Chapter Text
The warm sunlight shimmered against the translucent surface, twinkling like a starry, pink sky. It was a beautiful sight, truly, a work of art in its own right.
And Elphaba knew as soon as she saw it that it could not have come from her.
Elphaba's magic was not–could not–be unlike herself, after all, and Elphaba could be no different from the green etched into her skin: angry and spiteful and oh, so ugly.
The bubbles–rose-colored and shining and so pretty–were anything but, slowly working to fix all the damage she had done. They pulled the chairs gently back to the ground and placed Nessarose next to Elphaba with utmost care. Even the audible pop of their disappearance had its charm.
Only then did she appear, floating within a bubble of her own.
The Good Witch of the North, and Shiz's very own Practical Sorcery professor.
The ruckus that accompanied her arrival was only natural.
"Professor Upland!" The Shiz President ungracefully stumbled upon his words, his face tinged in utter, reddish embarrassment. "Oh dear, I was not made aware of your arrival, else we would have certainly..."
The bronze-haired woman–did she not use to be blond?–waved away his concerns with a flick of her wrist and a smile as pretty as she was.
"Nonsense," She said, in a melodious, captivating voice, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I am the one who must apologize for being so carelessly late. How uncouth of me. I'm afraid my travels left me wearier than I predicted."
She laughed then, quiet and charming, hidden behind her hand.
"It is--" Miss Coddle sputtered to a halt, clearing her throat. When she spoke again, her voice was steadier, less hoarse. "It is good to have you back, dear Locasta. And just in the nick of time, too."
The dread that curled within Elphaba's chest like a vicious serpent was an old friend and stalwart companion, ever present. It tightened around her heart and lungs, taut and painful, gripping at her chest more forcefully the more eyes landed on her at Miss Coddle's cue.
She felt faint.
Some people had been quick to flee, others cowering behind their more courageous friends. Those who remained all stared at her, of course.
Disgust, hatred, fear. Elphaba was no stranger to the emotions swirling in their eyes.
But...
"This was my chance. My new start..." Her sister's voice–small and tearful and oh, so pained–was a knife to her chest, one that the tears prickling at Nessa's eyes only twisted.
Elphaba had long accepted that she had been the cause of every misfortune in Nessarose's life, as her father had been staunch to remind her. Even now, when her sister was to step out of the shadow of Elphaba's ugly existence...
Even this, Elphaba had managed to ruin.
"Oh, Nessa." She breathed out, the telltale needle of tears prickling at her own eyes. "I'm so sorry."
It was not enough, she knew, as she watched her little sister cry.
It would never be enough.
She tried and failed to swallow the lump in her throat. What would happen to her–to Nessa–now?
But then, Madame Morrible was speaking, declaring that the whole thing had been her own doing, that Professor Upland had aided her in this demonstration, and it was so unexpected and so sudden that Elphaba's thoughts simply scrambled to a halt.
She was only half-aware of Professor Upland's quick support of Morrible's story, of Morrible then choosing some girl to room with her–she was not even enrolled, what was happening?
If her heart felt insurmountably heavy, beating viciously against her ribcage–her brain felt like a cloud, empty and weightless and, oh, was she going to faint?
A hand suddenly appeared on the small of her back, startling her out of her stupor.
"Are you alright, Elph--aba? Should I take you to the infirmary?"
She turned to the person standing beside her, copper-brown hair descending like cascades, falling gracefully over her shoulder. Brown eyes met green, and Elphaba would later find it in herself to blame the absurdness of the entire situation for how stupid she sounded then.
"How-- how do you know my name?" She asked, stumbling upon her words like an utter fool.
Professor Upland offered her the prettiest smile someone had ever directed at Elphaba, a smile as present in the corners of her pink lips as in her brown irises. "I have been accused of being absent-minded at times–awful slanders, truly–but my hearing is perfect, I assure you."
"I--" Elphaba felt her cheeks heat against her will–because, of course, all she needed now was an even darker shade of green. "Forgive me, professor."
Elphaba was not usually so inarticulate. In fact, she prided herself on her intellect–it was the only thing about herself to be proud of, after all. But Professor Upland's kind smile was unlike anything she had ever dealt with, and she found herself fumbling with how to react.
"There's nothing to forgive, dear girl." The professor said, ever gentle, as if she could not see that awful shade of green, as if she had not been the one to fix Elphaba's mess just now. "Now, should I accompany you to the infirmary? You don't seem well."
"That won't be necessary." Elphaba replied, thankfully more composed now that she had a chance to rearrange her thoughts. "Thank you."
She averted her gaze from the professor's magnetic beauty in order to look for her sister, but Nessa had already wheeled herself away. Elphaba would have to find her later, to apologize properly.
Madame Morrible chose that very moment to approach them. "Locasta."
"Madame Morrible." Professor Upland inclined her head respectfully.
Perhaps it was only a trick of the light, but Elphaba could have sworn she saw those warm brown irises harden for just a clock-tick.
"Fashionably late, as per usual." Morrible commented, raising an eyebrow.
Professor Upland's smile turned slightly sheepish, and stiffer than the one she had given Elphaba. Nervousness, perhaps–Madame Morrible had been the one to teach her magic, after all.
"I do hope you will find it in yourself to forgive me. Too many errands to run, too little time. I'm certain you understand more than most."
"Of course." Then, Morrible looked around, searching for something. "And where is that dearest little sister I have heard so much about? She is to attend Shiz this year, is she not?"
Professor Upland took a clock-tick too long to compose herself, and so Elphaba did not miss the frown that dug itself in between her eyebrows before it disappeared. "Whatever could you want with Galinda?"
Madame Morrible touched Professor Upland's face almost affectionately.
"Do not pretend to be obtuse, dear, it does not suit you." The older woman stated. "You were my most promising student, as well as the last since to display an affinity for sorcery, and your sister takes after you, I've heard. It's only natural that I would take an interest."
At this point, Elphaba felt like she was intruding on a private conversation, and so she tried to slip away, as neither women were paying her any mind.
"You intend to take her as your student?" She heard Professor Upland ask.
"Yes, I shall tutor Miss Galinda and Miss Elphaba privately, and take no other students."
Those words caused Elphaba to freeze. Wide-eyed, she turned to Madame Morrible, only to find her staring back. She was only half-aware of the other girl nearby, as paralyzed as herself.
"Now, come." Madame Morrible called them both, and turned around before either had the chance to argue, leaving them no choice but to follow her.
Elphaba spared a glance to the girl who walked silently beside her. She was blonde-haired, pretty and far too pink–but you're green, she remembered those words coming from this very same girl.
She was Professor Upland's little sister?
Elphaba shook her head. It was not any of her business. Instead, she turned to Madame Morrible, who walked fast enough that Elphaba struggled a tick to follow her.
"Madame, thank you, for covering for me." She said, at last. "And I'm humbled, by your munificent offer, but my father would never allow it!"
Frexspar Thropp hated her magic as much as he hated her green skin, as much as he hated Elphaba herself. He would not allow her to stay, not where so many people could see her, where she could ruin Nessa's life even more than she already had.
"Just leave your father to me. I shall speak to him post haste." Madame Morrible retorted, clearly unbothered. "How long have you had this talent?"
Elphaba's steps halted in surprise, and Madame Morrible's followed suit, as did those of the insipid blonde-haired girl–Galinda, her name was, if Elphaba had not heard it wrong.
"Talent?" She shook her head. "No. Something just comes over me, sometimes. Something I can't control... and, when it does... bad things happen."
She stared at her own feet, suddenly too conscious of the two pairs of eyes staring at her.
The thing inside her... it could not be what Morrible expected it to be. It was not like the bubbles Professor Upland produced, shimmering and beautiful.
After all, nothing about Elphaba had ever been beautiful.
Madame Morrible was undeterred, however, placing a gentle hand on Elphaba's shoulder. "If you can learn to use your powers, in the right way... oh, Miss Elphaba... you might be just what I have waited for." She smiled, affection tinging her features the same way it had when she had touched Professor Upland's face.
Then, she turned to the other girl, who remained surprisingly silent for someone who had run her mouth so much in the little time Elphaba had known her.
"As for you, Miss Galinda..."
"Yes, Madame?"
Bright? She's phosphorescent!
"I am proud to have served as your sister's teacher. If you share any similarities with her, I expect you to be brilliant. Perhaps you can even surpass her."
To surpass the Good Witch of the North... now, that was a hefty goal. But Galinda simply squared her shoulders and nodded, determination shining like a beacon on her face.
Morrible looked from Galinda to Elphaba.
"I have grand expectations for you. For both of you. Oh, dears, I will write to the Wizard, and tell him about you in advance." She declared, already turning around to leave, as though she had not noticed how her words left Elphaba rooted to the spot. "It is not every day that Shiz is gifted with not one, but two girls of your talents. If you work as intended, you will have the chance to make good."
Finally, she left, and Elphaba only half-heard Galinda scurrying away as well.
Her mind had no place for any other thought.
The Wizard. Madame Morrible could get her an audience with The Wizard himself.
Elphaba looked at her own hands, at the ever-present green.
This was her chance.
The Wizard would be able to fix it all.
She was trembling, her heart racing within her chest.
If she became Madame Morrible's apprentice, if she worked hard, she would be able to meet with the Wizard, and perhaps he would grant her wish. The Wizard could do everything, after all.
If there were anyone who could fix Elphaba, it would be him.
[W I C K E D]
Galinda entered her sister's room as thoughtlessly as she entered her own, and, upon finding Locasta on the enormous double bed, allowed herself to fall over her.
"You are not as light as you used to be, dearest sister." Locasta said good-naturedly as her younger sister rearranged herself to lay her head on her shoulder.
Perhaps she was being clingy, but no one could fault Galinda for it. It had been months since she had last seen her sister, insufficient letters being their only means of communication through those dreadful times. She had missed Locasta dearly.
Which did not mean she would simply accept her sister's horrible, absurd comment.
"And you are most certainly not as charming as you allow others to believe, you terrible oaf." She retorted, voice ringing indignant. It earned her a chuckle from Locasta, the movement causing a tousled, reddish-brown lock to fall upon her face.
Galinda frowned, just as she did when she first laid eyes on this particular change upon her sister's appearance. The last time they saw each other, Locasta's hair had been as pale as her own, white-gold, and so pretty that to see it gone nearly brought tears to Galinda's eyes.
The sisters had looked so much like each other then, so much that some people had mistaken them for twins, even though Galinda was clearly the prettier among the two, and Locasta was six years her elder.
She combed her fingers through the bronze-colored locks. It was still as soft as she remembered, at least, but she still was not very happy. "What a horrendible thing to do to your beautiful hair."
Locasta merely shrugged. "I felt it was time for a change."
Galinda watched her silently, a clock ticking somewhere in the room. Locasta had her eyes closed, her face devoid of makeup. Her skin was even paler than it had been, and the dark circles around her eyes seemed darker now. She seemed to have lost weight, too.
It made her chest feel tight.
"I missed you." She said. Her sister deserved her honesty more than anyone else did.
Locasta opened her eyes and turned to her, a small smile on her lips. "As did I."
She looked so fragile–much more so than when Galinda had last seen her. What in Oz could she have been doing to herself?
"How are you?" Galinda asked, and, as expected, her sister lied to her in response.
"Never better."
And what a terribid liar Locasta was.
Her sister had always been sickly, Galinda knew. Doctors had only been helpful in asserting that she was not faking the symptoms for attention–as if Locasta had ever needed, or would ever need, to resort to such–but none of those incompetent fools had ever found a cause or a treatment.
As such, Locasta would only ever get worse and worse until...
She would rather not consider the possibility. Galinda would not allow it to happen.
Which reminded her...
"Madame Morrible said she would write to the Wizard about me." And about that green girl too, but there was no need to mention it to her sister. What interest could Locasta have in an artichoke?
Instead of the proud smile Galinda had expected, only a frown appeared on her sister's brow. "You know you don't need to attend Morrible's seminar, don't you? I did promise I'd teach you myself."
"Yes, but..." Galinda hesitated, unsure about what had caused Locasta to react in such way. "It is a marvelefying opportunity."
"I mean it, darling sister." Locasta insisted, something unreadable swimming in the depths of her brown eyes. "Morrible is... difficult to please, and I do tend to disagree with her teaching methods. If you don't wish to attend the seminar, you only need to say so."
No, she could not allow Locasta to pull her from Morrible's class; even if she'd much rather have her sister teach her magic instead.
The Wizard. She had to impress Morrible enough for the woman to arrange an audience with the Wizard.
If there were anyone who could cure her sister's affliction, it would be him.
She could not miss this opportunity, and so she turned the conversation elsewhere.
"What I wish is a room for myself. I was promised one, after all." It was not a lie; she would like a room to herself, thank you very much. Madame Morrible had misunderstood; she had only ever meant to call for her sister, not to offer her precious space!
Locasta laughed–the nerve of that woman. "That, I cannot help you with. I think this will be good for you. You never did learn to share."
"Can't I share with you, then?" She asked, a sly smile on her lips even though she had known the answer before the question ever left her lips.
Locasta never allowed herself to sleep in the presence of other people.
It had not always been so, of course. Galinda still remembered being a child deeply scared of the dark; she remembered how her sister's room had become a refuge of sorts. Locasta had been kind, allowing Galinda to cuddle her to sleep as if she were no more than an oversized teddy bear.
That was, until a certain night, when Galinda was only eight.
She could still remember her sister's abundant tears, her horrendible screams.
Locasta never allowed Galinda to sleep in her room after that.
"After so many years in Shiz, forced to share my room..." The eldest spoke, her eyes shining with hurt–and Momsie thinks I am dramatic. "Would you have me give up my hard-earned privacy for the sake of yours?"
"You never had to share your room." Galinda deadpanned.
"And I would like to keep it that way."
The younger Upland narrowed her eyes. "You are an awful woman, Locasta Upland."
"Yes, yes, I'm very cruel."
Galinda pushed her, huffing, and stood up from the bed. Her sister was clearly not sympathetic to her plight, and she still had to unpack–her abrupt departure had nothing to do with how exhausted Locasta looked, as if she had not slept in a long time, of course not.
"Galinda." Locasta called, in a small, tired voice, and Galinda turned to her immediately. "Do be kind to your roommate. That girl looks troubled enough as it is, and who knows? Perhaps the two of you could become the greatest of friends."
To be honest, Galinda doubted her. She could still remember that girl's offending words: Offering to help someone you don't know with a skill you don't have. I'm sure everyone's duly impressed.
You "couldn't" care less what other people think. Though I doubt that's true.
Nevermind that she was green–strange and unexpected as it was; it was not a flaw of character–, that girl was insufferable, and Galinda could not see herself ever being friends with her.
Still, she nodded to her sister, pressed a kiss to her forehead and wished her a good night of sleep before leaving the room.
She had to concentrate on what mattered: impressing Madame Morrible, meeting the Wizard.
Making her wish.
Locasta would be fine–she had to be. Galinda would make sure of it.
Her green, mean roommate did not matter in the least.