. "Rather suits you, don't you think? I've been calling you that for weeks in my head."

"Then by all means," the green woman bit out, "keep it there."

"Look at that! An almost polite command. Why, at this rate, you might actually evolve into tolerable company by... oh, shall we say Lurlimenas of next year?" She patted her wife’s shoulder with exaggerated sweetness, like one might humor a particularly well-behaved cat.

Her hand may have lingered a moment longer than strictly necessary for mere patronization, but really, who's keeping track of such trivial details? 

Elphaba was in the middle of shrugging off the touch when a man materialized on the other side of the room with flamboyant flair.

"Well, well, well! If it isn't the couple of the hour!"

Glinda immediately tugged Elphaba back, linking their arms together with practiced ease while shooting her a behave look.

"You must be Lady Glinda," the curly-haired man said, taking her free hand and kissing her knuckles with flourish.

In the flesh," she replied with a brilliant smile. "A pleasure to meet you, Mister...?"

"Oh, none of that nonsense! Just Crope will do." He turned to Elphaba with a deep, respectful bow. "And you must be Princess Elphaba of Oz. I can hardly believe you're real… I must say, the speculative portraits hardly did you justice - they couldn’t have imagined someone quite so striking."

If he was surprised by her verdigris, he gave no indication - an omission that stirred in Glinda an unexpected sense of gratitude.

Elphaba merely hummed in acknowledgment, her typical response to any social situation.

When Crope looked at her expectantly, Glinda intervened smoothly. "She's just a touch shy. Don't take it personally."

Elphaba rolled her eyes, earning herself a not-so-subtle swat on the arm from the blonde.

“I absolutely won't!" The tailor clapped his hands together, his eyes sparkling with creative fervor. "You are such a magnificent couple! My mind is already spinning with possibilities. Now, who shall we start with?"

He guided them toward a round table, its surface scattered with sketching materials and fabric samples.

Glinda sank into her chair, her glee barely disguised. "I think it's best to start with Elphie. That will definitely require more of our attention."

The green woman let out a quiet sound of displeasure - one that Glinda noted, and just as promptly ignored.

"Marvelous! So, what vision are we pursuing?" Crope asked, pulling out paper and charcoal.

Glinda looked expectantly at her wife. "Do you have something particular in mind?"

Elphaba shook her head, her expression suggesting she'd rather be anywhere else in Oz.

"Well," The gillikin began thoughtfully, her gaze dropping to Elphaba's hands, "I assume the gloves are essential...?"

The sudden stiffness in the green woman’s posture was impossible to miss. After a beat that stretched uncomfortably long, she offered the barest nod.

"Gloves are a wonderful foundation," Crope agreed, already sketching preliminary designs. "There are countless ways to incorporate them."

Glinda found herself studying those gloved hands with new attention. "But will it need to be this particular material? You never wear anything else." She gestured toward the metallic fabric that always covered emerald skin.

The remark seemed to catch Elphaba off guard. She turned to Glinda with something close to shock - like someone unaccustomed to being truly seen, truly noticed.

"It's quite versatile, actually," Crope said, examining the fabric's weave. "Very neutral. We can work around it beautifully."

Glinda clapped her hands together. "This is going to be such fun! And we haven't even gotten to my ensemble yet."

Despite herself, Elphaba's expression had softened, her shoulders losing some of their defensive tension.

"Now, for the overall silhouette," Glinda continued, "are you thinking of a dress, or perhaps-"

"Pants," Elphaba said quietly but firmly.

"Truly?" Glinda tilted her head, genuine curiosity in her voice. "But you look absolutely lovely in this dress." She gave a delicate pinch to the fabric of Elphaba’s skirt, as if the garment itself could back her up.

"Truly," Elphaba repeated, her voice gaining strength. "And a jacket."

Glinda blinked. "Gloves, pants, jacket... darling, are you aware it's not winter?"

Before their conversation could spiral into another argument, the tailor intervened with professional smoothness. "I'll select the most breathable fabrics available. Don't worry, Lady Glinda, I won't let your wife suffer a heat stroke for the sake of fashion."

The casual reference to the green woman as her wife struck Glinda like a small lightning bolt. Which was entirely absurd. She'd called Elphie her wife countless times - had thought of her that way even more. But hearing it from Crope's lips, delivered with such matter-of-fact acceptance, sent a new heat wave flooding to her cheeks with embarrassing swiftness. Because in that moment, what had always felt like an elaborate pretense became - suddenly, and startlingly - real.

Not that Glinda minded.

Turning slightly, she caught Elphaba’s gaze, and saw her own surprise reflected back.

She really didn’t mind at all.

Glinda changed behind a silk-covered screen, her fingers working swiftly through hooks and lacings. Tradition dictated that a servant assist the princess at every stage of dressing, but that had never been the case for her.

Such exposure invited questions, and questions led to conversations she preferred to avoid. So she always began her preparations alone, and only once she was properly decent would a maid step in for the finishing touches.

She studied her reflection in the mirror, analyzing her appearance. The dress wasn't completely finished, but the structure was there. With a little imagination, she could picture it adorned with all the missing embellishments. 

It will be divine.

"Milla," she called softly, "could you assist with the back lacings?"

The maid appeared with the silent efficiency of someone who had learned to navigate the unspoken boundaries of her mistress's privacy. Her hands were gentle but sure as she worked the corset's ties, never lingering, never questioning the particular rituals that governed these moments.

"One, two, three," Milla counted under her breath, then gave the sharp tug that brought the corset's edges together with precision.

"Oh!" Glinda's delighted gasp was genuine as she watched her silhouette transform in the mirror. "Sweet Oz... am I not the most scandalicious little fish in the sea?"

She executed a perfect twirl and beamed at her reflection with the sort of unguarded joy that made her lovely in an entirely different way than her usual calculated beauty.

"Without question, Your Grace," Milla replied, and though she would never contradict the blonde, the truth in her words was transparent.

Glinda took a steadying breath, smoothing her hands over the dress's front with satisfaction. "Are you ready, Elphie?" she called across the room, projecting her voice.

A sigh drifted back to her, followed by the faintest "Mm-hmm."

The sound sent a familiar spike of frustration through Glinda's chest. Why must the woman be so determinedly monosyllabic? She possessed a perfectly capable voice - and rather a beautiful one, if Glinda were being honest - yet she hoarded words like a miser hoarded gold, especially when others were present.

Someone moved the screen aside, and Glinda stepped onto the circular pedestal positioned before the atelier’s largest mirror. She steadied herself with one graceful hand, then turned toward Elphaba with a perfect toss of her golden locks.

"Well?" she asked expectantly. "Surely even you must have some opinion on such magnificence?"

Elphaba, seated on the sofa with an expression of profound boredom across her angular features, had the audacity to look her up and down with deliberate slowness before offering a single thumbs up.

The nerve.

"I asked for thoughts, not... that," Glinda said, her voice sharp with irritation.

Elphaba's lips curved into the barest hint of a smirk. "It's rather difficult to extract thoughts from one's brain and hand them over, don't you think?"

Glinda huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose exasperatedly. "Elphaba, if you don't tell me what you think of this dress right now, I'll..." Her eyes scanned the room desperately for an appropriate threat. "I'll throw those pins and needles at you, one by one, until you develop an opinion!"

To her absolute shock, a laugh escaped from those green lips - not the sardonic quiet chuckle she might have expected, but something genuine and surprisingly musical. The sound hit her like a physical thing, warm and unexpected, and she found herself cataloging details she had no business noticing: the way the laugh transformed Elphaba's entire face, the gap between her teeth that appeared for just an instant before that infuriating mouth closed again, leaving Glinda wondering when, if ever, she might witness such an unguarded moment again.

"Lady Glinda?"

She gave a small shake of her head, before turning to find Crope kneeling beside the pedestal, a mouth full of pins and a measuring tape draped around his neck. He had apparently been working on her hem this entire time while she'd been... distracted.

"Sorry, dear," she said genuinely. "You were saying?"

"Just wondering if anything isn't quite to your satisfaction," he replied, carefully removing the pins from between his lips. "This is the ideal time for adjustments, before we add the additional layers."

Glinda turned back to the mirror, studying her reflection with renewed focus. "Will there be sturdier support in the bodice?" She gestured delicately toward her chest. "I absolutely cannot abide dresses that require constant... adjustment throughout the evening."

"Of course!" Crope flipped through his sketch pad with enthusiasm until he found the right page. "The internal corset provides substantial support, but we'll also add this..." He rummaged through fabric samples until he found the right one. "Obviously not in this color, but you can feel the weight and structure."

It was perfect - substantial without being stiff. "Wonderful, Crope. And are we quite certain about the puffed sleeves?" She placed her hands on her shoulders, studying the effect in the mirror.

"I confess to bias, but I adore them," he said, adjusting the sleeves from behind her until they sat perfectly symmetrical. "They complement your figure beautifully and add such a regal quality. Though naturally, if you're not comfortable..."

"I like the sleeves."

The words came so quietly from behind her that Glinda almost missed them. She looked at Elphaba's reflection in the mirror, her heart performing a little skip. "You do?"

Elphaba gave a small nod, her eyes deliberately avoiding her wife as a deep flush of green crept across her cheeks. "Yes. They're... they suit you. Pretty."

Glinda preened, unable to suppress her delight as she admired her reflection anew. If puffed sleeves had earned her Elphaba's first genuine compliment - directed at her, or at least at something adorning her - she would defend them to her dying breath.

Besides, she did look rather fabulous.

"So we're keeping them, then?" Crope asked, his voice dancing with barely contained mischief.

Glinda nodded enthusiastically, practically glowing as she turned this way and that before the mirror. "Absolutely. Though..." She paused, tilting her head critically, "might we consider raising the neckline just a touch? Something about the proportions..."

Crope made a quick note. "Easily done. Anything else?"

"The waistline could perhaps sit slightly higher? It might help elongate my regrettably short silhouette." She turned sideways, studying her profile with the intense focus.

"As you wish, my lady."

"And the hem - I do think we could afford to add another inch of length. A true gown always hits the floor." She lifted the skirt slightly, examining where it would fall.

"Very sensible."

"Oh! And perhaps we could adjust the fullness of the tule? It might benefit from just a touch more volume..."

Crope scribbled notes with increasing speed, his expression growing slightly strained with professional patience. "Certainly, Lady Glinda. Any other modifications you'd like to consider?"

"At this rate, perhaps you'd prefer we turn it into a suit entirely?" Elphaba's voice carried her particular dry tone.

The smile vanished from Glinda's face. She turned to face Elphaba with movements so sharp they could have cut glass, ice crystallizing in her voice in a way that seemed to lower the temperature of the entire room.

"And why, precisely, would I want that?"

The shift in atmosphere was so palpable that everyone present seemed to freeze mid-breath. The green woman’s eyes widened, her posture becoming rigid as she recognized she had somehow stepped directly into a minefield without any understanding of how she'd gotten there.

"I... I don't know, I mean..." she stammered, looking desperately between Crope and Milla as if their expressions might provide some clue about what she had said to deserve such a response. But they looked as bewildered as she felt, offering no assistance whatsoever. "I had no intention to offend you, Glinda. It was merely a jest..."

"Strange," Glinda said, her tone edged with a coolness she hadn’t known she was capable of. "I find myself entirely without the urge to laugh."

She turned her back to Elphaba with deliberate dismissal, her mind reeling in directions she couldn't quite control. She has to know, the panicked voice in her head insisted. Her father announced it clearly enough for half the kingdom to hear on that first horrendible day. She was right there by the throne room door - she absolutely heard every word. Even if she hadn't, surely she understands why we were married in the first place.

But then doubt crept in. Perhaps Elphaba truly was innocent of the implications, genuinely unaware of the reason The Wizard had deemed them suitable for each other. Glinda still barely knew her wife - was unaccustomed to her speaking without prompting - so she couldn't determine if the comment had been genuine quip, deliberate cruelty, or the sort of casual observation someone might make if they were comfortable enough to laugh about the thing Glinda hated most about herself.

Crope cleared his throat with professional delicacy, pretending he hadn't witnessed the sudden shift in the room. "Shall we consider the design finalized, Your Grace?"

Glinda nodded curtly. Even if she had possessed other concerns - which she might have, under different circumstances - she no longer had the heart for such discussions.

"Excellent. I'll just finish these measurements and we'll be done for today."

She remained silent for the duration of the fitting, her body present but her spirit carefully locked away behind walls she had spent years constructing. When the session finally concluded and she was out of the unfinished garment, she spared not so much as a glance toward Elphaba, who sat frozen on the sofa looking utterly lost.

Elphaba knew Glinda wouldn't show up to breakfast the day after their... fight? Misunderstanding? The uncertainty gnawed at her.

With that knowledge came a simple plan. She wouldn't allow this to fester like untended wounds. If she had committed some grievous transgression, if her words had somehow pierced through Glinda's  perpetual composure, she would rather know precisely what caused it. 

The green woman had always despised the peculiar blindness that came with isolation - that maddening sensation of missing crucial information everyone else seemed born knowing. Living the life she had lived, so carefully removed from all kinds of human connection, meant that every social interaction unfortunately fell into that dreaded bracket of things she was supposed to understand but didn't .

Which was exactly why she found herself standing before Glinda's door, balancing an elaborate breakfast tray the kitchen staff had assured her was "to Lady Glinda's standards," and attacking the wood with her boot because her hands were rather occupied with not dropping what appeared to be half the palace's morning offerings.

Milla materialized after the fourth kick, her expression a mixture between surprise and professional composure. "Good morning, Your Highness," she managed, gesturing toward the precarious tower of porcelain and pastries. "Do you need assistance with... that situation?"

"Hello, Milla. Thank you, but that won’t be necessary," Elphaba replied, attempting to peer beyond the doorway without appearing entirely undignified. "I was hoping to see Glinda."

"Ah- Lady Glinda is not-" 

"I don't mean to be ill-mannered, but I know she's here. Is she awake?"

"Yes, Your Grace, but perhaps-"

"Then I'm coming in." The words emerged with the finality, though Elphaba softened them with what she hoped resembled a smile rather than a grimace.

Caught between protecting her mistress and avoiding potential treason charges, Milla stepped aside with resigned grace.

"I would appreciate a moment alone with her, if you don't mind," Elphaba said, passing through the doorway.

"Of course, Your Grace." The maid executed a perfect curtsy before retreating, closing the door with a soft click.

Elphaba paused, taking in her wife's newly revealed sanctuary. Glinda hadn't been exaggerating about the renovations - the room bore no resemblance to the rest of the palace. Pink dominated in every conceivable shade, from the whisper-soft blush of dawn to the bold proclamation of sunset roses. A massive dressing table commanded one wall, its surface full of bottles, brushes, and mysterious flasks, presided over by a mirror large enough to reflect a small village.

The windows stretched toward the ceiling, offering a panoramic view of the city below, while double doors led to a grand terrace. But it was the books that truly captured Elphaba's attention: volumes on sorcery and architecture scattered around, accompanied by sketches of buildings, bridges, and arches that spoke of dreams far more ambitious than mere decoration.

In the center of it all was a four-poster bed, buried beneath what appeared to be the entire pillow collection of three provinces. Glinda lay curled on the side nearest the windows, her back turned toward the entrance deliberately. Yet her head was angled just so, one eye visible over her shoulder, tracking Elphaba's movement intensely. 

When green met brown, Glinda's head snapped away rapidly. The gesture pulled an unguarded smile from Elphaba - she was certain she'd smiled more in Glinda's presence than in all her previous years combined.

She slowly approached the bed, setting the tray on the nearby table and drawing the chair a bit closer to where her wife was.

Glinda observed this maneuvering and promptly executed a dramatic rotation to face the opposite direction.

"Good morning, Glinda," Elphaba said, discovering she couldn't quite eliminate the smile from her voice, despite the nervous energy threading through her chest.

"You were quite unpleasant to Milla," came the muffled response.

"No, I wasn't. I'm pretty sure I said 'thank you' at some point in our exchange." The princess of Oz settled into the chair, she was beginning to grow used to these little clashes with Glinda. In fact, she rather liked them.

"You interrupted her twice and then dismissed her."

"Well," Elphaba said, injecting just enough gravity to suggest genuine contrition, "I shall bring breakfast for her tomorrow and offer my deepest apologies for such devastating cruelty."

A pause. 

"So that's not exclusively wife treatment?"

The question held more weight than its casual delivery suggested. "Glinda, could you turn around... please?"

The blonde produced an elaborate sigh, but complied, rotating to face her wife while maintaining the silk blankets as a barrier.

This was precisely one of those moments when Elphaba's lack of practice with human interaction revealed itself - she knew what she needed to say, but navigating the path from thought to speech felt like an uphill battle.

"Look, about yesterday-"

"It's perfectly fine, Elphaba. I overreacted to something entirely insignificant." The words tumbled out with desperate speed.

"No." Elphaba leaned forward, her voice carrying a quiet intensity. "I want you to tell me precisely where I went wrong. Because I swear, it wasn't my intention to hurt you."

"It's nothing, truly." Glinda’s eyes fixed on the window behind Elphaba as if the city might offer escape routes.

"That clearly isn't the case, otherwise we wouldn't be having breakfast in your private chambers." She gestured towards the room.

"Neither of us is currently eating," Glinda pointed out.

Elphaba responded by selecting a plump blueberry from the tray and consuming it with deliberate ceremony.

Glinda sighed again, this one carrying the weight of impending surrender, and shifted to lie flat against her pillows, studying the ceiling. "It's stupid. You really didn't do anything... I think."

A nod was her only response.

"Elphie..." The nickname emerged as barely more than breath. "You do understand why we married, don't you?"

"So you could make people fond of the green monster they'll have as queen someday," Elphaba murmured, a wry smile playing at her lips.

"You really aren't funny." Glinda's gaze snapped to her, arms crossing in a gesture of mild indignation.

"Apparently not... you are proving to be a rather demanding audience." Elphaba paused, then continued with careful gentleness, "We also married so you could have heirs... since you can’t."

"But do you know why I can't?" The ceiling became the victim of Glinda's intense scrutiny once more.

"Father never provided details. He simply explained that my powers could assist you in that regard, since your body wasn't designed for such things." Elphaba offered the truth.

"He's quite correct about that limitation." Glinda's hands found her chest, one tapping against the other in a nervous rhythm. "Were you aware that when I was born, the moment I emerged into this world, the midwife was absolutely convinced I was a boy?"

The laugh that followed carried no humor whatsoever.

Seeing the distress gathering in her wife's expression, Elphaba began, "You don't need to tell me-"

"Nonsense! I haven't even reached the best part!" Glinda's eyes had acquired a suspicious brightness, tears gathering like storm clouds while she fought to maintain composure. "Momsie was devastated, you see. She'd wanted a daughter so desperately." Her voice took on a distant quality, as if she were narrating someone else's story. "But then, after I'd been changed into those small clothes and placed in the cradle beside her bed, something extraordinary occurred. In Gillikin Country, we have this sentient book - the Tome of Records. Historians claim it was Lurline's own creation, ensuring no soul could ever be forgotten or erased."

Elphaba had encountered references to such religious artifacts in her studies, though the specifics had never held her interest - theology had always seemed less urgent than other subjects.

The gillikin seemed to drift deeper into her own mind. "When the healer brought the book to my parents, she appeared rather concerned. Somehow, my name - well, what had been my name for those few hours - had appeared under 'Daughters of Lurline,' not 'Sons.' Can you imagine the ordeal?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Poor Momsie and Popsicle were completely lost, with no idea how to proceed."

Her hands had begun their nervous dance again, fingers tapping against each other with increasing agitation. "The healer suggested they perform a test, but what she actually meant was that they would cut my tiny belly open and search for answers." Unconsciously, Glinda's hand drifted to her stomach. "And they found them! They explained that my body was what they called a 'variation.' Internally, I possessed all the organs one would expect to find in a female, but externally... well, quite the opposite situation. And beyond all that, my soul was undeniably female. They assured my parents this wasn't common, but it was far from unprecedented - it was simply kept very, very quiet."

Elphaba watched with growing concern as words poured from Glinda like water through a broken dam. She'd grown accustomed to the blonde's tendency toward elaborate conversation, but this felt different - raw and uncontrolled, as if something fundamental had cracked.

"Now came the truly complicated part," Glinda continued, her gaze still burning holes in the ceiling. "My parents faced an impossible decision - though technically, I suppose it was my decision. I just wasn’t in a position to make it, lacking both speech and cognitive function at the time." A single tear escaped, tracing a silver path down her cheek. "But Momsie and Popsicle, both devoted followers of Lurline, found themselves incapable of contradicting her divine word. If I was her daughter, then I was theirs as well."

The vulnerability was raw and frighteningly real, stripping away every layer of wit, propriety, and careful composure that the blonde typically wielded like armor. 

"Glinda..."

A pale hand rose, stopping her words. "I don't know if I'll ever discuss this again, so please, allow me to finish." Her voice had grown rough from the effort of containing emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

Elphaba nodded, settling back into silence.

Sniffling, the blonde continued, "Consequently, I grew up as... me. Nobody ever explained that my body was different from others. I assumed Momsie's insistence on personally handling my bathing and dressing, or Popsicle's complete intolerance for swimming or any activities requiring less clothing, was simply normal parental protectiveness. Which, in many ways, it was - they were looking after me, ensuring I received the best possible care. But the true reasons behind those countless small restrictions only became clear during my pre-adolescent years."

She paused, gathering strength for what was clearly the most difficult part of her story.

"I had friends who spoke excitedly about their monthly courses beginning, about bleeding for the first time, and they kept asking when mine would arrive. Naturally, I went to Momsie with questions - when would I become a proper woman? My breasts had started developing, just slightly, but surely that meant my transformation was imminent?" Glinda's laugh held no warmth, only the bitter recognition of innocence lost. "That was when I first learned I was... like this." Her gesture encompassed her body, still hidden beneath silk blankets. "And I'll never forget that day, Elphie."

She turned to face her wife again, tears flowing freely now, all pretense of control abandoned. "The expression on Momsie's face, the overwhelming sensation of otherness that I'd never experienced before... and I miss it, you know? Not knowing that feeling of profound shame, of not belonging anywhere, of being incapable of fulfilling my most basic purpose, of never being enough ... I truly miss that ignorance."

The words dissolved into sobs, and Glinda was no longer capable of continuing her story. Elphaba presumed she wouldn't want to anyway. She was astounded to realize how much pain her wife had learned to hide beneath everything else, how she had borne this crushing self-hatred in complete solitude.

Sadly, it reminded Elphaba of herself. But now wasn’t the moment to unpack that.

Without overthinking the decision - for once allowing instinct to guide her - Elphaba rose from the chair and settled on the narrow strip of mattress beside the bed's edge. Gently, she captured Glinda's hand - the one not occupied with shielding her face - and held it between both of her gloved palms, hoping to transmit some measure of comfort through the metallic fabric.

Several moments passed before Glinda's sobs quieted to manageable tremors. Her gaze dropped to the hands that had enclosed hers, then lifted to meet her wife's face, where she discovered an expression of tenderness she'd never witnessed before.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," Elphaba said with warm certainty. "It won't happen again."

Glinda sighed, attempting to craft a smile. "Well, you couldn't possibly have known all of that... it's okay, Elphie."

Green hands tightened their grip. "Just one thing," Elphaba said, her voice carrying newfound firmness as she met nervous chocolate eyes. "You've said some mad things since I've known you - plenty of them, actually - but claiming you're not enough has to be the absolute maddest. You are the most enough I've ever met."

Glinda still couldn't quite manage a laugh, but she allowed a genuine smile to bloom across her features. "Considering you've met perhaps ten people in your entire existence, that statement lacks the impact you're hoping for, darling."

Elphaba laughed with unguarded relief, recognizing this version of Glinda as someone she could happily navigate. "So..."

Blonde eyebrows narrowed with suspicion. "So?"

"Are you planning to eat those pastries I brought, or shall I deliver them to Milla as an apology for my earlier rudeness?" Mischief threaded through Elphaba's voice.

A gasp escaped Glinda’s lips. "You absolutely would not!"

Elphaba smiled and rose to retrieve the now-cold offerings, carefully arranging the tray across Glinda's lap as she settled upright against the headboard. She moved to return to the chair, but a gentle hand intercepted her retreat.

Glinda patted the space beside her, shifting to create room for two among the many pillows.

Without requiring further invitation, the green woman settled into the offered space.

And as they shared their long-delayed breakfast, a pale hand found a gloved one again.

The days that followed were normal. 

There were still shared meals.

Still banter over the most mundane things.

Still words by the thousand.

Still silences that lingered just a beat too long.

But something had shifted.

Something quiet.

Unspoken.

Unnamed.

Just… something.

"Don't you look dashing," Glinda said, her voice wrapped in a warmth that lately seemed meant only for her wife. Her eyes traced the sharp lines of Elphaba's form with obvious appreciation, admiring the navy jacket with its intricate gold and silver embroidery that transformed her into something imposing - more like the commanding figure she is supposed to be.

The Wizard's voice could be heard in the background, weaving proficient rhetoric about unity and progress to his guests.

"You act as if you didn't have a say in everything about it." was Elphaba’s clipped response.

Glinda waved a dismissive hand, then arranged herself into a pose that best displayed her soft pink gown, clearing her throat. 

"Ahem."

Elphaba gave her a genuinely bewildered look. "Do you need water?"

The blonde huffed,  "Impossible..."

They fell into a silence - not quite comfortable, but not unwelcome either - both staring at the imposing double doors that separated them from destiny.

Glinda's trained eye caught the subtle tremor in Elphaba's gloved hands, the way her breathing had grown shallow and measured. Her wife was stiffer than usual, which, given Elphaba's natural inclination toward rigidity, was rather alarming.

"Elphaba."

"Hm."

Glinda reached for those trembling hands, capturing them in her smaller, softer ones. "You can do this."

Emerald eyes found hers, trying to believe in those words. 

Intertwining their arms, the blonde positioned them for their entrance.

"Now," came the Wizard's voice, suddenly closer and more commanding, "I present to you Princess Elphaba, Heir of Oz, and her bride, Princess Glinda of Gillikin!"

The doors swung open, revealing a sea of faces turned upward. The ballroom stretched before them with representatives from every corner of Oz gathered to witness history in the making. Green banners fluttered alongside the traditional colors of each province.

They began their procession down the center aisle. The crowd's reaction rippled outward like waves - cheers from some quarters, curious stares from others, and here and there, expressions of barely concealed unease.

But Elphaba could barely process any of it. The world had narrowed to the feeling of warmth pressed against her, the sound of their footsteps, and the crushing weight of a lifetime's worth of preparation pressing down upon her shoulders.

We got to give the people what they want.

Her father's voice echoed from years past, from countless lessons in a study that smelled of old leather and disappointment.

People need direction. 

You'll be their direction. 

All roads will lead towards you.

The throne room of her childhood materialized around her like a ghostly overlay - a smaller space where a younger version of herself had stood before that damned book, tears gathering in eyes that had yet to learn the art of concealment.

"Read it, Elphaba." The command had always been the same, delivered in a tone that brooked no argument.

But she had shaken her head then, just as some part of her wanted to shake her head now.  

"No! I don't want to!"

"It's not about wanting it, you need it."

"No..."

"So you want to stay like this..." The cruelest cut of all, wrapped in paternal concern.

"I don't, father, but-"

"This is the only way, Elphaba! It's the only way to get your heart's desire, to be normal!"

Normal. The word had tasted like ash even then.

The memory dissolved as they reached their destination - two thrones positioned like pedestals, designed to elevate them above the masses both literally and symbolically. Between them sat the Grimmerie, ancient, terrible and beautiful, its leather binding worn smooth by generations of use.

It was too much. Too many faces, too many expectations, too many years of preparation leading to this single, impossible moment.

Glinda's arm tightened against hers. When Elphaba glanced at her wife, she found that serene smile that had charmed half the nobility of Gillikin, though she knew it was nothing more than a carefully constructed mask.

"Before we get too excited," the Wizard announced, his voice carrying effortlessly through the vaulted space, "we'll do the oath for the powers above."

A guard approached.

The Grimmerie was opened, its ancient text pulsing with light.

As Elphaba moved to place her hand upon the book, her father's voice cut through the moment. "Excuse me, dear. I'll help you with that." The tremor in his words was uncharacteristic - worrying.

Her gloves. 

Of course.

With hands that shook more than protocol would have preferred, the Wizard helped her remove the silver barriers that had become as much a part of her as breathing. The scarred flesh beneath told its own story - years of magical training, of power constrained and barely controlled. The pattern of old burns and cuts created a map of sacrifice that few would ever understand.

Gasps rose from the crowd that stood close enough to notice. Even Glinda couldn't suppress a sharp intake of breath, though whether from shock or sympathy, Elphaba couldn't bear to discover. She kept her gaze fixed on the book, while placing her trembling hand alongside Glinda's unmarked one.

The Wizard began his rehearsed words, phrases polished through countless repetitions.

All Elphaba could feel were the eyes. Hundreds of them, dissecting her visible vulnerability, cataloging every incongruity, every aspect that had marked her as other since birth. The whispers started - a low susurrus of speculation and judgment that built like wind before a storm.

When the force began building within her, it was too late to stop it.

The power rose from some deep well she'd spent decades trying to cap, a geyser of raw magic that had been compressed too long, constrained too tightly, held back by will, fear and the desperate need to be something she was not.

The explosion came without warning.

The massive crystal chandelier at the center of the ballroom shattered. 

Not gradually. 

Not with a crack of announcement. 

A single, catastrophic moment was enough to send thousands of crystal shards raining down like deadly snow. 

Screams erupted.

People dove for cover.

Nobles who had long forgotten how to move faster than a dignified walk suddenly rediscovered the art of running. 

Elphaba stood frozen at the center of it all, eyes clenched shut, afraid that any movement might unleash something even worse. The magical energy still crackled around her like visible heat, making the air itself seem to shimmer with dangerous potential.

"Goodness!" came a voice cutting through the pandemonium. "And I thought I was the dramatic one."

It was unmistakably Glinda, but the voice came from an unexpected direction. Elphaba forced her eyes open to find her wife standing at the front of the platform, the Wizard's microphone in her hand, leaning over the railing to position herself as close to the crowd as physically possible.

With calm assessment, the blonde surveyed the unfolding chaos. 

"I was going to save the speech for later," she continued, her voice carrying perfectly through the acoustics of the hall, "maybe after a few glasses."

A few tentative chuckles rose from the crowd.

"Fellow Ozians," Glinda continued, with the bravado of someone raised to command attention, "we gather here to celebrate! The beginning of something new! The crowning of my Elphaba and, obviously, my arrival to the court."

She paused, letting the moment breathe, allowing space for more hesitant laughter to fill the silence.

"The unknown can be frightening," she admitted, her voice taking on a more intimate quality that somehow still carried to the back of the hall. "I'm frightened to be here... talking to all of you. That's a great deal of responsibility, don't you agree?"

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"My Elphaba," Glinda continued, and there was such warmth in those two words that they seemed to wrap around the green woman like a protective embrace, "was graced with an enormous gift. The Gods gave her so much power that it's difficult to contain in that darling body."

Glinda's voice grew stronger, more commanding. "But she does everything she can to do so. Her entire life was based on how to control herself, so she can be her best. Her best for you. The scars on her hands are the manifestation of extreme effort. What greater strength is there than a princess who chains her own power, her own freedom, to spare her people?"

A different kind of murmur moved through the people now - consideration rather than fear.

"Clearly, as we saw just now, it doesn't always work." Glinda gestured to the crystal-strewn floor with rueful acknowledgment. "Nothing is perfect in this life of ours. I mean... She is perfect to me, don't get me wrong…” More laughter now, warmer and more genuine. “But we can't expect to smooth our way into things. For everything to go as planned."

She paused, taking a breath.

"The future of Oz is not forged in perfection, but in courage. My wife has just shown you hers." Glinda's voice took on the steel of challenge. "Where is ours? Will we have enough to help her move this great land forward?"

The question hung in the air. To express alarm now, to show doubt, would be to fail the test Glinda had so cleverly constructed. The applause that followed was perhaps not entirely spontaneous, but it was genuine enough.

Glinda looked toward the musicians who had been cowering in their alcove. "Now, unless we plan to stand here all night, I believe a celebration is in order!"

Music swelled into the space - not the formal processional that had been planned, but something lighter, more festive, more suited to the moment Glinda had created. 

And just like that, the crowd began to disperse.

The blonde turned back to Elphaba with movements that appeared unhurried despite the speed with which she crossed the space between them. Up close, the cost of her performance was more visible - a tightness around her eyes, a slight tremor in her hands that she quickly stilled.

"Here, darling." She guided Elphaba toward her throne with gentle pressure, catching the gloves from a nearby guard. "Do you want these?"

It was only then that Elphaba truly looked at her wife's face and saw what her magic had cost. A thin line of blood traced down Glinda's left cheek from a cut near her temple - a mark of her outburst.

Elphaba couldn't look away from it. Couldn't process anything beyond the fact that her loss of control, her moment of weakness, had drawn blood from the one person who deserved none of her darkness.

"Elphie?" Glinda's voice seemed to come from very far away, though she stood close enough to touch. She held up the gloves, a question wrapped in gentle concern.

Elphaba nodded, not trusting her voice, not trusting anything about herself in that moment.

Glinda's fingers were impossibly gentle as she worked the metallic cloth back over scarred skin. Her touch was careful, professional, and somehow that clinical kindness was worse than any anger might have been.

"So the Gillikin rumors weren't exaggerated," came the Wizard's voice, accompanied by the appearance of a silk handkerchief held between them like a peace offering. His smile was one of victory. "You were born for this, Lady Glinda."

Glinda accepted the handkerchief with a questioning look, and the Wizard gestured toward his own cheek in mirror of her injury. "You have something here."

Understanding dawned in Glinda's eyes - surprise, then shock as she pressed the silk to her face and saw the crimson stain it left behind. She had been so focused on managing the political crisis that she hadn't even noticed her own injury.

"It's nothing to worry about," the Wizard continued, "You still look magnificent, dear. Why don't you go enjoy the festivities? You surely deserve it. And I heard your parents were down there, just waiting to have a moment with you."

Something flickered across Glinda's face - an expression too complex to name, though it didn't carry the joy one might expect at news. "Oh, but..." Her eyes moved to Elphaba with evident concern. "I think I'll stay here for a bit."

"Nonsense!" The Wizard's tone brooked no argument, and guards were already moving into position. "Escort Lady Glinda to her friends and family," he commanded.

Glinda's attention fixed on Elphaba. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

The question hung between them. 

"It's fine, Glinda." The words came out as barely more than a whisper, distant and hollow. "Go see your family."

The guards started guiding the Gillikin princess, making continued resistance impossible. Glinda’s voice carried back across the growing distance: "I'll be back shortly! Don't go anywhere!"

And then she was gone, disappeared into the crowd like a pink flame swallowed by shadow.

A hand settled on a green shoulder.

"I think you are done for the night," the Wizard said.

Elphaba could only nod.

Glinda sat in the sunroom as morning light poured through the tall windows, scattering prismatic rainbows across the pristine white tablecloth.

The ball had been, by any political measure, a success.

A qualified success , she amended silently, her fingers tracing the rim of her untouched teacup. There was still considerable work ahead. Trust wasn't something that could be won with a single elegant speech and an opulent celebration. But considering the evening had nearly ended in complete disaster, perhaps calling it a success wasn't too generous an assessment.

It was, at the very least, a beginning.

Deep within her chest, something warm and treacherous stirred - satisfaction. The sort of satisfaction that came from a role performed flawlessly, from stepping into chaos and emerging with applause. 

You were born for this, Lady Glinda.

The Wizard's words echoed in her memory, and she felt her jaw tighten involuntarily. Momsie and Popsicle had worn such pride in their expressions - the kind of uncomplicated joy that parents reserve for their children's greatest triumphs. For once, when they looked at her, she hadn't seen that carefully concealed worry lurking behind their smiles. That helpless searching for solutions to a problem they couldn't quite name but couldn't ignore.

The problem of her .

She felt ashamed to find such warmth in praise from Oscar. If she'd harbored doubts about his character before, yesterday had solidified those suspicions into something approaching certainty. The thought that someone might allow, or worse, orchestrate the suffering she'd glimpsed in her wife brought a sick weight to her stomach.

Oh, Elphie.

She'd been naive, she realized now. Criminally, embarrassingly naive to assume that Elphaba's isolation stemmed merely from her verdant complexion. 

She couldn't banish the image of those scars tracing beautiful emerald skin. 

Leaving Elphaba alone after the ball had been a mistake. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

There had been no sign of her wife since then.

The blonde found herself longing for nothing more than to see Elphaba. To talk to her. Perhaps this feeling - this fierce protectiveness - had always existed. She simply hadn't bothered to examine it closely enough to name it.

But it was becoming increasingly difficult to pretend she didn't care.

Because she did. 

A rather enormous amount.

The soft sound of the door opening interrupted her musings, and Glinda felt her pulse quicken with anticipation. Her face arranged itself into a smile of genuine pleasure as Dulcibear appeared in the doorway, but the expression flickered when no familiar figure followed in the Bear's wake.

Disappointment struck swift and sharp, a chill settling in her stomach as she noticed the folded slip of paper held in Dulcibear’s careful grip.

"Hello, Dulcibear." Glinda's voice carried just the right note of pleasant inquiry, betraying nothing of the dread building beneath her ribs.

The Bear extended the parchment with careful reverence, looking apologetic.

Glinda accepted it without ceremony, her fingers working at the fold with quiet efficiency. The handwriting was unmistakably Elphaba's - precise,elegant and sharp. She stared at the words until they blurred slightly, her mind cataloging everything they didn't say.

I can’t make it. 

Sorry. 

- E.