WICKED - DESIRE

by Phantom_Pen

Chapter 34: SPECIAL: A WICKED CHRISTMAS

Eight Years in the Future

The Emerald City shone like a saturated postcard. Red and green lights climbed the streetlights, adorning shop windows, balconies, and even the Gothic gargoyles of the Senate building, which at this time of year wore garlands as if someone had tried to disguise a flock of crows in the middle of a school parade. The snow fell in small, thick, silent flakes, covering everything with a false calm. It was Christmas. Or almost. There were exactly twelve hours until midnight.

And Elphaba was trapped in hell.

The line snaked inside the toy store like a wartime immigration queue. Parents bundled up to their eyebrows, laden with bags, frozen scarves, squealing children, and inflatable reindeer slowly deflating along a peeling wall. Everything smelled of anxiety, cheap chocolate, and overly shiny wrapping paper. And there she was: standing stiffly in a black coat that reached almost to her ankles, a gray scarf that barely revealed her jaw, and dark glasses that hid any hint of expression. Despite everything, she still commanded attention.

A mother at her side watched her out of the corner of her eye as if trying to decide if she was a celebrity, a fugitive, or both. Elphaba lowered her head, pretending to read the ingredients on a box of building blocks as if it were a profound political analysis. “Just get the damn talking dinosaur, get out of here, and no one will die,” she thought. She had promised. For months, her son had been asking her to, with that combination of childlike faith and emotional threat that only four-year-olds knew how to execute. But between Elphaba's book tour, Glinda's commitments to the foundation, the temporary move for apartment renovations, and a bout of chickenpox that had left the house smelling of hand sanitizer for weeks, the gift-buying had been left to the last minute.

Just as she was about to take a step forward, her phone vibrated inside her coat. She ignored it. It vibrated again. A third time. Finally, she pulled it out, as if drawing a dagger.

"What?" she said quietly.

"Don't tell me 'what'!" Glinda's voice exploded from the receiver, drenched in flour and suppressed fury. "Where are you? The nanny will be back in twenty minutes!"

"I know. I'm at the toy store. I'm... almost." Elphaba looked at the line. She would lie. She lied. "I'm five people away."

"You said that ten minutes ago. Is there a conspiracy in that store? Or are you kidnapping goblins?"

"There are children screaming." You don't know what this is. I'm in the middle of the Christmas apocalypse. And someone just fainted. I think it was for the price of a Barbie. Glinda, will you calm down for a second?

"Calm down!? I'm decorating cookies for a boy who decided all trees have to have his mother's eyes! And the kitchen looks like war paint. And you know who's about to walk through that door any moment? My mother! Who promised to "just drop off a present" and then spends three hours criticizing our living room's feng shui!"

"And you can't distract her?"

"Distract her? It's not a cat with a laser, Elphaba!"

Elphaba sighed, lowering her glasses slightly to massage her nose with two fingers. In front of her, a little girl in a tutu and a plastic crown was smiling at her. She looked back at her as if contemplating a verdict.

"Couldn't you go?" she dared to ask.

"Because I'm cooking. And if I burn the cookies, our son will declare civil war. You promised to get the dinosaur." “Getting it is going to be fun, Glinda,” you said. “It’s going to be a simple mission,” you said.

“Can you not use sarcastic quotes in your voice?”

“Can you not make promises you can’t keep?”

Elphaba turned slightly, moving away from the line to get a second to breathe.

“You know what? You can hang up on me. Hang up. Enjoy the cookies. I’ll take this. With the people who smell musty. With a child who cries because “there are no more blue unicorns.” With a woman who just asked me if I’m “the one with the books on sexual politics with poetry.” Which, by the way, isn’t the title of any of my books.

On the other end, Glinda was silent for a second. Then she let out a stifled laugh.

“Sexual politics with poetry?”

“I swear.”

“Well, at least you know your audience is… varied.”

“I’m going to kill someone.” I'm going to have to bake cookies in an orange uniform.

"You wouldn't bake even if you were free, love."

A brief silence. A truce.

"How far do you really have to go?" Glinda asked, more gently.

Elphaba sighed again.

"I'm seven people away. I'm sorry. I tried to bribe a kid into giving me his, but apparently he has principles."

"Did you really try?"

"It had chocolate. And despair."

Glinda laughed. A real laugh. And Elphaba, standing in the middle of a toy store riddled with Christmas chaos, allowed herself a smile. Small. Tired. Intimate.

"Hurry up," Glinda said finally, with affection and threat in equal measure. "I want you alive. But if you don't get here before my mother, I'm going to need a cocktail or a lawyer."

"Maybe both."

"I love you."

"Me too. Although I'm starting to love noise-cancelling headphones more."

"Go on. Rescue the dinosaur."

The call disconnected. And Elphaba, still smiling, turned around again. She took another step in line.

Seven ahead. Then six. Then five.

The line moved forward another step. Barely an inch, but enough for Elphaba to notice, for the first time, the small magazine rack leaning against a Christmas column decorated with dubious garlands and glitter dust. Amid the garish toy catalog covers and desperate-sale flyers, something caught her eye. A purple, illustrated glow with big, loud letters: "A TALE OF TWO WITCHES Christmas Adventure!"

Elphaba blinked. She swallowed.

On the cover, a cartoon of herself—or what the fandom had decided was "her"—riding a broomstick, dressed in some kind of green velvet bikini and snowflake cape. “WitchyWest,” the title proclaimed in a font that looked like it had been designed by a sugar-addicted teenager. Beside her, “GoodGlim,” wearing a fluorescent pink dress and holding a candy cane-shaped wand, cast spells with a dazzling smile. In the background, a horde of evil goblins attacked what appeared to be a tower decorated with Christmas lights and lava.

Elphaba let out a low, almost guttural growl. She lifted the comic from the shelf as if it were forensic evidence.

“Sure,” she thought, flipping through it with cold, resigned fingers, “why not? If you're going to be exploited without compensation, at least make it good-weight paper.”

She'd heard that the webcomic had finally been released in print, having completed its “super-epic” arc and garnering thousands of fans on forums, conventions, and—unfortunately—universities. They'd never seen a single royalty. According to the studio, it was "loosely inspired by public figures with altered names and transformed aesthetics," even though the protagonist wore her exact frown and uttered phrases like "love is an evolutionary weakness."

"Is that you?" a high-pitched voice asked at her side.

Elphaba turned her head. A girl about seven years old was watching her with the concentration of a scientist-in-training. She had two red braids and was holding a box with a musical unicorn on it.

"No," Elphaba replied tersely.

"But it looks similar. You have the same sunglasses and hair like a cactus."

"My hair isn't like a cactus."

"My grandmother has cacti. They're kind of like that. Hard and upright."

"Thanks for the botanical comparison."

The girl tilted her head.

"So why do you look at that comic so much?"

"Because I find it offensive on a level that requires doctoral dissertations to explain."

"Oh. I have it at home. My brother hates it. He says WitchyWest can't be gay because she's so grumpy."

Elphaba raised an eyebrow.

"Your brother sounds... charming."

“She also said GoodGlim looks like a makeup influencer. But I think they're cute. Were they friends?”

Elphaba was silent for a moment.

“I guess you could call them that,” she said finally, carefully closing the comic.

“What's in that issue? Are you buying it?”

“I doubt it. I think I prefer real stories.”

The girl looked at her, puzzled.

“Like what stories?”

Elphaba considered telling her she didn't have time, that she was standing in a ridiculously long line to buy a ridiculously expensive toy for a ridiculously stubborn son. But there was something about that girl—maybe her relentless honesty, maybe the way she looked at him without any filter—that changed her mind.

She crouched down slightly, resting an elbow on her knee, still holding the comic.

“Do you want to hear a story? A real one. A Christmas one.” Not with flying witches, but with enough disasters to make it interesting.

The girl nodded, her eyes twinkling.

"Once upon a time," Elphaba began, her tone somewhere between sarcastic and warm, "there was a couple who decided to do something very, very stupid."

"What?"

"Throw a Christmas dinner."

The girl laughed.

"And what happened?"

Elphaba looked at her over her glasses. Snow was still falling behind the toy store's windows, but inside, time seemed to slow down. The line moved another step forward, but she didn't move.

"It just so happened that all the personal demons of her friends and family decided to show up that very night. It just so happened that the cookies burned, there were screams, tears, and a toast that almost ended in a diplomatic war. And it just so happened that, in the midst of all that, someone—maybe one of those witches in the comics—discovered what real love was. That it's not pretty, or magical, or photogenic." It's uncomfortable, ridiculous... and absolutely impossible to replace.

"And then what?"

Elphaba smiled slightly.

 

SPECIAL CHAPTER: A WICKED CHRISTMAS

PRESENT:

And just as it would be in the future, it was in the past, and it probably would be in every year to come: Christmas had descended upon the Emerald City like a cinnamon-scented storm, LED lights, and emotional consumerism. The avenues glittered with strings of twinkling lights, each shop window seemed to compete in grandeur with the next, and public address systems spewed Christmas carols at a volume that bordered on acoustic torture. The stores were jammed, shopping carts bumped like miniature cars in a velvet traffic jam, and everyone—without exception—seemed to be buying something they didn't need.

In a Christmas store in the main mall, the air smelled of fake pine, sugar, and stress. To one side of the store, surrounded by fake snow and plastic candy canes, a small mechanical Santa Claus emerged at rhythmic intervals from his igloo inside a melon-sized snow globe. Every time a bell rang, Santa spun on his axis, flapped his arms, and swayed his hips to a squealing, metallic tune that, if you paid attention, was a techno version of Jingle Bell Rock. Elphaba was convinced he'd been programmed to torture adults.

"He's perfect!" Glinda exclaimed, her eyes lit by a combination of Christmas lights and festive excitement. "Look at the way he dances! He's like a Santa with personality."

"He's like a Santa with a bad hip," Elphaba replied, frowning, reflected next to Glinda in the crystal sphere.

The two stood in front of the shelf like two radically opposite versions of a Christmas couple. Glinda, dressed in a pale pink coat, a white scarf with gold sparkles, and a knitted hat that was clearly not functional but very aesthetically pleasing, smiled as if each ornament were a divine sign that everything would be all right. Elphaba, meanwhile, wore a dark green overcoat, black gloves, and a skeptical expression that seemed carved in marble. Her gaze darted from Santa to the price tag, from the price tag to Glinda, and from Glinda to the invisible sky.

"I don't understand why this has to be in our house," she said, crossing her arms. "It sounds like it's dying."

"Exactly! It's adorable. It has... character."

"It's having electrical problems."

Glinda snorted and turned toward her, her hands on her hips.

"Elphie, this is going to be our first Christmas together. No doubt about it, no mysterious escapades, no political enemies at the door, no emotional journeys, or existential road trips." Just us. In our house. In peace. Please, let me have the Christmas-twerking Santa if that makes me feel like all of this is real.

Elphaba opened her mouth to argue... but then closed it. Because the truth was this: it was their first Christmas together. No danger, no unanswered questions, no ellipses. And if Glinda wanted a mechanical Santa that looked like he came straight out of a miniature cabaret, then... maybe that was the price of happiness.

She sighed.

"Fine. But it goes in the kitchen, where he can't stalk me while I sleep."

"Deal!" Glinda said, holding the doll up with both hands as if it were a sacred trophy. "You'll see, the house is going to be beautiful. And dinner is going to be epic! A Christmas to remember!"

The snow fell in small, lazy swirls as the store's automatic doors opened with a synthetic ding, and Elphaba emerged, dragging three overstuffed bags, one in each hand and one dangling awkwardly from her wrist. Her gait was steady, stubborn, as if she could intimidate the holiday crowds with sheer presence. Beside her, Glinda walked briskly, bouncing off her shopping list on her phone decorated with a glittery snowflake PopSocket.

"Are we missing anything else?" Glinda asked without looking up. "Let's see... we already have the candy canes, the chocolate trees, the gold reindeer napkins, and the twerking Santa ornament..."

"Was that a royal victory for you?" Elphaba murmured, adjusting her scarf with her elbow.

"Absolutely. It's my Super Bowl."

Elphaba rolled her eyes as she tried to balance the bags so she wouldn't strangle herself on one of the handles.

"And what are you looking at now? More phallic-shaped cookies?"

"No! I'm looking for something for Tibbett and Crope. I want to surprise them. Or rather... distract them."

Elphaba tilted her head with a half-smile.

"Strategic distraction? To keep them from asking too many questions about the trip?"

Glinda lowered her phone for a moment, looking at her with that expression that combined mischief with genuine affection.

"I admit... you read me too well."

"You know you won't hold back. If they ask, you'll explode into hearts and glitter and scream that we're engaged."

"I wouldn't scream!" Glinda defended herself, albeit with a guilty little smile. "Maybe I'd whisper it through tears."

"And fireworks."

"And background music. But instrumental, obviously."

Elphaba laughed softly, resigned.

"So all this is to distract them with shiny gifts while we sneak around with our little secret?"

"And to win!" Glinda resumed her epic crusading tone. "Tibbett already thinks I've beaten him to the punch with that fondue set shaped like a Renaissance castle. But this year I'm going to win. I'm going to give them... I don't know... a mini projector that sends out holograms of their selfies while they sing arias?"

"Gods..." Elphaba closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm marrying a megalomaniac."

"And not just any megalomaniac," Glinda retorted, playfully sliding closer to her. One who knows how to wrap gifts with origami bows.

Elphaba let out a tired, sweet laugh, the kind of laugh saved only for moments with her.

"And when do you think we should announce it?"

Glinda stopped, as if the wind had suddenly blown an awkward question her way. She lowered her cell phone, looking at her with a mixture of doubt and hopeful sparkle.

"I don't know. I thought maybe tonight. Or tomorrow. Or... later. I want it to be special. And... I don't know... there's something fun about having it just for us for a little while longer. Like a hidden treasure."

Elphaba watched her, her face softened by the snow brushing against their coats. Sometimes, she didn't need to fully understand Glinda. It was enough to know that that kind of hope brought her peace. And after everything they'd been through—all the battles, roads, and confessions between seasons—if Glinda needed one more week of secrecy, she would give it to her.

"As you wish," she said gently. Just you and me tonight. Peace. Fireplace. Wine. Not a single voice but yours telling me which part of the tree I decorated wrong.

"Spoiler: the back. You always decorate the back as if no one would ever see it."

"Because no one sees it, Glinda. It's against the wall."

"It's all part of the aesthetic experience. Everything!"

And so they continued walking along the wet sidewalk, an impossible mix between an elegant Grinch and a hyperactive elf. Elphaba, carrying the shopping bags with loving resignation; Glinda, dreaming aloud about plans that included recessed lights in the baseboards and scented garlands.

And although the sky was beginning to cover with thicker clouds, and although the hidden agenda of certain guests was already being set in motion without their knowledge, in that moment... everything was perfect.

Minutes later, the snow was melting on the fringes of Elphaba's coat as the two entered a Christmas decoration store that smelled of artificial pine incense and had more sparkle than a carnival float. Garlands with built-in lights hung from the ceiling, there were spinning Christmas trees, reindeer covered in gold glitter, and a dedicated section for themed ornaments: classic Christmases, Nordic Christmases, outer space Christmases.

And in the middle of it all, Glinda.

"Excuse me, but what I'm looking for has to be pastel blue with pearl accents, not ice blue, not cloud blue, and definitely not metallic blue. Do you understand?" she said, speaking to a saleswoman who looked like she was about to give up on life.

Elphaba, meanwhile, had leaned against a nearby wall, between a shelf of scented candles and a makeshift bookshelf filled with books on holiday design, holiday cooking, and spiritual inspiration. Her eyes fell on one with a plain cover: The Art of the Word: How to Write from the Essential. She took it out without thinking. She opened it. She flipped the first pages with her thumb, not reading, but feeling. The book's design was simple, unpretentious. Carefully chosen words. Underlined phrases as if they had been written with the intention that someone—like her—would find them at just such a moment.

It was an idea that had been haunting her for some time. Or rather, floating around her like a scent one tries not to fully inhale. The idea of ​​writing. Not an academic essay. Not a column. A book. A real one. Her own. Not about other people's theories or critiques of rotten systems, but about everything she had learned. What hurt her. What she struggled to even name out loud.

But then the excuses always came. Time. Work. Family. Obligations. And that last excuse, the hardest to refute: I don't know how to do it.

To capture what you've experienced in words that don't seem like rhetoric. To tell without betraying. To remember without romanticizing. To love without sugarcoating.

"How do you do that?" she thought. And instantly, in response, another, more honest question: "What if I can't?"

"Oh, sorry!" Glinda suddenly exclaimed.

Elphaba looked up. Glinda had suddenly turned while talking to the saleswoman and collided with another customer. The impact was soft, but enough to knock over a box full of hand-decorated crystal balls.

"Oh, please excuse me! I didn't see you, I was," Glinda began, until her eyes fell on him.

"Boq," they both said in unison, although with very different intonations.

He bent down to gather the fallen baubles, which luckily hadn't broken, and when he looked up, he did so with that nervous smile of someone who didn't expect to meet someone again in the "Scandinavian Style: Minimalist Christmas" aisle.

"Hey! What a surprise. Glinda. Elphaba." He looked at them both as if unsure which one to hug. "It's so nice to see you... finally."

Elphaba put the book back on the shelf without opening it again. The words could wait. For now.

"Buying decorations for yourself or for the independent republic of the Fiyero Club?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, in that cutting tone that was already laced with ironic affection.

Boq laughed.

"A bit of both. I'm told the bar needs a "themed atmosphere" and that my apartment looks like a tax office. So here I am. Chasing glitter baubles. As always."

"You haven't changed a bit," Glinda said, smiling warmly.

"You don't either," Boq replied, though his gaze lingered briefly as he looked at their clasped hands. "Well, you did change. But... you know. Well. Changed for the better."

The silence between the three lasted barely two seconds, but it was long enough to fill with everything they hadn't said to each other since returning to the city.

Despite his classic social awkwardness—that endearing mix of nerves and goodwill—Boq made a sincere effort to keep the conversation going, even while holding a box full of drink-shaped ornaments and disco balls to decorate Fiyero's bar. His face slightly flushed from the cold and from being in their presence, he looked at Glinda and Elphaba with a soft smile, like someone trying to gauge whether he still has a place in someone's life.

“So… how are you?” she asked, adjusting the weight of the box. “Was coming back… peaceful? Chaotic? A mix of both?”

Glinda answered almost reflexively, with the automatic eloquence of someone who has trained herself to respond with smiles even when internal volcanoes are erupting.

“Oh, it’s been a bit of a readjustment, you know! Back to the city, the pace, the real coffee, the obscene amount of notifications… But also a lot of introspection. Reconnecting. Reviewing priorities…”

And then she stopped. She literally froze mid-sentence. Her eyes flicked to Elphaba for a second, as if she’d just remembered they weren’t ready to say it. Not yet.

“…and, well, Christmas shopping!” she finished with a smile that was too wide. “That never changes!”

Boq raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He noticed the abrupt break, like a crossed-out sentence in a script. But if there was one thing she'd learned in the years of knowing them, it was that when Glinda avoided saying something, she did it with such style it was almost an art.

"And you?" Glinda asked, trying to regain her composure. "What are you doing for Christmas?"

Boq shrugged, like someone trying to downplay something that actually matters to them.

"Fiyero decided to close the club for the night, so... I'll probably go out with my date."

Glinda blinked.

"Date?"

"Yes. A few weeks ago. Well, longer. Quite a few weeks, actually." Boq lowered her gaze for a moment, as if she struggled to name it out loud. "I know you were... missing. So... you missed a few things."

The tone wasn't recriminatory. But it wasn't neutral either. There was some truth embedded in it like a thorn in the side. Glinda opened her mouth to respond with one of her speeches about the importance of personal growth, but in the end, she just crossed her arms with a theatrical sigh.

"Touche."

Boq smiled gently.

"Fiyero's going to be glad to see you, by the way. He talked about you the other day. A lot. In his emotional language, of course."

"Does that include complete sentences or just approving grunts?" Elphaba murmured, raising an eyebrow.

"Complete sentences. And two emojis," Boq said, amused. "That's the equivalent of a serenade to him."

The three of them exchanged a knowing glance, brief but warm. The kind only found between those who shared intense chapters in their past. Finally, Boq said goodbye with the gentleness that always characterized him, leaving behind a trail of courtesy and the scent of cinnamon from a Christmas ornament. With a friendly wave of her hand, she promised they'd catch up soon, and Glinda responded with an enthusiastic smile that didn't quite erase a certain discomfort.

As soon as they left the store, bags dangling from their arms and the snow now turning into a freezing drizzle, Glinda let out the most dramatic sigh Elphaba had heard all month.

"Ugh, it's not our fault!" she exclaimed indignantly as they dodged a giant inflatable reindeer on the sidewalk. "I mean, we were gone for months. But it was for very valid reasons. Existential crises, emotional growth, a little rural tourism... And then there's emotional jet lag, does that count?"

"Emotional jet lag?"

"Yes. When you come back to your life and don't know how to fit in with group messages again. It's a real phenomenon! Well... maybe not "real," but emotionally, yes."

Elphaba smiled faintly, her head bowed beneath the brim of her hat. She knew her too well. That nervous verbosity was Glinda's way of avoiding admitting the obvious: that being disconnected from the world had also been comfortable. That having only each other for company had been a bubble they didn't want to burst.

"No need to justify anything, Glinda," Elphaba murmured. "They'll understand. And if they don't... it's not the end of the world."

"I know. But I still feel guilty. Christmas makes me feel guilty! Everything makes me feel guilty at Christmas. Even the expired shortbread." Then, suddenly, as if changing mental stations, "Speaking of which... the presents!"

Elphaba stiffened like a spring.

"What about the gifts?"

"Tonight, when we're finally alone, quiet, at peace, without any interruptions sucking up all the oxygen in the penthouse... that's when we're going to exchange gifts. And it's going to be beautiful. And perfect."

"Perfect," Elphaba repeated hollowly.

"Yes. And don't be weird about it. Because I know you're nervous. But your gift is going to be wonderful. Like you." Glinda flashed her a smile that was half tenderness, half adorable threat. "And if it isn't wonderful... I'm still going to kiss you until we forget about it."

"That is... strangely reassuring."

"I know. I'm full of talent."

But Elphaba was already getting restless. The gift. The gift. She'd thought of a thousand ideas. Clothes. Books. Necklaces. A trip. A letter. Nothing seemed enough. Because how do you give something to someone who's already given you your entire life back?

"Oh! I just remembered... I have to make a call. Just a little. Nothing serious. You... look at those bonsai-sized Christmas trees. I swear that one screams 'Glinda.'"

And without giving her time to ask more questions, Elphaba slipped with surgical precision between the gondolas and took refuge near a column of crystal ornaments. She took out her cell phone, took a deep breath, and dialed the number she had saved as Mr. Highmuster (good man).

Three rings later, a voice sounded on the other end, warm and somewhat distracted, with the faint hum of a teapot in the background.

"Highmuster?"

"Elphaba! Honey! Is everything okay? Have you convinced her to adopt a Christmas cat yet?"

"Not yet. But if you keep helping me, we could get a crab in a sweater. Listen... I need your help."

"Oh, yes. The gift."

"I'm completely lost." How do you give something to someone who's... everything?

"Oh, look. I understand. The first Christmas I had with her mother, I gave her a perfume that turned out to be a bath spray. By accident. But she was still touched."

"That doesn't help."

"Of course it does. The secret is that it's not perfect. But... personal. Something that comes from you. From the broken and beautiful part of you. Something you wouldn't buy for anyone else."

Elphaba leaned her forehead against the wall, closing her eyes.

"What if I'm wrong?"

"Then she laughs. And she hugs you. And then you make love on the floor, wrapped in wrapping paper. That's what young people do these days, isn't it?"

"Highmuster."

"Sorry. But I'm not lying. You know my daughter. She doesn't care about jewelry, or brands, or gold. She cares about you. You and what's in your head... and in your heart."

Elphaba swallowed.

"Thank you."

"Always. Do you want me to help you write a note too? I'm good at poetry. I rhyme "love" with "liquor" in a brilliant line."

Elphaba allowed herself to laugh, just barely, when she heard Highmuster's voice on the other end of the line. It was a warm laugh, like the sound of a burning fireplace in a house that smells of old wood and freshly baked bread. A sound of home.

"So, they haven't announced it yet?" she asked with false sternness. "Because I swear, if they don't let me say it soon, I'm going to explode like one of those inflatable reindeer Glinda loves so much."

"Not yet," Elphaba replied, holding back her laughter. "I told you she wants it to be a special moment. A spectacular announcement. With background music, fireworks, and designated witnesses."

"My God... I don't know if I have the heart for all this suspense."

"And Larena? Did you tell her?"

On the other end, there was a brief silence, like glass subtly breaking in a closed room.

"No," Highmuster replied gently. "No, I didn't tell him. We haven't talked much lately, to be honest."

Elphaba lowered her voice slightly, moving slightly away from the busiest part of the store.

"Are you okay?"

Highmuster took a second to respond, but when he did, his voice was once again filled with the enthusiastic energy he used as a shield.

"Of course I am! Who could be down at Christmas? Besides, I have a secret mission as a gift consultant, and that gives me purpose. But you know what..." He paused for a moment, as if searching his memory for a warm corner, "now that you mention it, did I ever tell you about the Christmas when Glinda made a reindeer union?"

Elphaba laughed, lowering her head even further to avoid attention.

"What?"

"Yeah, yeah. I was... what, nine? We were decorating the tree, and we had these little wooden figurines with hand-painted names. And suddenly, Glinda decides that Rudolph and the others are overworked. That they don't get days off." That Santa was a tyrant. So she grabbed a red ribbon and made them all bandanas. The reindeer organized a strike. There were banners and everything. She made Kitesurfing her family speak. Rudolph didn't speak, "because leaders shouldn't speak for themselves," she said. A miniature revolutionary!

"I'm not surprised at all."

"Then she forced all the adults to 'negotiate fair terms.' She made me sign a contract and everything. Santa accepted the demands or 'there would be consequences.'"

Elphaba couldn't stop smiling. She could see her perfectly: Glinda, as a little girl, dictating terms with unreal seriousness, her hands on her hips, her blond curls shaking with every word.

"And that was the best thing about that Christmas," Highmuster continued, lowering his tone slightly. "Not the presents, not the dinner, not even the mulled wine my mother made. It was seeing her so... determined. So sure of what was right. That strength... it was already there. It had always been there."

There was a moment of silence. One neither of them was quick to fill. And in that pause, Elphaba felt it. Not in their words, but in the space between them. That gentle melancholy that comes when you remember something so beautiful it hurts just to think it's over.

Highmuster's voice returned, wrapped in a soft laugh.

"Forgive me. I got nostalgic. I swear that wasn't the idea."

"You don't have to apologize," Elphaba said very softly. "It's a beautiful story. She... is still like that, you know? That strength, that conviction. Sometimes she hides it so glittering it's hard to see, but... it's still there. Always."

"I know. That's why I know she's okay with you."

Elphaba lowered her gaze. And for the first time that day, she felt truly connected to Christmas.

"Thank you for helping me with this. You don't know how much it means."

"I know, dear. Now go." If my daughter sees you're gone, she'll think you're planning to give her a toothbrush or something.

—That was my backup plan.

—Horror!

They both laughed once more, and then, with that kind of tenderness that doesn't require grand gestures, they said goodbye.

Elphaba put the phone in the inside pocket of her coat with a deep exhalation. She could still hear Highmuster's voice echoing in her ears, that mix of warmth, humor, and a subtle sadness she hadn't been able to completely hide. She walked back between the gondolas and barely saw Glinda when she was taken by the hand with ceremonial force.

—Come on! Hurry! This is our chance! Glinda exclaimed excitedly, pulling her along as if they were about to enter a six-loop roller coaster.

"Opportunity for what...?" Elphaba stammered, barely managing to keep her balance as she was ushered through an endless line of parents, children dressed as elves, and shopping carts jammed with Christmas wrapping paper.

"Trust me!" Elphaba sighed, but didn't let go of her hand. Despite everything.

As they waited in line, Elphaba took advantage of that brief pause between the shoving and the children's choruses in the background to try to say what she'd been mulling over for minutes.

"Glinda, I... I just talked to your dad. He's fine, but... I don't know, he felt different. Like something wasn't quite right. Do you talk to him often?"

Glinda, still scrolling through her phone with restless fingers, responded with a brief but scattered smile.

"We talk, yeah. Every now and then. It's hard with scheduling. And with Mom... well, you know."

"When was the last time you spent Christmas with them?" Elphaba asked, lowering her voice slightly.

Glinda hesitated for only a second before answering in a rehearsed tone.

"Two or three years ago. The last time was... well, the Oz event, and the one before that, she was on a skiing vacation with some friends, and..."

Elphaba nodded slowly. The story was clear. Since they met, Glinda hadn't spent a full Christmas with her parents. Not because she didn't love them, but because—without ever saying it out loud—she had begun to build a world where they were no longer the center.

And that world was with her.

Guilt fell on her like a sudden, bitter, sharp frost. She didn't want loving him to mean losing other parts of her life. She didn't want to be the center that displaced everyone else.

Elphaba lowered her gaze. She felt that light, sticky guilt seeping in like cold through a crack in a scarf. She loved the idea of ​​a private Christmas, just the two of them, without the noise of the world. But now, that image was beginning to falter.

"Maybe... we could go see them," she said, almost without thinking. "Just for a while. Before nightfall. Just so they feel like they're not so far away from you."

"Exactly," Glinda said cautiously. "I was thinking too. Maybe we should do something bigger. Bring together people we haven't seen in a while."

Elphaba frowned.

"Something bigger?"

"Yes! Nothing too formal. Something fun, spontaneous. A way to... share our happiness. You know. No pressure. And besides... it would be the perfect time to announce the engagement."

Elphaba blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"Pardon?"

"What... what do you mean, 'announce'?"

"What did you mean, 'go see my parents'?" "Glinda replied, raising an eyebrow.

They exchanged glances. One of those silent glances where they both knew they agreed... on everything except the details. And for some reason, that disagreement made them laugh. Nervous, strange, but laughable nonetheless.

"Look, the important thing is that we're on the same page," Glinda said with a radiant smile. "We want to share this. Together."

Elphaba nodded, still a little confused.

"Yes... I suppose so."

"Perfect then. Because we're almost there."

"Where to?"

But it was too late. They had reached the end of the line. In front of them, sitting on a red velvet throne, under a blizzard of fake snow, was Santa Claus himself. Or at least, a pretty convinced version of himself: a well-groomed fake beard, fake round glasses, the smile of a Christmas employee on his eighth hour of work.

"Next!" said Santa, opening his arms.

Before she could protest, Glinda shoved Elphaba forward with all the energy of an emotional train on the move.

And so, between a cough and a brief gasp of horror, Elphaba fell onto Santa's lap.

"Perfect!" exclaimed Glinda, taking out her cell phone and holding it up as if she were covering a queen's coronation. "This is the Christmas spirit! And this year we're going to have a big get-together, with all our friends! And we're going to announce our engagement!"

Elphaba's eyes widened. Her gaze flickered between Santa, who wasn't sure whether to laugh or remain professional, and Glinda, who was already taking three photos from different angles.

"What?" Elphaba murmured, horrified.

"Tell me it's not perfect!" Glinda cried, still smiling.

"Glinda, I'm... on Santa's lap."

"Exactly! Christmas, surprises, love! What more could you ask for?"

And as the camera flash illuminated Elphaba's petrified expression, and the children around her applauded, believing it was part of the show, she knew, with a mixture of resignation and tenderness, that the night was definitely not going to be peaceful.

And at that precise moment, as if the city had received a secret order from the universe, the Jingle Bells began to ring in every corner of the Emerald City. There was no storefront without music, no coffee shop without carols, no building without that faint Christmas vibe that seemed to whisper: It's coming. Get ready.

Hours later, Elphaba's penthouse—no longer just hers, but officially theirs—had become the epicenter of a carefully curated Christmas disaster. Amid piles of bags, strewn ornaments, shiny ribbons, and badly opened boxes, order had fled the scene like a stampeding reindeer.

The kitchen was a battlefield.

Glinda, dressed in a white apron with gold trim that read "Kiss the Cook (But Ask First)," ran back and forth with a ladle in one hand and her cell phone in the other, listening to instructions for a recipe she was clearly about to ruin. She had flour on her cheek, sugar up her sleeve, and a dangerously optimistic attitude.

"Elphabaaaaaa!! Where are the star molds?!" I clearly stated I wanted to make star cookies, not cookie stars! They're not the same thing!

Elphaba didn't respond immediately.

She was sitting on the living room floor, next to the half-finished tree. The Christmas lights hung from the branches like suicidal snakes. She had tried to install them for over an hour, and in the end, with the serenity of someone who has understood her own limits, she simply gave up. Now she was cowering in a corner with her glasses on, focused on her ledger.

The columns of figures and entries took up more than a page. Some numbers were crossed out, others underlined with a red marker. For months they had survived thanks to a combination of savings, sporadic earnings, and Glinda's absurd ability to get free samples of anything if she smiled enough. But the numbers were stubborn. The trip had been beautiful, transformative... and devastating to her finances.

And now, with the rent, Christmas dinner, central heating, and personalized star cookies, the funds were beginning to dwindle like Santa's patience after 40 screaming children.

Elphaba chewed the end of her pen, distracted.

In reality, what she was trying to calculate—although she wouldn't admit it even to herself—was whether her dream still had any viability left. That silent dream, which she barely dared to name: to be a writer. Not of academic papers, not of militant essays, but of books. Real books, with ink and a cover. Ideas that breathed on their own. And yet, the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like a late-adolescent fantasy.

Elphaba exhaled through her nose, typing another number with a resigned gesture. Until Glinda's voice broke through again like a glamorous ambulance siren:

"Elphabaaaaa!! The cookies are losing their shape! I think the oven is haunted! Or it's me! I don't know! Help!"

Elphaba closed her notebook with a sigh, slowly took off her glasses, and stood up as she surveyed the scene.

The main room was half-decorated: garlands still unhung, open boxes of ornaments waiting their turn, and the tree—majestic, though humiliated by the messy lights—seemed to be looking at her reproachfully. The only relatively harmonious area was the window: from there, the city spread out in red, green, and gold lights, like a postcard no one would dare send for fear of it looking too perfect.

Elphaba walked to the kitchen with resignation.

"Where's the mess?"

"Everywhere!" "Glinda squealed, waving a spatula like a wild magic wand. "The cookies are melting, the salad is... thinking things on its own, and I can't find the playlist I put together with titles that rhyme with 'engagement.' And the guests are arriving in three hours! And the tree looks like it's going to rebel!"

Elphaba crossed her arms.

"We can put a hat on the salad. Maybe we'll calm it down."

Glinda looked at her as if she were on the verge of an emotional breakdown... and then she laughed. Laughed hard. Laughed like someone who's already given up on Christmas and accepts its chaotic hug.

"Don't look at me like that," Elphaba said with a half smile. "I told you we'd do it just the two of us! Drinks, a blanket, a Christmas horror special... peace."

"And I told you it had to be special," Glinda retorted, taking a breath. "Shared." What's an engagement if we don't shout it from the terrace like two shameless lesbians?

"A silent version of happiness. Reasonable. Private. Low-budget."

"Ugh! You say that and I get gray hairs inside!"

Elphaba walked over, took the spatula from Glinda, placed it on the counter, and hugged her without saying anything. Glinda sank against her chest with a long sigh.

"We already sent out the invitations, right?"

"We already sent out the invitations."

"And did they confirm?"

"Everyone. Even Fiyero added a reindeer emoji. That's equivalent to a standing ovation."

"Then we're just going to have to survive tonight," Elphaba murmured.

"And make it look easy."

They broke apart slightly, but stayed close. Elphaba looked into her eyes.

"When this is over... do we have our night?"

Glinda nodded sweetly.

"No guests." No cookies. No Santa Claus. Just us.

"And your cookies," Elphaba said, pointing at the tray. "They seem to be screaming for help."

"Well... two out of three?"

They both laughed.

Suddenly, a dry "FWOOSH!" came from the kitchen. A small flame erupted from the pan on the stove, as if the food had decided to formally protest the culinary abuse. Elphaba barely had time to turn around when Glinda let out a high-pitched scream, a mixture of panic, hysteria, and an emotional breakdown on the verge of apocalypse.

"ELPHABA!!! CHRISTMAS IS ON FIRE!!!"

She ran into the kitchen, waving a dishcloth like a saber, trying to smother the flames with as much grace as desperation. Elphaba, who had reflexively turned on the faucet and was filling a capful of water, followed her in, stifling a laugh.

"Glinda, please don't put it out with your blazer! It's Armani!"

"This is a sign!" Glinda shouted, waving the air as if she could control fate with proper ventilation. "The universe doesn't want me to be a hostess! Or a cook! Or a functioning adult!"

Elphaba carefully poured the water over the fire, which died down in a small, smoky sigh. Then she turned off the burner, left the lid in the sink, and turned to Glinda, who was breathing heavily as if she'd just run a marathon of unfulfilled expectations.

"Is the hellish invasion of the sauce over yet?" —Elphaba asked, raising an eyebrow.

“This is a disaster!” Glinda squealed, waving her hands. “My mother is going to arrive and see a burnt frying pan! A tree without lights! A hostess with dark circles under her eyes and no manicure! And the worst part is, Tibbett is probably coming in a jacket made of limited-edition sequins and bringing white truffles from Japan or something worse!”

“Is there anything worse than that?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, turning to her, her eyes wide with frustration. “Everyone asking what we did these past few months, where we were, what we learned, if we’re getting married on a beach or in a museum or in the middle of a revolution… And I’m so busy surviving that I can’t even enjoy the moment!”

Her voice cracked just at the end. She wasn’t crying, but she was on the verge of tears. Elphaba watched her silently for a moment, then gently took her hands.

“Hey, Glinda.” You breathe as if you've inhaled three shots of espresso directly into your lungs.

Glinda took a deep breath. She tried to let it out. She failed.

"The stakes... are everything," she murmured. "Tonight... everything is supposed to be right. It's the first time my parents are going to see my house. Our house. And Mom is going to evaluate every vase, every napkin, every grammatical error in the Christmas playlist. Everyone is going to come with questions, with expectations. And I... I just want tonight to be perfect. Because we're going to tell the world who we are. Who we choose to be."

Elphaba lowered one of her hands to Glinda's face, caressing her lightly flour-stained cheek.

"It's already perfect, Glinda."

"What?"

"Tonight. You. All of this. It's chaotic, yes. Disastrous, probably. But it's real. And it's full of love. What more do you want?"

Glinda looked down, visibly moved.

"Japanese truffles?"

"You can forget the truffles!" Elphaba exclaimed with a smile. "Unless you're using them to bribe your mother, and in that case, sign me up."

They both laughed. Glinda wiped her eyes with the edge of her apron and took another deep breath.

"You're right," she said with renewed campaign manager tones. "We're going to survive this night. Like the functioning adults we pretend to be."

"Exactly."

"Then we have to get everything organized before they arrive! We divide duties!"

"Perfect," Elphaba said, raising her eyebrows. "But I'm warning you, I'm not touching Christmas lights again. I got attacked last time."

"Then you take care of the tree and the music. And I'll take care of the food and decorations. And the inevitable emotional chaos. It's going to be all right!"

"Of course it will, Mrs. Upland."

"Don't provoke me."

"Why? Are you going to summon another flaming frying pan?"

"Don't tempt me!"

And so, with that improvised pact, the house began to move again. Elphaba went to the tree with a new box of lights—and with renewed patience—while Glinda put a fresh batch of cookies in the oven as if it were a battle she could win.

Outside, the city vibrated with lights and promises. Inside, two women were doing what they did best: building their own home, despite the chaos.

FUTURE:

The toy store was still overflowing with grumpy parents and children on the verge of sugary ecstasy. They moved at the pace of an ancient civilization migrating at the solstice, which is to say, every hundred years.

Elphaba had managed to move about five steps since she began telling the story. Not that she minded talking, but she felt like she was developing frostbite on her knees. In one hand, she held the rolled-up comic book A Tale of Two Witches—which she hadn't yet returned to the shelf—and in the other, she held her cell phone with a strand of battery left. Around her, Christmas carols were playing for the thirtieth time in a tropical version, which must violate at least one international convention on acoustic torture.

"So, Glinda got mad when the tree fell?" the girl asked, her eyes like Christmas lanterns.

"No. Glinda never gets mad at trees." "Only with things that don't shine enough," Elphaba replied wryly, slightly pushing her glasses down the bridge of her nose to look at her better. "Although I must admit, that tree deserved to be destroyed. It was an enemy of the natural order."

The girl laughed, and then, completely matter-of-factly, asked,

"How did you know she was the person? Like, from the beginning? Because in the comic, it takes WitchyWest like five more episodes to accept it. But GoodGlim already knew from the scene in the snow with the horses."

Elphaba narrowed her eyes.

"The horses? In the snow?"

"Yes! When they were riding together and hid in a cave with a magical fire that created involuntary confessions! It was the most romantic thing in volume two."

Elphaba closed her eyes for a second.

"That never happened."

"No?"

"No."

"But the comic says..."

"The comic," Elphaba said, showing her the cover featuring two cartoon versions of her and Glinda flying on broomsticks they never used, "also says that we once saved the kingdom from an invasion of neon demons with a love spell and an electric guitar."

The girl's eyes widened.

"That didn't happen either?!"

"You'd be disappointed to know how many things didn't happen," Elphaba murmured, though without real annoyance. The fun part was actually watching the child process the dissonance between myth and truth.

The little girl crossed her arms.

"But then... how was it? How did you know you were going to be with her forever?"

Elphaba was silent for a moment. Not because she had no answer, but because, although she'd explained it thousands of times—in interviews, in letters, even in unpublished personal essays—saying it in front of a little girl, in a toy store, with a unicorn doll playing techno music beside her, was an unusually intimate experience.

"It wasn't a moment. It wasn't a big scene. It wasn't a magic cave," she said, lowering her voice a little, as if sharing a secret. "It was... all the little moments. Every time she wouldn't leave me alone when I wanted to push her away. Every time she made me laugh when I wanted to scream. When I learned to stay silent, and she still understood me. When the world was a mess, but the way she looked at me stayed the same. As if she knew something I didn't."

The little girl looked at her silently. And then she said,

"So it is like the comic."

Elphaba sighed.

"Of course it is."

The line moved forward a step.

And for an instant, everything else disappeared. Because yes, Christmas was exhausting, and yes, she still hadn't gotten the devil's toy her son had asked for weeks in advance, and yes, by the time she got home there would probably be sugar on every horizontal surface.

But even now, amid the noise, the cold, and the smell of synthetic pine... Glinda was still that luminous certainty at the end of any chaos.

And even though their story didn't have magic horses or fires that read hearts, it was still the best Elphaba could tell.

—Now... do you want me to tell you how that night ended?

—Yes!! Was it when they kissed in front of everyone?! And their friend fainted from excitement and someone recorded a TikTok?!

Elphaba sighed, but smiled.

—Worse.

PRESENT:

Elphaba was adjusting the last button of her navy blazer in front of the bedroom mirror. The jacket fell perfectly, the black shirt impeccably under the open collar, and the trousers gave her that air of a sober intellectual and a presentable bride she was striving for. She had opted for a simple but elegant look, one that doesn't attract attention but automatically generates respect. Classic Elphaba.

In the next room, Glinda was living out a Greek tragedy in three acts in front of the mirror. Two dresses hung side by side in the wardrobe: a white one with glittery details and off-the-shoulders, and a cherry red one with more modern lines, an open back that demanded attention.

—I can't decide! Glinda moaned aloud for the fourth time. "Which of these says 'sophisticated hostess with modern taste' without screaming 'desperate bid for maternal approval'?!"

"Both are fine, Glinda," Elphaba replied from the doorway, in the most diplomatic voice she'd ever used. "Really. I chose either one. You look beautiful."

"I don't want to look beautiful!" Glinda snorted, pointing at herself with both hands. "I want to look flawless. Perfect. Neat. Impeccable. Because if I look just 'good,' that's the same as showing up in black lace lingerie to Christmas dinner, to my mother."

Elphaba gave a dry laugh, walking over to examine the two outfits.

"Hmm. What if you show up in lingerie? I'm sure no one will ask awkward questions."

Glinda spun around, gently pushing her.

"Don't provoke me, navy-blue Satan!"

"I'm just saying... you have the look of a legally armed disgrace. I'd use it to your advantage."

They both laughed for a moment, that little knowing bubble that always appeared just before one of them blurted out a difficult truth. And this time it was Elphaba's turn.

As Glinda turned to the mirror and held up one of the dresses as if it were a mystical relic, Elphaba stepped to the dresser and pulled out a small blue-covered notebook from its drawer, where she'd scribbled more accounts than she cared to remember. She hesitated for a moment, then put it back. She looked at Glinda through the reflection.

"Hey... Glin. We need to talk for a second."

"Is this about whether the red is too bold? Because I know it is. But the white makes me look like Santa's assistant."

"No, it's about... well. About the dresses. And everything else we want to buy," Elphaba said cautiously. "We're still pretty broke... but you know." It's shrinking. It doesn't magically regenerate. And sooner or later one of us is going to have to...

"Earn an income," Glinda said, evenly, as she continued to examine her side profile. "I know. Don't worry. I've been thinking about that."

Elphaba looked at her, somewhat surprised by her naturalness.

"Yes?"

"Of course. I thought about trying my luck again as a luxury event planner. Or something in visual politics. I was also offered a chance to collaborate on a podcast about style and leadership... I don't know, there are options."

Elphaba swallowed.

That was the moment. That was the instant to say it. To let it out. To admit, in real words, that her heart still beat with a secret stubbornness to be a writer. That there was something about that silent vocation, that unmonetizable desire, that she couldn't keep repressing. That maybe it wasn't productive. That maybe it wasn't reasonable. But it was the most true thing she felt.

She opened her mouth.

"I... actually, I was..."

Ding-dong.

The doorbell rang with the solemnity of a doomsday bell. Glinda turned toward the door, paling.

"No! It can't be now! I'm missing the dress! And the shoes!" And the false eyelashes!

"Glinda..."

"Open up! Tell them I'm... meditating!"

"Meditating?"

"I meditate while I put on my makeup! It's a little-known ancient technique!"

Elphaba snorted, resigned, and left the room for the door while Glinda rants to herself like a grumpy general.

As she approached the hall, Elphaba took a deep breath and allowed herself a second in front of the mirror by the entrance. She sighed. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. And muttered to herself, ironically:

"Well... let the show begin."

She turned the knob and opened the door.

Elphaba turned the knob and opened the door, just in time for someone to push through.

"My goddess of elegant darkness!" "Tibbett exclaimed, spiraling in like a golden storm, wearing a glittering coat that could have served as a safety feature on a highway. "Always so punctual and so... navy blue!"

"We got in or we lost the drama of the entrance!" Crope added with a crooked smile, following him more calmly, in an impeccable smoky gray coat that contrasted perfectly with his mustard-colored scarf.

Elphaba barely had time to move before they both crossed the threshold as if they were walking along a catwalk in Milan. Tibbett spun around, let out an exaggerated sigh, and raised his arms as if encompassing the entire place.

"Eternal love for this minimalist Christmas decoration that clearly screams 'I'm an intellectual woman with an emotional edge'!"

"I didn't know Christmas trees could scream that," Elphaba murmured, closing the door with an involuntary smile.

"Of course they do!" "This one," said Tibbett, pointing at the barely finished tree, still with the star crooked dangerously to the left, "says exactly that. Although of course, if you'll allow me a few specific suggestions..."

"Oh no," said Crope, raising his eyes to the heavens and already taking a small package out of his bag. "It's started."

"Nothing offensive!" protested Tibbett as he pulled a small garland of snowflake-shaped LED lights from his coat. "Just a touch more visual spectacle. This tree is crying out for a climax."

"And how do you know it's not the climax?" Elphaba replied with a raised eyebrow.

Tibbett looked mock-shocked.

"Are you suggesting this is the end? My love, no! This tree is clearly the climax of the second act! It needs a reveal."

"I'm going to jot that down for a literary critique," Elphaba said, accepting without resistance the small packet of lights Tibbett had already placed in her hands. "Crope, do you have any suggestions as well?"

"I'll bring alcohol," Crope said with the serenity of a surgeon. "Because I knew Tibbett would bring aesthetic judgment. And you, restrained sarcasm. And amidst all that, someone has to save the night."

Elphaba had barely had time to sigh when the door rang again. She already knew this time it wouldn't be a subtle visitor. She felt it in the air, in the vibration of the ground, in the certainty that the calm had officially died.

She opened the door.

"Merry Christmas, Magical Vixens!" exclaimed The Wiz, dressed in a rainbow-sequined coat and a headdress so tall it barely cleared the doorframe. Her perfume announced her arrival more loudly than her voice, which was saying something.

"Hello, you wretch!" shouted Sir Brrr, entering behind her, wearing a green velvet coat, cane in hand, and an expression of utter moral superiority. I brought my Christmas spirit in a gilt-rimmed cup of sarcasm. And of course, gifts wrapped in recycled paper and guilt.

And finally, Boq appeared, with an almost childlike smile and eyes alight with enthusiasm.

"Girls! Boys! Witches! Beings of glamour and mystery! I formally present my girlfriend!"

And he turned dramatically to the figure behind him.

A very tall, slender woman, sculpted like a perfection-obsessed Renaissance sculptor. Platinum-blonde hair, soft waves in the style of old-school Hollywood. She wore a fitted white coat with a fur collar, dark glasses (despite the time), and perfectly lined lips that weren't smiling: they were posing.

"This is Glizz," Boq said, absolutely delighted. "She's from St. Petersburg, a dancer, a polyglot, a vegan activist. And she loves me! Isn't that incredible?"

Elphaba blinked twice.

"Glizz?"

"Like Glinda, but... more zzzs," The Wiz replied softly, just before bursting into laughter.

And that was when Glinda appeared from the hallway, ready to make her grand entrance. She had finally chosen the cherry-red dress, with a perfect silhouette that screamed Christmas diva with (fake) emotional control. She paused for a second when she saw everyone gathered, smiled elegantly, and then... she saw her.

Her. Glizz.

Face to face.

A kind of mirage of her idealized self, as if someone had taken a version of Glinda, stretched it out in Photoshop, added a touch of Russian ice and a dash of Chanel No. 5, and dropped it in her living room.

The Wiz, still in tune, murmured beside her:

"Don't be scared. It's like you, but a Soviet laboratory version 2.0."

Glinda didn't respond. She just stared for a second too long.

"Oh... how... curious," she finally said, walking toward them with a diplomatic smile. "Boq! What a surprise! And what a pleasure, Glizz... was it?"

"Glizz, yes," the woman said, her accent perfectly measured, her voice deep and elegant like a Golden Age actress. "Like glitter. But... more."

"Of course," Glinda said, forcing a smile. "How charming! And what do you do?"

"I dance. And I exist," Glizz replied without flinching.

"Inspiring," said Glinda, suddenly looking shorter than ever.

"He was at a diplomatic gala in Berlin last week!" Boq said, completely oblivious to the growing tension. "And he specifically asked to come to the party tonight because he wanted to meet my magic circle!"

"We're more of a dysfunctional polygon," Sir Brrr noted, already pouring himself a drink.

"Well, I'm delighted to have you here," Glinda finally said, her smile so perfect it almost crackled. "It's... very illuminating. And exotic."

"Thank you!" Glizz replied with a royal nod. "You inspire me so much. You... as a comic book character. Very... brilliant. With purpose. And nice breasts."

Elphaba choked on air.

"You mean the comic book?" Glinda asked, her cheeks frozen.

—No. I mean you. But a comic too! I read it in Moscow. My mother says: if a witch can love another witch, anything is possible.

The whole group burst into laughter. Except for Glinda.

Elphaba, for her part, watched her out of the corner of her eye. Glinda wasn't jealous, not exactly. She was... bewildered. Like someone looking in an amusement park mirror and not knowing whether to feel flattered or attacked.

—I'm going to... pour some wine, Glinda announced in a kind, almost robotic tone, and walked toward the kitchen with her spine perfectly straight.

Elphaba was about to close the door, a half-smile still on her face from Glizz's glorious entrance and Glinda's subsequent emotional implosion, when a hand stopped her movement.

—And no Christmas welcome for me? —Fiyero asked, leaning halfway around the door, with that smile of his that looked like something out of a retro postcard of eternal summer.

Elphaba blinked. Her surprise quickly turned to warm, spontaneous joy. Without thinking, she leaned toward him and hugged him tightly. Fiyero wrapped his arms around her with that calm, brotherly air he'd always had with her. It wasn't a hug of passion or romantic nostalgia; it was one of those sincere embraces that come with shared scars and understood silences.

"How long has it been since we've seen each other?" Elphaba asked, still holding him, with a mixture of tenderness and reproach.

"Before or after your mysterious 'rebel lesbian' escape?" Fiyero replied, dropping the gift bags by the threshold and finally entering.

"After. Much later."

"Then yes, centuries," he said with a calm smile, taking a moment to take in the surroundings. "Same chaos, same brilliance, same Glinda about to murder someone for aesthetic reasons."

"Yes." "It's nice to know some things don't change," Elphaba replied, crossing her arms. "But I'm glad you're here."

Fiyero nodded, his gaze softening for a second.

"And how are you? Really?"

Elphaba opened her mouth, but before she could answer...

"ELPHABAAAAA!" Glinda's piercing scream from the kitchen pierced walls, furniture, and souls. "HOW MANY KINDS OF WINE ARE IN THIS HOUSE AND WHY DO NONE OF THEM GO WITH CHRISTMAS PEANUT BUTTER?!"

Elphaba turned her head slowly toward the hallway, then sighed with her eyes closed. Fiyero let out a barely suppressed laugh.

"Has Glinda met the... 'newglow' yet?" he asked innocently.

"Oh, yes. It was... educational. For everyone."

They both laughed. It was the kind of laugh they shared in college, when they were bored and quietly mocking the most egotistical professor on campus. The kind of laugh that needed no explanation.

"I missed this," Fiyero said, half-seriously, half-jokingly.

"Me too. But hey, you should start preparing your best diplomatic compliments. Because Glizz is here to stay, apparently."

"And you?"

"I have to go prevent a diplomatic crisis in the kitchen before Glinda declares war on the wine world."

Elphaba turned to leave, but just as she was about to cross the threshold into the living room, Fiyero raised a hand, as if suddenly remembering something.

"Hey... wait. Before you go. There's something I wanted to talk to you about. Something small. But... well, important."

Elphaba turned, a little more alert.

"Now?"

"Can we leave it for later?" he said soothingly, raising his hands. "It's not dramatic, nor urgent. Just... when you have a second. Preferably when Glinda isn't reaching for a corkscrew with homicidal intent."

Elphaba studied him with narrowed eyes. There was something about the way he said it. Not serious. But serious.

"Okay. Later. But don't escape from me tonight, understand?"

"Ex-almost-partner's word," he said with a theatrical bow.

Elphaba shook her head, half amused, half worried, and hurried off to rescue Glinda, while Fiyero finally joined the din of voices in the living room. Crope offered her a drink, Sir Brrr was already narrating a story that mixed Dickens with RuPaul quotes, and The Wiz shouted from the armchair:

"Honey! Come sit down before these people decide that sober suits are in!"

And as the night wore on, secrets also began to line up.

Because this Christmas had more layers than a Russian wedding cake.

Elphaba entered the kitchen just in time to see Glinda physically wrestling with a wine bottle, as if it were a personal enemy who had dared to challenge her. She held the opener in one hand, the bottle between her legs, and wore an expression of furious concentration that would have intimidated even a deity.

"Do you want me to find the bottle guilty of contempt, or should I just help you?" Elphaba asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"This damn thing refuses to cooperate with the festive narrative!" "Glinda exclaimed, still holding the cork. This wouldn't happen in a Diane Keaton Christmas movie."

"No, in those kinds of movies, the wine pours itself and no one sweats," Elphaba said, already approaching.

They took the bottle between them, Elphaba holding it steady and Glinda pulling with all her might. A second of tense silence, a held breath... and POP! The cork flew out with a triumphant sound, describing an elegant parabola that ended with it flying across the kitchen, bouncing off the cupboard, and out the open window.

They both watched him, in perfect silence, as if waiting for him to float back.

"Did he hit someone?" Glinda finally asked.

"If he hit someone, that person probably deserved it," Elphaba shrugged.

Glinda sighed, theatrically poured herself half a glass, and leaned against the kitchen island.

"Could you cut the cheese, please? The one on the rectangular board. That one."

Elphaba walked over to the board and examined the block skeptically.

"Is this... cheese?"

"Of course it is!" Glinda replied, raising her glass as if toasting an invisible audience. "Vegan cheese with white truffle and fermented walnut shell. So expensive. Absolutely repulsive, but... it's good for the planet."

"So would eating our plates and avoiding washing up," Elphaba muttered as she reached for the knife. "This has the texture of school rubber."

"Don't be dramatic! It's an acquired delight."

"Acquired how? By emotional blackmail?"

Glinda ignored the comment and took a sip.

"The Russian one looks... nice," she commented casually, too casually.

Elphaba raised an eyebrow, still cutting.

"Glizz? Or Glinda Through the Looking Glass, Vodka Edition?"

"I don't look like her!" Glinda snapped, turning around with a frown. "Just because she's blonde and has long, perfect legs and that accent that makes everything an order from the Tsar..."

"Sure. Nothing to do with it," Elphaba said, suppressing a smile. "Although your 'rival' is named after an energy drink. Glizz. It's like... if an expensive fragrance and a ballistic missile had a child."

Glinda shot her a withering look, just as her cell phone vibrated insistently on the counter.

She sighed. He picked it up, looked at the screen, and squinted.

"It's my parents." He put it on speakerphone.

"Glinda, dear! We're on the third floor... or maybe the fourth... Is this a fire escape? I don't know, but I saw a flowerpot that judged me!" Highmuster's voice sounded between gasps.

"Didn't I tell you it was the PH, Highmuster? The penthouse! At the very top!" Larena's voice sounded in the background, her tone as high-pitched as the judgment it exuded.

Glinda rubbed her temples with one hand.

"It's the top floor of the building, impossible to miss! There's literally a sign that says 'PENTHOUSE - FAMILY OF MODERN WITCHES.'"

"I thought it was an experimental art gallery!" her father protested. "There was a dog in a sweater and a lady in a turban!"

"I'll go find them!" Glinda declared firmly, turning off her cell phone and grabbing her keys.

"Do you want me to come?" Elphaba offered.

"No, no. If she sees you right away, the evening begins with an audit of your existence. I need to cushion the blow. You stay here, prepare the wine, hide the Russian, and please finish cutting that piece of eco-friendly rubber before Crope puts it on his face as a mask."

"With pleasure," Elphaba said, raising the razor with a solemn gesture.

Glinda was already at the door, adjusting her coat. He paused for a second, looking at her with an ambiguous expression: tiredness, affection, and something of that invisible fear that only appears when you know you're going to see someone again who used to have power over you.

"Thank you," Glinda whispered. "I'll go back to them... or die trying."

"Either way, you have my respect," Elphaba said, raising her wineglass.

Glinda smiled for a second, took a deep breath, and walked out the door as if entering a battlefield.

And Elphaba, alone in the kitchen, cutting cheese that wasn't cheese and pouring wine that probably didn't go with anything, allowed herself to sigh.

In the living room, the atmosphere was an improvised bourgeois cabaret.

Brrr and The Wiz sat on the couch, glass in hand, surrounding Boq and his glamorous partner with the intensity of two inquisitors disguised as talk show hosts. Boq, who couldn't distinguish irony even with a map, answered each question with disarming sincerity. Meanwhile, Glizz remained unflappable, like a czarina at a school parade, dropping answers that sounded like imperial decrees.

"So how did you meet?" Brrr asked, swirling his glass with a smile that promised no innocence.

"At an independent film festival in Brooklyn," Boq said. "She thought the main short film was sad. She said it with... so much passion."

"It was tragic. Like soggy bread. But it had potential," Glizz clarified, crossing her legs as if posing for a statue.

"And what's your sign, darling?" The Wiz asked, pouring more wine while still smiling.

"I'm a Capricorn, Death Star ascendant."

"Oh, I love it!" Brrr exclaimed. "An ethical dictator. My favorite type."

Meanwhile, in another corner, Fiyero chatted with Crope and Tibbett, who surrounded him like two gay architecture critics who'd just discovered a sadomasochistic cathedral.

"The place is simply magnificent," Crope declared, glass in hand. "The leather mural, the sinister lighting, the furniture that looks like something out of a beautiful Tom of Finland nightmare..."

"And the bar. Are we talking about the bar?" Tibbett added. "I've been in law firms with less sophistication than that club. And I'm a lawyer. Well, almost. A lawyer of my own, let's say."

"Thanks, guys," Fiyero replied with a genuine smile. "I put everything into it. The design, the security, the atmosphere. I wanted it to be a space... where people could be themselves without asking for forgiveness."

"And in capital letters!" Crope added. "BE!"

"And undress without asking for permission!" Brrr corrected from the couch.

At that moment, Elphaba entered from the kitchen, carrying two carefully arranged trays: one with glasses, the other with the selection of vegan cheeses that looked more like aesthetic fossils.

The conversation paused for a second, as if her presence brought about a natural shift in focus. She was dressed in her navy blue blazer, elegant and simple, with a faint twinkle in her eye that indicated that, despite everything, she was still enjoying the mess.

Fiyero immediately stood up and came forward.

"Do you want help?" he asked, already holding out his arms.

Elphaba narrowed her eyes with a sarcastic smile.

"Since when are you so helpful?"

"Since I learned that trays are weapons if they fall the wrong way."

"Or since you worked in a nightclub and learned that being helpful brings tips," she retorted, effortlessly handing him a tray.

"Are you saying I'm going soft?"

"I'm saying there's a pre-leather-string Fiyero, and a post-leather-string Fiyero," Elphaba replied as she placed the other tray on the table. "And the one now... he asks questions before pushing someone against a wall."

"Personal growth!" he said with a triumphant smile. "They call it maturity. Or marketing."

The two shared a brief glance, one of those born from the affection of old wars won and shared wounds. They didn't need words to recognize each other.

Crope approached, glass in hand, and surveyed the scene.

"Have you two already thought about making a sitcom? 'Witch and Ex-Boyfriend: A Case to Be Solved with Whips and Sarcasm.'"

"That would be so popular in certain circles," Tibbett added. "And not to mention the amount of merchandise we could sell."

"Stop it. Just because someone was my ex doesn't mean we're now working in a narrative circus," Elphaba protested, feigning annoyance.

"No? Because I already wrote the pilot," Brrr said, raising her hand as everyone laughed.

Elphaba shook her head in resignation, but she couldn't help but smile. It felt good to see them all together, though it also meant the balance of the evening hung by a very thin thread... the thread of the Uplands' imminent arrival.

The elevator door opened with that high-pitched ding that heralded not salvation, but resignation.

Glinda stood in the center, stiff as a newly restored Venetian statue, her smile barely containing her inner collapse. She'd been with her parents less than five minutes and already felt like hiding inside the Christmas tree with the lights off.

Behind her, Larena Upland's voice floated like a cloud of expensive perfume and ill-disguised judgment.

"I'm not saying it's wrong, Glinda, I just find it... interesting that they live so high up. So close to the sky. So symbolic."

"And so practical," Highmuster, her father, interrupted, with that nervous cheerfulness he used as a shield. "Closer to the stars! Remember when Glinda wanted to be an astronaut?"

"Don't start." Glinda turned her head just enough to glare at him with a sweet, lethal glare.

Also with them, dragging a small handbag that seemed to weigh more than she did, came Mrs. Clutch, the legendary family maid. She was nearly eighty, with a bun of hair so taut it looked like it was carved from marble, and a perpetually confused expression.

"Where are we?" she asked, looking around as if expecting to see a Victorian house. "Glinda, why are you dressed in strawberry?"

"It's fuchsia. It's haute couture." Glinda sighed and turned to face them in the hallway. "Good. Ground rules before you enter."

Larena looked at her with a perfectly raised eyebrow.

"Are we going to have a code of conduct? How... democratic."

"One: Mother, please try to be nice. Especially to Elphaba. Even if you find it difficult. Even if you don't understand her clothes. Even if the wine doesn't match your aura."

"I don't judge anyone, Glinda. I just worry. It's an active concern."

"Two," Glinda continued, looking at her father, "please don't tell any stories about me from before I was eighteen. Not about accidents with plastic unicorns. Not about costumes with lights. Not about your brilliant development from childhood" theory.”

"But it's Christmas! People expect embarrassing stories told with love!"

"And three?" Larena asked, crossing her arms with sharp elegance.

"Three: prepare yourselves. On the other side of this door... there are people. People who don't belong in our kind of gatherings. There's glitter, there's leather, there's a drag queen with a cup bigger than her ego. There's laughter... and complications. This is the world I live in now. I ask for... restraint."

There was a brief silence. Mrs. Clutch stared at a flowerpot.

"Glinda...? Is this a hotel?"

Glinda closed her eyes for a second and then took a deep, long breath, as if she were about to dive into the ocean. She readjusted her coat, straightened her back, swallowed everything she couldn't say... and turned the handle.

The door opened.

And it was just then—just then—that the door opened.

The ridiculously shrill chorus of a musical reindeer, accompanied by a high-pitched "I want vegan champagne, darling!" from Brrr's lips, hung in the air.

Everyone froze.

The room, until then a carnival of voices, textures, and eccentricities, was suddenly petrified by the sight of the Upland family crossing the threshold as if they had entered a Christmas version of Andy Warhol's Alice in Wonderland.

Glinda, still in the doorway, slowly turned toward Elphaba, who was standing right in the middle of the room with a tray in one hand and a glass in the other. Elphaba looked at her with a smile that evaporated inch by inch, until only panic remained.

Glinda's look was pure, suppressed fury, a sort of "You-killed-my-grand-entrance-moment-and-now-I-have-to-introduce-my-mother-in-the-middle-of-an-argument-about-Christmas-vibrators" kind of look.

And then, as if the tension weren't enough, Mrs. Clutch, the eternally disconnected Mrs. Clutch, looked around curiously.

"Are we in a nursery for artists?"

"Exactly, Clutch," Glinda chimed in with a tight smile, approaching quickly. "It's an experimental cultural center for adults. With cookies. Lots of glitter. And zero logic."

And with that same momentum, the diplomatic operation of introductions began.

Crope and Tibbett, as if they'd been rehearsing this moment for months, approached Larena with a perfect mix of fascination and cordial insolence.

"Mrs. U!" Crope exclaimed. At last, we meet the woman who shaped perfection. Tell me... how many blessings per minute did she need to raise such an angelic being?

"And how did she do it without committing murder?" Tibbett added enthusiastically. "Because if Glinda had been my daughter, I'd be in prison for overindulging her."

Larena, immaculate in a cashmere coat and wearing a five-pointed star brooch, watched them like someone evaluating two colorful cocktails she clearly didn't order.

"It's always... interesting to meet my daughter's friends," she said with a smile that barely maintained its veneer of courtesy. "And you... do you work on the decor, or do you just inspire her?"

"We inspire. Especially sin," Crope replied with a bow.

Meanwhile, Highmuster had spotted Fiyero and Boq near the fireplace and immediately approached with genuine enthusiasm.

“Ah, my two favorite investments! The club is fantastic, Fiyero. And the critics are obsessed with the silent reading area. They say it’s like meditating in leather.”

“A religious experience,” Fiyero said, laughing.

“And Boq, darling, I heard you found a partner. Russian? Or does she just look imperial?”

“Uh… yes. She is…” Boq stammered, as Glizz placed a firm hand on his thigh.

“I’m from everywhere and nowhere,” she said. “Like good art. Or revenge.”

Highmuster looked at her in wonder.

“How fascinating! I love the international diversity of the group. This feels like a Summit of Nations… with more sequins.”

And right there, as if fate were having a little too much fun, Mrs. Clutch—with her slow gait and her handbag from another decade—plopped down between The Wiz and Glizz, looking around as if waiting for an Orthodox mass.

"Are you... Glinda number two?" she asked Glizz, her voice gentle.

"I'm the export version," Glizz replied, with a perfect, icy smile.

"And are you a... nun?" she then asked The Wiz, pointing at her gigantic silver headdress.

"Only on Good Fridays," The Wiz replied, caressing her glass. "The rest of the time, I'm the Virgin of Chaos."

Glinda, watching the scene unfold in slow motion like a sequined train wreck, felt an artery in her neck begin to throb. She walked briskly toward Elphaba, who was staring at the scene as if it were an art installation of Christmas mayhem.

"Was this your plan?" she whispered through gritted teeth, forcing a smile. "This moment? Right when Brrr was talking about Christmas tree-shaped lubricants?"

Elphaba swallowed.

"It wasn't planned, Glinda." I'm not a sitcom writer.

"Well, you should be! Because this has all the rhythm of an episode of Friends... directed by David Lynch!"

"You look beautiful," Elphaba told her, as if that could save her.

Glinda exhaled.

"I know. Now... I need wine. And a gag for my mother."

The two stared at each other for a second. Elphaba wordlessly handed her a glass.

Glinda inhaled deeply, as if air was the only thing she could still control, and with a firm gesture, she took Elphaba's hand, dragging her across the room with the determination of a general on a forced march.

"Come on," she said, as if it were a high-risk order. "It's now or never."

"Are you sure?" Elphaba whispered, already feeling the wine glass tremble in her free hand.

"No. But I'm wearing heels, and this is war."

They crossed the room like two Downton Abbey protagonists on their way to the gallows. Larena, standing next to the half-decorated tree, held a glass of champagne like a scepter. Her posture was impeccable, her hairdo untouchable, and her expression... diplomatically neutral, which for her was equivalent to "mildly annoyed but not yet officially hostile."

Highmuster, in a corner, concealed his discomfort by discussing with Crope the benefits of agave in organic mezcal.

"Mom," Glinda said with a tight smile. "I want you to formally greet Elphaba. You've met her, but... this time is different."

Larena looked at her with a slowness that only aristocratic mothers can achieve, as if she were turning a mirror to reveal a new dimension. Finally, her gaze settled on Elphaba.

"Oh, yes. Of course. We met once, right? Centuries ago."

"That's right... it was on his hunt," Elphaba clarified, maintaining her smile and calm tone. "I think it was an unforgettable day for everyone."

"It certainly was. A temper like yours certainly leaves its mark in a controlled environment like my house," Larena said, without a hint of irony, only icy serenity.

Glinda narrowed her eyes.

"Mom."

"Well, it was an anecdotal observation. How sensitive young people are these days."

Elphaba took a deep breath. She knew this was an opportunity: for Glinda, for them. So she straightened her shoulders, met Larena's gaze, and extended her hand with restrained cordiality.

"Thank you for coming." Glinda and I are very happy to welcome you all.

Larena watched her for a few seconds. Then, to both of their surprise, she took her hand and shook it gently. Not warmly, but... civilly.

"Thank you for inviting me. It's not every day that a mother is welcomed into her daughter's home... by her girlfriend."

It was a loaded phrase, disguised as courtesy. Glinda felt it like a slap with kid gloves.

"Well, the door is open to everyone," Elphaba chimed in with elegant firmness. "But especially to those who raised her. Because if Glinda is who she is, it's because of you."

Larena was silent for a second. Deep down, something in that sentence—a mixture of truth and subtle defiance—struck her.

"Your diction has improved. You used to speak with less... academic gravity. It must be the coexistence."

"The coexistence and the organic wine," Elphaba smiled, this time with visible irony.

Glinda pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. It was like watching a duel between two diplomats at a UN cocktail party. If they threw bombs, they'd do it in Latin and with style.

"So," Glinda chimed in with fake enthusiasm. "Now that you've greeted each other like normal people, do you want me to show you the terrace?"

"Is it heated?" Larena asked skeptically.

"It has mulled wine. That counts, right?" Elphaba said, unable to avoid sarcasm.

"I suppose it does in this house."

The three of them began walking toward the other end of the living room. Larena, though still stiff, seemed at least to be making an effort not to turn it into open warfare. Elphaba felt the tension with every step, but also the relief of having crossed the threshold. And Glinda, in the middle of them, maintained that diplomatic smile that was beginning to crack.

"Do you know, this went much better than I thought it would?" Glinda whispered as Larena stepped forward.

"Was that all right?" Elphaba raised her eyebrows.

"Yes. In mother tongue, that was a lukewarm compliment. And that, my dear, is a Christmas gift."

While Glinda remained in the most tense diplomatic corner of the penthouse—trying to convince her mother that a vegan canapé wasn't a personal attack—Elphaba seized the smallest opportunity to slip away. She slipped through the forced laughter, dissonant toasts, and venomous murmurs of her guests to the drinks table, like someone arriving at a small pagan shrine amidst chaos.

There stood Highmuster, the man with the eternal smile of someone who has survived multiple family Christmases and still wants to toast. He had two glasses in his hand, and when he saw her approaching, he offered her one without even looking directly at her, as if he knew in advance what she needed.

"Gin and tonic with rosemary and a hint of resignation," he winked at her.

Elphaba took the glass wordlessly at first, took a long sip, and let out a sigh that seemed to wash away all the accumulated stress of the last hour.

"You're a saint, Highmuster."

"I'm a father-in-law in training. The least you can do is know what drink puts out diplomatic fires. And I think you're on fire."

"Literally and figuratively."

They both laughed, and for a few seconds, it was as if everything else was put on hold. Elphaba turned slightly to look at Glinda, who was now nodding exaggeratedly while Larena examined a napkin as if judging her lineage.

"So?" Highmuster asked, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Is today the big announcement?"

Elphaba swallowed with difficulty, no longer from the drink but from the tension.

"Not yet. Glinda is still waiting for the 'perfect moment.'" May the constellations align, the wine be at the right temperature, and may his mother not be staring as if we were serving soup in an orphanage.

Highmuster gave a low, heartfelt laugh. Then he shook his head, bringing the glass to his lips.

"You know I've already put my foot in it twice? Twice. Once with Crope, once with Tibbett. I had to pretend I was talking about a dog. A dog!" "Oh yes, Elphaba proposed, it was very emotional... and then they bought her a leash."

Elphaba laughed, more out of necessity than humor, and then lowered her voice.

"Sorry to put you through this. That wasn't the point. I just wanted to ask for your blessing, not your entry into the Emotional Secrets Club™."

Highmuster looked at her with that mixture of warmth and melancholy that seemed to have been sewn into his eyes for months.

"Do you know what's going on, dear?" When you asked for my blessing, I thought: finally, my daughter will have something solid, something real. Not an act, not a facade. Something sincere. And I gave it to you with pleasure, but also with fear. Afraid that it will break. Afraid that the world will interfere. Afraid that they will never announce it, and I will die with the most beautiful secret I have.

Elphaba was silent for a moment, watching the ice melt in her glass.

"Everything okay at home?"

Highmuster hesitated. Not much. But enough for Elphaba to notice.

"Yes... yes, of course. Everything works," he said finally, like someone describing a refrigerator that is still cooling but making strange noises.

"Highmuster..."

"Larena and I... we are talking as little as possible. Like two ambassadors from countries that no longer share a border. No one raises their voice. No one says anything hurtful. Everything is... elegant. Cold. Clean. Like a hospital hallway."

Elphaba felt a pang that wasn't her own, but borrowed.

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry. I didn't come to ruin your evening with that. It's Christmas, isn't it? Nothing like the spirit of appearances and secrets under the tree." And with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, she toasted with her glass. "At least my daughter found love."

"And we're going to announce it," Elphaba said with unexpected firmness. "Tonight. I promise. Because Glinda deserves it. And so do you."

Highmuster looked at her for a long moment, as if trying to contain an emotion without spilling it. Then he nodded and toasted again, this time with more pride than sadness.

"I knew you were good for her from the first insult you threw at her."

"Thank you. I put effort into every one."

In the brief silence that followed the toast with Highmuster, Elphaba allowed herself to close her eyes for a second, feeling the warming effect of the gin and tonic mixed with the melancholic conversation. But not for long: a familiar voice, deep and with that always slightly mocking tone, brought her back to the present.

"How was your wise father-in-law's magic juice? Has he enlightened you yet with another story about Glinda disguised as an elf at age six?"

Fiyero appeared with a sly smile and a glass in his hand, his velvet coat hanging carelessly over one shoulder. Elphaba smiled.

"Luckily, just one story this time. Although he did warn me that if I don't bring the food soon, it'll explode and spray secrets like fireworks."

"I don't know if that's more frightening or the idea of ​​Glinda disguised as an elf."

Highmuster laughed as he passed and winked at them before leaving with an elegance that only an Uplander in his golden age could possess. When she walked away, the atmosphere changed: quieter, more subdued. Fiyero looked down for a moment, thoughtful, then looked up with a serious expression.

"Can we talk? Seriously. Something I... I need to get over."

Elphaba raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.

"Is this about Dorothy? Because we already talked about it, Fiyero. She's fine. You did what you could."

"No," he interrupted immediately, with a gesture that almost seemed embarrassed. "It's not that. It's... something else."

Elphaba crossed her arms, placing her glass on the table.

"What did you do?"

Fiyero swallowed uncomfortably.

"Look... when we opened Kiamo Ko, you know it wasn't easy. The place needed renovations, paperwork, licenses. A lot more than I thought. The money you lent me at the beginning literally saved me." But... —he paused, searching for words as if they hurt him—...but I didn't just use that money.

Elphaba frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"I took more. Than you had in the secret stash. Not a lot... but not a little either. It was desperate, and I told myself I'd tell you later, that it was a 'silent loan.' But every week that passed made it harder to admit it."

Elphaba froze for a moment. Not because she was surprised by the act—she herself had offered him money, and she trusted him—but because of the shame Fiyero was carrying, as if that defined his worth.

"How much?"

"Enough to make me feel like an idiot. And enough to keep me from sleeping peacefully for weeks. But the club's up and running, the numbers are good. That's why I'm here. I want to pay you back. Everything. And more."

There was a silence. Elphaba looked at him, her head slightly tilted.

"Do you think this bothers me?"

Fiyero didn't respond.

"Fiyero..." Elphaba sighed, taking a step toward him. "I offered you that silver because I knew you'd use it with all your heart. What angers me, honestly, is that you've carried this alone for so long. That's really silly."

"I was embarrassed. I didn't want you to think that... I don't know, that I abused your help."

"You abuse your velvet coat more than my account," she said with a soft smile. "And I know you. I know you're not perfect. Neither am I. But you're someone who gives everything for what you love, and that, Fiyero... that's worth more than any balance in an account."

Fiyero let out a bitter, relieved laugh.

"You're a tough bitch, you know."

"And you're a prince who owes me money. So we're even."

They both laughed, and for the first time in weeks, Fiyero's face lightened. There was something about that old friendship, sometimes broken, sometimes mended, that remained an anchor for both of them.

"You want to know the worst part?" he added. "I prepared an envelope with the check. With a letter. I carried it in my pocket, like you were my boss. God. What happened to us?"

"We became adults, Fiyero. It sucks."

They exchanged a knowing, mature look. They were no longer rivals or teenagers with grandiose ideas. They were two people who had disappointed each other, forgiven each other, and now... they were just together.

Fiyero gave her arm a friendly squeeze before walking away among the guests. Elphaba watched him for a moment, with a slight, somewhat tired smile. She appreciated him, much more than she liked to admit, and knowing that he had carried only his guilt for weeks stirred an inexplicable tenderness in her. But she didn't have time to fully process it, because just as she turned to go to the kitchen, she saw them.

There they were, Highmuster and Larena, standing in a corner of the living room, far enough away from everyone else to think no one noticed, but not far enough to hide their body language. They argued silently, with those measured gestures that only long, weary marriages have perfected. Larena spoke with her mouth barely open, but her eyes shot icy knives; Highmuster nodded slowly, with that resignation that had become his habit. They didn't raise their voices. They didn't touch. They didn't look directly at each other.

Elphaba tensed. As if a foreign mirror were reflecting back something she didn't want to see. Her first impulse was to move closer, but she stopped. This wasn't the time. And she knew that the person who most deserved to know what was going on was the same person now standing alone in the kitchen, trying to hold it all together.

So she took a deep breath and continued on her way.

The kitchen was a battlefield. There were ladles at impossible angles, herbs scattered like confetti, and a chopping board that looked like it had survived a riot. And at the center of it all, her carefully arranged hair already a little out of control and her apron stained with stains that failed to be festive, Glinda, frustrated, elegant, and stubbornly beautiful.

"It's not that I want a perfect dinner, just one where the cheese doesn't look at me judgmentally and my mother doesn't think I live in a whorehouse!" she muttered as she tried to meticulously line up some garnishes.

Elphaba leaned against the doorframe with a raised eyebrow.

"Is that the same vegan cheese with the foam texture?"

"It's organic! And yes, probably." Glinda snorted and pointed at a bowl. "Put those things on the plates, please. But make them look handmade, not like they were thrown out in hatred."

Elphaba obeyed, taking the garnish with tongs as she approached the island. But she couldn't help herself. She'd seen him, and knew if she didn't say it now, he'd keep it to herself all night.

"I saw your parents arguing. Silently. In a corner."

Glinda didn't even look up.

"They always argue in silence. It seems more elegant to them."

"Glinda..."

"I don't want to talk about it now." Glinda's voice was soft, but it was coated with a layer of hardness. As if emotional exhaustion had left an invisible varnish on it. There are too many things that could go wrong tonight, and I'm not going to let them be one of them.

With the radiant smile that only Glinda could project when she was on the verge of collapse, young Upland lifted the tray containing the main course—an unlikely masterpiece somewhere between gourmet, experimental, and overly decorated—and announced in a melodic voice,

"My dears, dinner is served!"

There was a general murmur of delight. Crope clapped theatrically, Tibbett whistled as if a Broadway diva were appearing, and even Boq let out a shy "bravo!" while Glizz nodded with solemn Slavic approval. Mrs. Clutch clapped as well, though she wasn't entirely sure why. Everyone began to approach the large dining table with excitement, some fighting for the best seats, others for the best views.

But Elphaba didn't move.

From a corner near the bay window, the observation turned to concern. Highmuster was standing there, holding a glass he didn't look like he hadn't touched in a while. He was smiling, yes, but with that smile, you can't feel it. The kind of gesture you practice in front of the mirror so you don't ruin your daughter's party.

Elphaba knew him all too well by now. And beyond the raised glasses, the fake toasts, and the vegan cheese the consistency of a tire, she couldn't ignore him.

He approached calmly. It wasn't the time or the place, but... sometimes moments don't wait for the right place.

"Is everything all right, Mr. Upland?"

Highmuster blinked as if waking up from an inner scene.

"Oh, yes. Everything is perfect. Glinda... Glinda has done wonders." He smiled a little wider, but the punchline fell flat. "And that wine is... surprisingly good, you know?"

Elphaba tilted her head, crossing her arms.

"Don't lie to me, High." You're not good at it. You're one of those who blink like a blinker when they lie.

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

"You're more like her than you think."

"I'm trying," he said sincerely.

There was a brief silence between them, and then Highmuster sighed. It was a thick sound, almost audible in its emotional weight. Elphaba said nothing. She waited.

"We're going to separate," he said finally, in a voice that didn't ask for sympathy, but simply for space to let the truth out. "Larena and I... we've already decided."

Elphaba wasn't surprised. But she was saddened. She nodded once.

"How long have you known?"

"A few weeks now. Since before you returned from your trip." The man looked into his glass as if he could read the future in it. "But we haven't told her yet. For Glinda's sake." I guess we hoped things would change, that somehow this magical dinner would make it easier. But... nothing changes just because you put more Christmas lights on it.

Elphaba lowered her gaze respectfully. It wasn't the first time she'd heard those words. Love doesn't always die in fury. Sometimes it just dissolves in silence.

"Glinda thinks you're making up. I thought your fight with your mother was the cause of the tension between you."

Highmuster nodded gravely.

"I know. And it hurts more than I can explain." Her eyes glittered a little, but she stood firm. "But the problem between Larena and me goes way back. The fight with Glinda was just a push in a direction we were already heading. I don't want her to feel responsible. Or to think that her mother and I weren't happy, because we were. A long time. It's just... that time is over."

Elphaba took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of respect, sadness, and duty.

"Do you want me to tell her something?"

Highmuster shook his head.

"No. It has to come from us. Tonight is her gift, her party. I don't want to ruin it for her. I just... I just needed someone else to know. And you... you're part of this family now, whether you like it or not."

Elphaba smiled wistfully.

"I love it. And I'll be there for her when she finds out. For you too."

Highmuster gently touched her arm. It was a silent but affectionate gesture. Then she straightened, took a deep breath, and, with a more honest smile, said,

"Now let's go. If I don't try that 'experimental vegan roast,' they're going to strip me of the title of favorite father-in-law."

And with that, they both walked toward the table.

Elphaba, however, knew that this conversation would change everything. That beneath the festive tablecloth and the cheerful toasts, the next truths were already brewing. But for now... for now, it was still Christmas.

Finally, after several toasts, wine swizzlers, last-minute centerpiece arrangements, and two failed attempts by Mrs. Clutch to understand what kind of dinner this was, everyone took a seat around the large table decorated with white linens flecked with gold, tall candles, and napkins folded like small Christmas trees (Glinda's work, of course).

Elphaba sat next to Glinda, but not before casting one last sideways glance toward the ends of the table. Highmuster and Larena had taken opposite positions, as if the length of the tablecloth could disguise the emotional distance. Glinda didn't notice, but Elphaba did, and suddenly, small interactions took on new meaning: Larena poured water with a cold, precise gesture, Highmuster concealed it with forced humor, and between them floated a space emptier than Clutch's chair, who remained convinced she was in a theme restaurant.

Then Glinda stood up.

The dress she was wearing seemed designed exclusively to match the tree lights. With the glass in her hand and her curls perfectly defined, her smile was as bright as it was fragile. Elphaba felt it as soon as she sat up beside her. She knew that smile. It was the smile that came when something was about to break.

"I want to…" Glinda began, her voice projecting softly, "thank you all for being here tonight. For us"—she looked at Elphaba for a second—"this isn't just any dinner. It's the first Christmas in our house, together, really. And I know everyone has had to change plans, drop commitments, or deal with unpredictable elevators to be here. So… thank you. From the bottom of my heart."

A few taps of glasses, some applause.

"I also want to say that tonight is special because…"

"Because cheese isn't cheese?" Brrr interrupted, pointing at her plate with exaggerated suspicion. General laughter.

"No, no, because... well, yes, that's a reason too," Glinda tried to continue patiently. "But mostly because..."

"Because the hostess is radiant!" Tibbett blurted out, raising his glass. "I've never seen such elegance amidst so much kitsch decor!"

More laughter. Even Crope mumbled something about glitter reindeer on napkins.

Glinda's smile began to tense. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. Elphaba noticed it immediately. She knew that gesture: it preceded a dangerous smile or a comment that would end in tears in the bathroom.

"And tonight we also wanted," Glinda insisted more forcefully, raising her voice, "to share something important that—"

"Important as in 'together until the end' or 'new dog in the house'?" Wiz quipped, crossing his fingers with theatrical hope.

The table erupted in laughter. But Elphaba wasn't laughing anymore. Her gaze was fixed on Glinda, who remained standing, her eyes moist with a mixture of frustration, forced laughter, and disappointment. As if she were trying to decide whether to laugh with the others or yell at everyone to be quiet.

It was then that Elphaba stood up.

She did so calmly, without raising her voice. She took her own glass in one hand and placed the other gently on Glinda's back, as if anchoring her to reality.

"Well," she said with a dry, elegant smile. "I think the emotional discourse can wait a few more minutes. Before Brrr declares this cheese guilty of crimes against humanity, why don't we start eating?"

The laughter turned into murmurs of agreement, and the atmosphere relaxed. Glinda, still standing, looked at Elphaba. She said nothing, but her eyes were filled with gratitude and relief. As if someone had finally lifted the weight of the world from her shoulders.

Elphaba smiled softly and indicated the chair.

"Come on, good witch. We'll talk when no one's mouth is full."

Glinda sighed, defeated and relieved at the same time, and sat down, still clutching her glass. Dinner had begun. There was no announcement yet. But the evening wasn't over, and they both knew the time would come.

Cutlery clinked, glasses were refilled, and the main course—a bold fusion of tradition and vegan indulgence with names like "non-turkey turkey" and "artistically intended salad"—dominated the table like a center of diplomatic power.

Glinda smiled with her teeth, Elphaba with her eyes. Both trying, as best they could, to keep the evening moving without anyone noticing they were in mild crisis mode.

The conversation began relatively civilly.

"So, what's the main protein?" Crope asked, knife in hand.

"It's smoked tofu glazed with agave syrup," Glinda responded enthusiastically. "And with a wild mushroom sauce!"

"Wild mushrooms, of course..." Brrr muttered, raising an eyebrow. "And which of these is the antidote?"

Tibbett let out a nasal laugh, while Glizz, with an imperial gaze, muttered something like, "In Russia, wild mushrooms choose you." No one understood, but they all pretended to laugh anyway.

Larena, from the opposite end of the table, stared at the wine glass as if trying to see her past life in it. Her voice cut through the air like a razor blade:

"Well, it has to be said: Glinda, this place feels very... personal. A lot... of personality."

Elphaba swallowed prematurely. She coughed silently.

Highmuster, desperate to muffle her voice, chimed in:

"Remember that Christmas when Glinda insisted she wanted a real unicorn and we almost blew up the garden fountain trying to dress up a pony?"

"Dad!" Glinda said in horror.

"Poor Clutch almost lost an eyebrow!" he continued, laughing.

"I don't remember that," Clutch said, raising his voice. "But I did hit a unicorn with the iron once. Was that it?"

Fiyero took advantage of the pause to raise his glass.

"To the eyebrows that survived, and to those that didn't!" A general toast.

"So," Tibbett began, pointing with his fork, "are you finally going to tell us what you've been doing these past few months, or are we just going to keep forming theories?"

"Because my theory involves a secret cult in the mountains," Brrr added in a documentary-making tone, "but I can adapt it if you say you were at a vegan nudist commune."

Crope sipped his wine, feigning disapproval.

"Don't ask open-ended questions, darling, so we don't complain later if we find out things we didn't want to know."

Fiyero chuckled. Glinda gulped. Elphaba raised an eyebrow.

"The commune was a one-night stand, and technically, I wasn't vegan," Elphaba said with complete seriousness.

Silence fell like thick snow. Everyone turned slowly toward her. Glinda glared.

"It was an alternative spa—a spa!"

"Tell me it wasn't similar," Elphaba murmured with a half smile.

Larena, who had been assessing the strudel as if it were a threat to civilization, put down her knife and asked sharply,

"And that was the high point of your trip?"

"Oh, no," Glinda said, regaining control, "I also lost a tooth in a Gillikin Panthers hockey game. At the last minute!"

Highmuster nearly choked on his wine.

"My girl! Did you play hockey?"

"No, Dad. I was in the stands."

Silence returned. Clutch, still serving himself potatoes as if dinner was for eight others, murmured,

"A young lady should sit far away from sports."

Brrr laughed into his glass.

"Write that down. First shared trauma of the evening."

"And the haunted village?" Boq chimed in, his mouth full. You said something about New England and ghosts...

"Oh, yeah!" Glinda exclaimed. "We got lost in a rural area with no landline and ended up staying in a house that was infested with ghosts."

"It was a ghost," Elphaba corrected. "And more than a ghost, it was a lunatic with more makeup than Glinda and a romantic rock diva complex. But his girlfriend was cool."

Glizz looked at Boq stoically.

"Sounds like a Slavic story. Women chased by a possessed cat on a cursed mountain. Very common."

The Wiz, with a decorative turkey on his head like a festive hat, snapped his fingers.

"And what about the coyote?" Brrr asked, unable to stop. "Is it true that you chased a coyote in the desert with two soldiers?"

"It was more of a friendly chase!" Glinda said excitedly.

"Who wins a race against a coyote?" "Glizz asked.

"Elphaba," Glinda said with a dreamy sigh. "Like a comic book heroine."

"Oh!" Elphaba added suddenly, raising her fork as if remembering a forgotten prophecy. "We also ran into your cousin."

Glinda tensed instantly.

"Which cousin?"

"That one... the one who sings on Instagram." Elphaba gestured vaguely with her hand. "Frankini."

A murmur ran around the table. Clutch placed his hands tenderly on his chest.

"Oh, Frankini! When he was a kid, he came home wearing colorful capes. He was always so sweet."

"Sweet?!" Glinda exclaimed, gritting her teeth as if chewing glass. "He was always the devil. He snuck into my ballet recital when he was nine and lip-synced his way through the final act!"

Larena nodded sourly.

"He was talented, there's no denying that. Although, yes, he was... eccentric."

"He once used a hidden microphone to narrate the family dinner in verse," Highmuster added with an awkward laugh. "But at least he rhymed well."

Boq raised his hand as if to clarify something:

"Are we talking about the guy who now does holographic musicals on the beach?"

Crope murmured. "I like him. He sent me a cameo once."

Glinda closed her eyes, prayed to the universe for strength, and drank wine.

"And that wasn't the worst of it," Elphaba continued enthusiastically, still unaware of the trauma she had caused. "We also stopped by my university."

Fiyero looked up nostalgically.

"The old State University? God... does that bar where they served whiskey in teacups still exist?"

"Yeah, and it still smells like emotional vomit," Elphaba commented without flinching.

Brrr nodded respectfully.

"A classic."

"And then," Glinda added, now more enthusiastic, "we ended up at a comic book convention."

Tibbett gasped.

"You guys went to a comic book convention?!"

"Yeah..." Elphaba said, looking at her plate. "And it turns out there's like... fan art of us. Lots of it. In lots of poses. Too many poses."

"And merchandise!" Glinda added. "There were people selling our dolls!"

"I saw one where I had a whip," Elphaba said with a raised eyebrow. "Glinda bought it."

"It was a limited edition!" Glinda defended herself.

The table erupted in laughter. Some in disbelief, others in genuine admiration. Crope was already Googling "WitchyWest action figure." Tibbett was asking if there was a Christmas version. Clutch, naturally, confused everything:

"Oh, but look at her, so radiant, so healthy..." Clutch said, narrowing his eyes with charming suspicion at Glinda. "I know that glow! It's pregnancy."

Silence. Complete.

Larena almost knocked over her glass.

"What did you say?!"

Tibbett shouted "I KNEW IT!" with pure excitement.

Boq dropped his fork.

Fiyero muttered "Green gods..." and Wiz already had her cell phone in hand, searching for baby names.

"I'm not pregnant!" Glinda yelled, her eyes wide open. "I've never been so not pregnant in my life!" she added, completely red-faced.

Clutch, unfazed, replied, "That's what you used to say when you were a teenager and hid cookies under the bed."

Elphaba choked on her glass of water.

Larena almost stood up.

"Is that what you meant tonight?! That they're having a child out of wedlock?!"

"No, Mother!" Glinda yelled as she tried to get her to sit down. "No one's pregnant!" It was a damned celebratory comment from a senile lady!" "I'm not senile," Clutch murmured, "I just have a powerful intuition."

Brrr, she was already crying with laughter. Tibbett was fanning Glinda with a napkin while singing a lullaby.

"STOP!" Elphaba shouted, standing up.

The table froze.

"We're not pregnant, we're not married to a forest spirit, we're not living in a nudist commune. Tonight we just wanted... we wanted to share a meal with the people we love. And if everyone would just be quiet for a moment, maybe we could say what we wanted to say."

Glinda, her heart racing, looked at her. Elphaba held out her hand.

The room quieted. Everyone was waiting. Glinda stood, still stunned, and took her glass.

"The truth is... we're engaged," she said.

A heartbeat of silence. And then, the explosion.

"I KNEW IT!"  Brrr shouted, pointing at the glass as if it were a clue. "That glow wasn't pregnancy, it was marriage!"

Highmuster stood up with tears in his eyes.

Larena remained seated... and nodded. Just once.

Applause, laughter, tears, and toasts spilled out of the penthouse. As Glinda clung to Elphaba with a mixture of love, giddiness, and relief, they both knew the evening hadn't been perfect.

It had been chaotic, absurd, and totally unrepeatable.

In short: it had been completely theirs.

Amid the rising murmur of congratulations, impromptu toasts, and shouts of "We want a beach wedding!" and "I'll be the drag matron of honor!" Glinda twirled like an enchanted ballerina, raising her hand so everyone could see her ring. Tibbett claimed it was sky-blue sapphire, Crope asserted it was aquamarine, and Glizz declared it was clearly Ural Mountain crystal. Glinda, of course, said it was “simply perfect,” while leaving everyone to debate.

Highmuster, glass in hand, his face beaming with joy, recounted for the third time the story of how Elphaba asked for his blessing. He did so as if narrating a scene from a Victorian novel: “And then, barely through the door, without even unpacking our suitcases, this young woman asked me… formally, in a firm but nervous voice, for my daughter’s hand.”

"I almost had a heart attack!" she added dramatically, placing her hand on her chest.

"Only because you couldn't find your glasses," Elphaba replied with a half-smile.

Fiyero, dying of laughter, raised his glass to her.

"And you're telling me you're not romantic?"

"I'm efficient," Elphaba replied tersely. "Which is much better."

Laughter filled the air again.

But amidst the torrent of voices, a figure crossed the room with the precision of an arrow. Larena strode firmly toward Elphaba. The commotion around them seemed to blur. Elphaba sensed her approach. She straightened her shoulders instinctively. Glinda, from across the room, stopped laughing at the sight. She slowly lowered her glass.

"Miss Thropp," Larena said without preamble.

"Mrs. Upland," Elphaba replied with careful kindness.

"So... engagement," Larena said, her icy eyes boring into Elphaba's.

"Yes, though Glinda prefers 'indestructible mystical alliance sealed by the cosmos.' But on legal forms we use 'engagement,'" Elphaba replied with a crooked half-smile.

Silence.

Larena raised a slight eyebrow. Her gaze swept the room, lingering for just a second on Glinda's display of the ring to Boq and Glizz, on Highmuster recounting the story of the request for a blessing as if recounting the coronation of a queen.

"I must admit, it was... a surprise."

"Oh, it helps," Elphaba chimed in gently. "It was for Glinda too. I proposed to her right after we returned from our trip in her childhood bedroom... I wanted it to be somewhere meaningful to her."

Larena looked at the ring, then at Glinda, who from a distance was pretending to be deeply interested in a tray of cookies.

"Have they told your family yet?" she asked, in her classic inquisitive tone, like someone sticking a needle into an apple to see if it's ripe.

The question fell like a silent weight. Elphaba lowered her gaze for a second. Not with shame, but with the kind of honesty that burns slowly.

"Not yet," she said bluntly. "Things aren't easy with my family right now."

Larena nodded slowly, without judgment. For a moment, it seemed she might simply walk away. But something in Elphaba's expression, in the tension she still carried in her back, held her back.

And then, with unexpected calm, Larena said,

"It wasn't easy with Glinda either. It never was. I thought I was being a good mother, demanding excellence, pushing her, keeping her 'centered.' But I never wondered if that center was really hers."

Elphaba looked up in surprise. Larena continued,

"And yet, she insisted on loving me. Despite my mistakes. Despite everything."

Elphaba didn't know how to respond.

"And you..." Larena paused, barely. "You're the only person in years who's managed to get her to walk forward without looking back. I suppose that also deserves some... gratitude."

It was an unassuming acknowledgment, but more sincere than any toast in that room.

Elphaba simply nodded. She didn't say thank you. She didn't bow or make a witty comment. She just nodded. Because she knew that, coming from Larena, that was the closest thing to an "I accept you" she was going to get.

And for both of them, it was enough.

Glinda, from a distance, watched them. She didn't hear a word, but she saw the gesture. And she smiled.

And suddenly, Wiz, with the theatricality of a Broadway star and the charisma of a godmother blessed by divas, climbed onto one of the dining room chairs (very tall, by the way), raised her glass, and declared in a resonant voice:

"Let's celebrate this union properly! Because if there's one thing these two witches deserve, it's a good party, with loud music, ridiculous people, and wine even on their feet!"

Before anyone could stop her, the volume rose with a burst of Christmas carols remixed with electronic pop, and the room became an impromptu dance floor.

Glinda, radiant in her champagne-hued frosted dress, took Elphaba's hand, and she barely managed to drop her glass before being dragged to the center of the room. The smile escaped her lips, even as she tried to feign dignity in her navy blazer.

"You're dancing with me, Thropp, there's no escape!" Glinda yelled back, giggling.

"Is this the true eternal damnation for falling in love with an Upland girl?" Elphaba replied, tenderly dropping the sarcasm.

They moved among the Christmas lights and laughter, clumsy but complicit, with a joy that can only arise when love, acceptance, and Christmas madness are mixed in equal measure. Around them, the party erupted.

Tibbett twirled Highmuster around like he was his tango partner, Crope took selfies with Mrs. Clutch, who apparently thought it was all a theme party thrown by royalty, Fiyero tried to teach Boq how to salsa (unsuccessfully), while Glizz watched it all with the majestic impassivity of a polar bear in a gay club.

Brrr was already doing impromptu stand-up from the kitchen island, recounting the story of how he met a girl who thought “Sodom” was a brand of perfume.

The music, the lights, the laughter, the wine. Everything collapsed into that beautiful chaos that only happens when all the pieces—twisted, disparate, wounded, but real—come together and function.

And in the midst of that whirlwind, Elphaba and Glinda twirled on their own axis. They danced slowly, then quickly, then stumbled, then laughed again. And as Glinda hid her face in Elphaba's neck, she murmured between giggles, "Do you think we'll ever have a normal Christmas?"

"And who would want that?" Elphaba replied, gently kissing her temple.

The imaginary camera zoomed out, as if this were the end of an art-house Christmas movie: background music, twinkling lights, friends dancing in slow motion, and two women embracing at the center of the world they'd built together, imperfect, chaotic, and deeply theirs.

Because sometimes, Christmas isn't about peace or order.

It's about a beautiful chaos, full of people who accept you as you are.

The music continued to play, although now it had adopted a softer, almost nostalgic rhythm, as if the night itself had decided to lower the volume after so much euphoria. Inside the penthouse, Christmas lights flickered lazily over the bodies scattered on armchairs and rugs, some half asleep, others clutching a glass of wine as if it were their anchor to the present. Echoes of laughter and anecdotes floated in the air like the sweet smoke of a recently extinguished candle.

Elphaba, with the sleeves of her blazer rolled up and a glass in each hand, navigated the remains of a celebration that refused to die. There was something about that chaos—the crumbs on the carpet, the poorly washed glasses, the coats piled in a corner—that she found strangely beautiful. As if every imperfection of the night made it more real. More human.

As she passed the long table, she noticed Fiyero was no longer there. She had seen him recently with Boq, talking about business, about some renovation for the club, about how hot Glizz was for Boq (too hot, according to Crope). But now he was gone. It was almost instinctive, that gesture of raising her gaze toward the window. And there she saw him: standing, leaning against the balcony railing, alone, with a glass of whiskey in his hand, his gaze lost in the snowy city that stretched beyond the glass.

Elphaba placed the empty glasses on a tray and approached. She carefully slid the sliding door open, the cold air caressing her skin like a warning, and crossed the threshold with silent steps.

"Do you have a cigarette?" Elphaba asked, closing the door behind her.

Fiyero turned with a smile.

"I knew you'd eventually crack."

He took the pack from his inside pocket and offered her one. Elphaba took it with a grimace of resignation and brought it to her lips. Fiyero lit it together, and for a moment, they shared the fire as if they were sharing an old secret.

"I didn't smoke most of the trip," Elphaba said, slowly exhaling. "Glinda hates it. She says it gives me 'burnt furniture's breath."

Fiyero laughed heartily, his laughter echoing in the emptiness of the night.

"Ah, love."

"Sacrifice," she corrected mockingly.

They both stared at the horizon, the Emerald City stretching out before them like a carpet of flickering lights. Fiyero glanced at her, his smile different. Not mocking. Warm. Genuine.

"You look different."

Elphaba raised an eyebrow at him.

"Older? More civilized? More domesticated?"

"More you," he said simply. More... at peace. I guess that's it.

Elphaba looked down, playing with the cigarette between her fingers.

"Sometimes. There are days when I think so... that I've finally found something resembling a home. Or at least, a starting point."

"And to think that a year ago," Fiyero said, exhaling a puff of smoke, "on this very date, you and Glinda... had gone your separate ways."

The comment floated between them like a ghost.

Elphaba didn't respond right away. She just stared at the lights. Then, almost in a whisper:

"It was the worst night of my life."

Fiyero nodded. No more need be said. He knew. He'd seen it. He'd been there when Elphaba, her makeup smeared and her pride shattered, appeared alone in the snow, seeking to escape a world she couldn't stand... but leaving behind the only thing that mattered to her.

"But now you're here," he said with a smile. "With her. With all of this." They survived.

"Yes. I suppose so," Elphaba said, glancing inside, where Glinda was laughing with Crope while Mrs. Clutch took her picture for no apparent reason. "Though sometimes I feel like I'm living a borrowed life. Like someone else earned this peace, and I'm just looking after it for a while."

Fiyero turned to her gently.

"It's not borrowed, Fae. You built it the hard way. And that's worth more than anything that comes wrapped in a bow."

Elphaba smiled, small and sincere.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Besides," she added with a knowing laugh, "if I don't tell you, who will? Tibbett? Glizz? Your mother-in-law?"

"Does Glinda count?"

"No. Glinda is required by law to tell you that you're brilliant, beautiful, and right about everything."

They both laughed. The night felt lighter now. More honest.

Elphaba stubbed out her cigarette, crushed it out in the wrought-iron ashtray, and took a deep breath. Then she looked at her friend.

"Thanks for being here, Fiyero. For never leaving completely."

Fiyero winked at her.

"And miss this Christmas soap opera? No way."

The snow fell in small, persistent flakes, as if the city couldn't help but dress in white once more. On the balcony, the warm light inside contrasted with the cold blue outside, and between those two worlds, Fiyero and Elphaba shared a corner suspended in time. Elphaba's cigarette burned slowly in her fingers, forgotten, while the steam of their breaths danced between them.

They laughed at something they no longer remembered, a joke lost in the echoes of the night. And in that pause, where laughter settled and vulnerability peeked through, Elphaba lowered her gaze and said, almost as if throwing a stone into the water:

"I came home, Fiyero."

He looked at her silently. He knew that "home," for her, wasn't just any word. It was an old wound.

"And, as expected... all the shit came out."

Elphaba pressed her lips together. He wasn't the type to talk for the sake of talking, and what was coming wasn't something he usually shared with anyone. But tonight, something was different. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the snow. Maybe it was just time.

"It wasn't just Dorothy," he continued. "I discovered things... about my family. About me."

"What kind of things?" Fiyero asked gently, leaning on the railing.

It took Elphaba a second to say it.

"That the man who raised me... wasn't my father."

The silence that fell was immediate, thick, colder than snow.

Fiyero stared at her, speechless. He knew him. He knew every bitter detail of that relationship, every story she had reluctantly told, every invisible scar. But this... this was something else. As if the entire map she knew had been drawn in soluble ink.

"Elphaba..." he murmured, but didn't know what else to say.

She didn't need comfort. I needed space to talk.

"I felt empty. Falsified. As if everything that had hurt me my whole life... wasn't even mine. I felt robbed of something I never had. I was angry with myself for... for hurting over something that wasn't mine?"

"You don't have to justify what you feel," Fiyero told her firmly, not looking at her as a friend, but as someone who, for once, wanted to be her mirror.

Elphaba swallowed.

"For a moment... I felt so lost I wanted to disappear. I wanted to escape from everything. Even from Glinda."

The confession came out in a whisper, but it resounded like thunder in both of their chests.

Fiyero watched her in surprise, not because of the content—he knew well how self-destructive Elphaba could be when grief overwhelmed her—but because of the vulnerability with which she said it. As if she were speaking from an abyss she had managed to crawl out of.

"And why didn't you?" he asked carefully.

Elphaba looked at him then. Her eyes were tired, but clear.

"Because Glinda stayed. Because she held me even when I didn't understand why I was falling. Because she didn't demand that I explain anything to her. She was just... there. And that's why it terrifies me. Knowing I was one step away from losing all of this."

"But you didn't lose it," Fiyero said. "You have her. You have each other."

"And I'm not running away again."

For a long moment, the wind did all the talking. Then Fiyero reached out and pulled her toward him in a brief, awkward, but true hug. Elphaba let him hold her. Just for a second. Just long enough.

"You are strong, El," he said. "But that doesn't mean you have to fight alone all the time."

"I know," she murmured, looking at the city lights. "I know now."

A soft burst of music came from inside. A classic Christmas song in a jazz version. And between the chords, Glinda's voice laughing with someone.

Elphaba smiled faintly.

"I'm going inside before I get philosophical and Glinda decides to kick me out for ruining the party vibe."

Fiyero nodded.

"Too late. I already lit some incense just in case."

They both laughed. Elphaba put out her cigarette on the railing and turned around. Before entering, she stopped and looked at him.

"Thanks for listening."

"Always." And with a smile. "Besides, if you ever need a club to unwind, you know where to find me. The stage is yours."

"What if I prefer to write?"

"Then do it. But make me a supporting character. And make it good, please."

Elphaba laughed and went inside.

FUTURE:

"Did she fall asleep standing up or something?" —said the girl, with the tone of someone who'd lost her patience.

Elphaba blinked. She came back to reality as if she'd emerged from a long, dusty tunnel. She'd been staring at a gondola of interactive dolls singing Christmas carols on a loop, but she hadn't heard a single note. She turned to the girl and, with a mixture of discomfort and resignation, tried to improvise.

"Sorry," Elphaba mumbled, adjusting her glasses. "Where were we?"

"At the balcony. When the (not)prince showed up," she said, with a mixture of excitement and complaint. "But I didn't understand what they were doing. Why did they go outside?"

Elphaba hesitated.

"They were... eating candy canes," she said finally, with an awkward smile.

"Canes? With a funeral face?"

"They were very intense canes," Elphaba added, shrugging his shoulders.

The girl's mouth twisted, clearly not swallowing a word.

"And then you said... that your girlfriend stayed. That he wouldn't let her go. But that it scared you. Why would you be scared of something like that? Isn't it supposed that if someone loves you... that's beautiful?"

The question was so direct, so honest, it took her breath away. For a moment, Elphaba considered lying. Telling him that of course, yes, love was like in stories. That it was all simple.

But the girl had already read the webcomic. And she had heard the story. And she was standing beside him with that keen insistence children have when they sense a gap between what is said and what is felt.

So Elphaba told the truth.

"Because... when someone truly loves you, and stays with you even when you don't know how to stay with yourself... that's scary." She stopped. Then she added, in a low voice. "Because it makes you real."

The girl frowned.

"Real?"

"Yes. When someone sees you, really... there's nowhere to hide. You can't pretend, you can't lie. All the good and bad in you... is there. And if they stay the same... then you can't escape."

The girl looked thoughtful.

"But that sounds nice."

"It is," Elphaba said. "But it's scary."

The girl looked at her as if trying to understand something too abstract for her age, but that she could still sense. Then she sighed.

"Grown-ups complicate everything."

"Quite a bit," Elphaba agreed, this time actually laughing.

The line moved forward. The toy store was closer to the end than the beginning.

And Elphaba felt... a little lighter.

Suddenly the girl started again, recalling information that she said was crucial to understanding this situation and directly related to these feelings.

"At number forty-eight, emotional storm special," the girl said, lowering her voice as if sharing a state secret, "WitchyWest is having a meltdown because she thinks GoodGlim is going to run off with that blond prince knight... what was his name?"

"Lumino?" Elphaba ventured, with a mixture of mockery and annoyance.

"That one! Who was actually a scarecrow controlled by magic from the future. But Witchy didn't know that! And he goes to the top of a mountain to scream at the sky. Literally. To scream at it. With lightning bolts and everything. And when GoodGlim finds her, Witchy says something like, 'Don't look at me like that, I'm the storm, not the princess.' Remember?"

Elphaba let out a soft laugh. She put her fingers to her forehead and shook her head.

"Gods... how ridiculous."

"But it was so sweet!" the girl insisted, her eyes sparkling. Because then GoodGlim hugged her anyway, even though she was all wet and muddy. And he told her he didn't need her to be a princess, that he liked her like that... with lightning bolts and all.

Elphaba bit her lip.

Yes, it was ridiculous. The unnecessary costumes. The corny metaphors. The absurd drama. But... it was also true.

There had been times in her life—more than she could count—when she'd felt like that. Like a cluster of black clouds, furious, thundering inside. And yet, Glinda had hugged her. Wet. Crazy. On fire.

"Did that really happen to you?" the girl asked suddenly, her gaze sharp. "That thought of her running away with someone else?"

Elphaba hesitated.

It wasn't exactly what had happened, but the feeling... that icy pang in her chest, that urge to flee before being abandoned... yes, she knew that well.

"Something like that," she finally admitted. "There was no Scarecrow Prince, but yes... there were times I thought I was going to lose her."

The girl looked at her. Not with pity, but with something close to respect.

"But she didn't lose her."

"No."

"Then... maybe it's a superhero story too. But without a cape."

Elphaba turned her face slightly, surprised by the remark. And then, without knowing why, she thought of the kitchen in her penthouse. Of Glinda wearing her ridiculous reindeer apron, covered in flour, fighting with a stubborn frosting while muttering curses under her breath.

Yes, Elphaba thought. That was heroic.

"Perhaps it was," she replied with a faint smile. "But don't tell anyone." You'd ruin my reputation.

"Deal," the girl said, closing her lips with a solemn gesture.

PRESENT:

In a corner of the penthouse lit by the warm lights of the half-dimmed tree and the reflection of empty canopies, the party had become that strange limbo between climax and farewell. The music played softly, like a background breeze, just enough to keep the conversations going effortlessly, but also enough so that no one noticed how much fatigue already hung in the air.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the living room, Crope and Brrr had set themselves a task with the dedication of two drunken scientists: to interrogate Glizz. Not out of genuine curiosity, of course, but for the pure pleasure of disorder. Glizz, sitting with the hieratic grace of a banished tsarina, answered each question with perfectly structured English and a tone so dry that she managed, unintentionally, to further unnerve Glinda, who at that moment was across the room trying to cut a fruitcake with an expression that oscillated between homicidal and resigned.

"Favorite color?"

"Imperial blue. Like royal blood."

"Favorite food?"

"Meat. Raw."

"Holiday drink?"

"Vodka. No stuff."

Glinda, from the table, was stabbing at the fruit tart with a strained smile, as if the candied fruit were to blame for this whole situation.

"See?" Crope said theatrically to everyone present. "She's like a Slavic mafia version of Glinda! I love it! It's as if Glinda was born in the Balkans and had a personal squad of bodyguards!"

"I have a personal squad," said Glizz, completely serious.

Glinda dropped the knife with a dramatic sigh onto the marble countertop of the open kitchen and murmured, "Anyone want me to stick a piece of candied peach in their eye? Because I'm available."

Boq, oblivious (or feigning oblivious) to the chaos, was trying to carry on a conversation with Mrs. Clutch, who was comfortably ensconced between him and The Wiz on a low sofa, staring at a star-shaped ornament hanging from the ceiling.

"And you, Mrs. Clutch, what do you think of spiced wine?" —The Wiz ventured, with a charming smile and a glass in hand.

—I think we're in the Tsar's castle,—Clutch replied with complete conviction.—And you're a pagan priest. I knew it. I always knew it.

—Oh, dear,—Wiz replied, without missing a beat.—I wish I were a pagan. But I have too many bills to pay. Here's to your lucidity!

Boq nodded enthusiastically, though he didn't seem to fully understand. Instead, he looked at Glinda with a stupid grin and gave her a thumbs-up. Glinda gave him a cold stare.

And, as if that weren't enough, on the sofa in the back, Larena Upland was sitting very upright, holding a glass of still water and a clinically analytical gaze directed toward one of the walls decorated by Elphaba. In particular, she was examining a framed black-and-white abstract print that Elphaba had found at a Montreal street fair, which she described as representing “the transience of thought and desire as overlapping layers in conflict.” According to Larena, it looked like an X-ray of a troubled stomach.

The background music had started playing again, soft and welcoming, as if the house itself were trying to redirect the evening's emotional course after the chaos of equivocal greetings and erratic toasts. A few feet away from the hubbub, Highmuster approached Larena with the discretion of someone who had already lived through many complicated Christmases and didn't want to add another to the list.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked gently, pointing to the edge of the sofa where she was still staring at Elphaba's abstract print, as if waiting for it to shift shape and reveal some hidden meaning.

Larena nodded wordlessly. And so, husband and wife—or something close to them—sat side by side, hands clasped on their knees, looking at the decor together, like two tourists in a place that no longer belongs to them but is familiar to them.

"Do you remember when we were putting up the tree with Glinda?" Highmuster said after a long silence. "She always insisted on putting up the lights first, even before the branches were hung."

"And she got angry when they weren't straight," Larena added, with a small, almost invisible smile. "She said the chaos in the lights caused chaos in the soul."

"And I thought I got that from you," he said with a warm laugh.

"And I thought I got that from you," she replied, just as softly. They glanced at each other. An implicit truce, if only for a few minutes.

Larena took a deep breath, her fingers playing with the rim of her empty crown.

"She grew up so fast," she said. "And at the same time... she still talks like she did when she was seven whenever she complains about the wind blowing in her face."

They both laughed softly. It was an honest sound. A sound from another time. Of Christmases in other houses, with other trees, with different lights.

"It's not the marriage you imagined for her, is it?" Highmuster asked, without judgment, only with curiosity. With affection.

Larena didn't respond immediately. Her gaze remained fixed on the reflections on the wall, as if reading some secret message in them.

"No," she said finally. "It's not. I imagined something... more traditional. Something easier. Something safer. Something that wouldn't involve endless explanations to aunts and godmothers, or suspicious glances at charity events."

She turned to him, and for the first time that night, her eyes weren't hard. There was no judgment, no complaint. Only sincerity.

"But when I look at her with Elphaba," he continued, "I see... something I didn't expect. The way he listens. How he calms her. How he lets her be... without softening her. Without asking her to be less. And I realize that Glinda chose what she needed." What she does well. And that... that's worth more than all the perfectly arranged marriages in the world.

Highmuster nodded, with an emotion he didn't try to hide.

"I knew you saw it too. You always knew. Even if you didn't say so."

She let out a very small laugh, dry but not bitter.

"I didn't want her to have to fight for what she wants the way I did. But maybe that was my fight too. Not hers."

Highmuster took her hand, barely, with a gesture that felt more like a farewell than usual. She didn't take it away.

"Shall we tell her?" he asked. The question floated between them like a snowflake that never quite falls.

Larena swallowed. She looked toward the dining room, where Glinda was smiling while pretending to laugh at some of Crope's jokes. She saw her move with that unique energy of hers, as if she carried an entire constellation of emotions within her and knew how to manipulate them with grace. A part of her—the mother—wanted to protect that smile, no matter the cost. But another part—the woman—knew that the silent lie would only hurt more.

"Not tonight," she finally said, softly, without absolute resolve. "But soon. Before he hears it from somewhere else. Before he begins to notice what he's already beginning to suspect."

Highmuster nodded.

"Not tonight," he repeated. "Tonight... is his night."

The silence lasted for a moment until Highmuster sighed again. It was a long sigh, as if a conversation was taking place inside him and he already knew how it would end.

"Are you going to blame yourself?" he asked, though his voice sounded less like a question than an inevitable statement.

Larena nodded slowly, her gaze lowered, her glass forgotten on her knees.

"She already does. She's been doing it for a long time. Every time we argue, every time something doesn't work out. She thinks it's because of her fight with me, because she chose her over 'the family,' as she calls it..." She gave a small, pained smile. "As if a family could be reduced to what happens at a Sunday dinner."

"I don't want her to carry that burden," Highmuster said. His voice had that deep, almost broken tenderness of men who only cry when no one is looking. "It's not her fault. It was never her fault."

"No," Larena agreed without a second thought. "It was ours. Both of ours. Life's fault. The years that pass and the things we start to stop saying. Not out of malice. Out of tiredness. Out of routine."

They looked at each other. Not with hatred. Not with nostalgia. But with that recognition that only those who were once a home have.

"Do you still dream of the ranch on the coast?" "Larena asked, barely above a whisper.

Highmuster smiled tenderly and shook his head.

"No. I think that dream ended when we started living in separate houses... even sleeping in the same one."

Larena looked down, but didn't remove the hand he'd placed on hers. And in that silence, without recriminations, without reproaches, they talked about what was most important: the love that still existed... but that was no longer the love of a couple, but something different, older, softer. Like a folded blanket at the back of a closet that one no longer needs, but could never throw away.

"She deserves to be happy," Highmuster said, looking at his daughter from a distance, without seeing her. "With everything. With the wedding. With Elphaba. With her house full of paper stars."

"And she will be," Larena said firmly, but her eyes moistened for a moment. "I just hope she knows this isn't her fault. That it never was."

"So... When do we tell her?" he asked, almost voiceless.

Larena didn't answer right away. She looked at the lights, at the table, at the reflection of Glinda laughing on the other side, pretending not to care about the whole world.

"Soon," she said finally. "After the holidays. When the three of us can sit down. And talk... like adults."

But what neither of them knew—what they hadn't even imagined in their moment of melancholic complicity—was that just on the other side of the wall, Glinda was there. Standing. Motionless. Her hands closed over her chest as if she were holding her heart.

She didn't know how she'd ended up there, following the echoes of his name, following the need to confirm a feeling. And now, the words echoed inside her, while her face cracked into an expression somewhere between pain, understanding... and deep tenderness.

There was no anger. There was no surprise. Only a deep, silent sadness, the kind that doesn't scream or fall to the ground, but settles in your bones.

She pressed her lips together, took a deep breath, and, for the first time, didn't try to hide her emotions or rush to fix everything. She just stood there, silent, accompanying her parents from afar... like the adult woman she was now, but also like the little girl who, inside, was still searching for a way to make everything right again.

And suddenly, Tibbett's scream cut through the air like a bell.

"TWELVE IS COMING!! Christmas is imminent! Let no one be without a drink, a partner, or something shiny!"

The lights flickered with festive enthusiasm as a new song began to play, a nostalgic and cheerful medley, a jazzy version of some classic carol that filled the room with renewed energy. The laughter reignited like a restarted engine, toasts were raised, and one by one, everyone began to move toward the center of the room, where The Wiz was already improvising dance moves with a glass balanced on his head, and Brrr was twirling like an elegant ghost trapped in his own show.

In the dimness of the hallway, Glinda quickly, carefully, wiped her eyes. The tear had silently flowed down her cheek, without breaking it. It wasn't a tear of anger or resignation. It was... like a closure. Like a chapter finally being understood. She took a deep breath, once. And then again. She smiled inside, because she knew that if she walked through that door with her eyes shining, more than one person would assume she'd cried over Glizzz's hairdo or the crooked star on the tree. So, with all the dignity of a woman who carries many more stories than she tells, Glinda Upland smoothed her dress, put on her best smile—her real one, not the one in the photos—and returned to the living room.

He saw her immediately. Among them all. As if the entire room had fallen silent for a second. Elphaba looked for her, standing next to the tree, surrounded by lights, by friends, by warmth... but with that slight raised eyebrow that said, "Are you okay?" without words.

Glinda crossed the room as if the rest didn't exist, and Elphaba welcomed her with open arms. No questions needed. No explanations needed. It was enough for their hands to meet.

"Shall we dance?" Elphaba whispered.

"Only if you promise not to step on me like in Boston," Glinda replied, smiling.

"That was the ice. And the punch."

They slipped into the center of the room, where the lights flickered red and gold and glasses clinked to the music. Crope and Tibbett were trying to organize an impromptu train, Highmuster was laughing with a paper crown on his head, Boq had lost Glizzz in the crowd, and Mrs. Clutch was dancing in slow motion, thinking she was helping with something. And amidst all that chaos, amidst the music and the laughter, amidst what was and what they didn't yet know would be... Glinda and Elphaba danced. They held hands, giggled softly, murmured things to each other that no one else could hear.

As they twirled slowly in the center of the room, the warm lights twinkling around them like household stars, Elphaba held Glinda gently by the waist, guiding her in a slow, almost reverent rhythm. They didn't dance to show anything. They didn't dance to impress. They danced simply because that, at that moment, was the only thing that made sense.

But still, as they swayed amidst other people's laughter and clinking glasses, Elphaba saw it. In Glinda's eyes. That shadow of melancholy that shimmered beneath the surface like a firefly trapped in a jar. It wasn't pure sadness, not even pain. It was that subtle blend one only recognizes when one loves someone deeply enough to notice the cracks where others only see brilliance.

She said nothing. Because Elphaba Thropp knew when words were unnecessary. She knew that night was a celebration, but also a night of inner farewells. That although Glinda had smiled, danced, and laughed with her loved ones, her heart still delicately held the conversation she had overheard behind the wall.

So she simply held her a little tighter.

"No matter what comes," she murmured in her beloved's ear. "We will face it together. Because now, Glinda... you are my family."

Glinda closed her eyes. She didn't need to respond with words. Instead, she rested her head on Elphaba's shoulder, as if she could finally let the weight of the night, of the months, of the entire year fall into the one place where everything always made sense.

And so they remained, still, while the party continued to swirl around them. Like the eye of a storm of laughter, jokes, lights, and Christmas songs. Like an anchor in the midst of a gale.

The clock struck twelve.

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!" shouted the entire room, bursting into cheers and applause.

But Elphaba and Glinda didn't move. There was no need.

"Merry Christmas," said Glinda with a warm, moist smile, looking into her eyes. "I've waited so long to tell you in person..."

Elphaba felt something crumble inside her, like an unnecessary defense. She kissed her with the same tenderness with which one keeps a promise within one's soul.

"I know... Merry Christmas, my love."

It was then that Tibbett, with his infallible sense of melodrama, shouted:

"Mistletoe in the center of the room! I repeat: mistletoe in the center of the room!"

They both looked up, and there it was: hanging timidly among the garlands, just above them, a small sprig of mistletoe, a silent and classic witness to that moment.

Glinda smiled.

"Emerald traditions?"

"Rules are rules," Elphaba whispered.

And they kissed.

And that kiss, though brief, though surrounded by laughter, though with a Mrs. Clutch asleep in the armchair and a Glizzz asking what the hell mistletoe was, was a suspended moment. A moment of pure truth.

Their first Christmas.

The first of many.

Together.

And so the rest of the evening passed. As these things often do when everyone has eaten too much, drunk just enough to loosen their inhibitions, and accumulated months—if not years—of untold stories. A slow, messy, dazzling free fall into chaos.

Glizz, regal and imperturbable as a tsarina, became the unwitting butt of every possible joke. First, it was Brrr's comparisons between her and a hybrid of Glinda and a Greek statue, then the bets organized by Tibbett to see how long it would take Boq to realize what everyone was thinking. Crope, naturally, was the master of ceremonies for these playful little cruelties. Boq, in his eternal innocence, didn't catch a single one, which only made the whole thing more charming and ridiculous.

Mrs. Clutch, at one point, mistook The Wiz for her former gardener and asked him if he still planted hydrangeas. No one would correct her. Wiz, always ready for a show, simply replied that hydrangeas now bloomed in sequins.

Fiyero somehow ended up juggling napkins, encouraged by Crope and Brrr, while Highmuster laughed with a glass in his hand and Larena, from the armchair, watched the scene with the kind of silent resignation only reserved for dinner parties where a daughter announces her engagement to a woman she had previously considered a youthful mistake.

But at the center, shining with a different light—softer, warmer, more intimate—were them.

Glinda and Elphaba.

Sitting side by side. Sometimes standing, dancing. Sometimes, hidden in a corner, sharing a stolen piece of cake. Sometimes, simply holding hands, fingers intertwined under the table, as if they needed an anchor point to keep them from floating away from this perfect evening.

Glinda laughed with her eyes closed, her head thrown back. Elphaba watched with fascination, as if she still couldn't believe that laughter was for her. They looked at each other amidst the noise, the toasts, the nonsense, and in each glance there was something silent and immense that no one else could read.

It was their first Christmas without doubts. Without masks. Without hidden plans or uncertainties. The first they lived without thinking about how what they had could break, but knowing, finally, that it wouldn't.

And while the evening was chaotic, hilarious, overwhelming, and unforgettable… amidst it all, there was an invisible thread that held it all together: the love of two women who had traveled a long road—real and emotional—to get there.

And that night, with all the crossfire of awkward questions, whispered confessions, and surprises no one anticipated… the entire city seemed to shine just for them.

Finally, the night came to an end.

One by one, the guests said their goodbyes with laughter and hugs. Fiyero was the last of the group to leave, dragging along a half-asleep Boq and Glizz, who still didn't fully understand what she'd just witnessed but seemed secretly fascinated. The Wiz shouted something about organizing an "alternative drag ceremony" if the wedding was too boring, and Brrr took such a dramatic bow as he left that his hat almost fell into the nougat tray.

Tibbett, glass in hand, solemnly promised that she already had three inspiration folders for Glinda's dress and another two for Elphaba's, "because you never know." Crope, behind her, muttered ironically that the real question was who would survive the organizing committee.

Wiz shouted that he was already designing the bachelorette parties ("one for each emotional state," he clarified), and before they could respond, he was pushing Mrs. Clutch into the elevator as if she were part of a cabaret act.

Glinda said goodbye to her parents without drama. Just long hugs. A few seconds longer than usual. No one said a word. No one mentioned decisions or endings or beginnings. It was a goodbye like so many others, as if everyone had made a tacit pact of silence so that the night would remain intact. At least for a little while longer.

And in the end, when the penthouse door closed and the footsteps died away in the hallway, only the two of them remained.

Glinda and Elphaba stood in the middle of a field of empty cups, fallen streamers, orphaned plates, and breadcrumbs like the happy ruins of a battle won.

Elphaba let out a sigh. A long one. As if she could finally let go of the weight of it all. Glinda took off her shoes and let them fall like armor. Silence fell slowly, like a warm blanket over the sleeping city.

They walked together to the window, where the snow continued to fall silently, enveloping the Emerald City in an almost unreal white. The lights on the buildings flickered like distant candles. The city seemed to breathe slowly. So did they.

Glinda leaned her head on Elphaba's shoulder. Neither of them said anything at first. It was the kind of silence that needed no explanation. The kind that only comes with those who truly know each other.

"We did well, didn't we?" Glinda asked softly.

Elphaba thought of everything: the questions, the overflowing emotions, the secrets still floating between them, the chaos of the guests, the laughter, the spilled wine, the hugs, the kiss under the mistletoe.

"We did it perfectly," she answered simply.

Glinda smiled. A little exhausted. A little happy. Completely in love.

And without moving, with the city stretching out before them like a promise, Elphaba added softly:

"Merry Christmas, my good witch."

Glinda glanced at her, amused.

"Merry Christmas, my bad witch."

And so, between the beautiful chaos of the night and the gentle stillness of the coming dawn, the two of them melted into a slow, long, and silent embrace. A home in each other's arms.

Glinda suddenly jumped as if she had just received an electric shock.

"The gift!" she exclaimed, putting her hands to her head. "My gift for you! I almost forgot!"

And without waiting for a reply, she ran off to the bedroom, leaving a trail of sparkles in the air—or perhaps it was just her sequined scarf flapping like a Christmas victory flag.

Elphaba, still standing by the window, let her head fall back with a sigh of loving resignation.

"Glinda... it's late, it's been a long day," she murmured, speaking more to herself than to her. "We could do it tomorrow..."

But it was useless. She knew there was no point in resisting.

With a tired, but inevitably moved, grunt, she crossed the living room barefoot to the coat rack. She surreptitiously reached into the inside pocket of her navy blue jacket that had been hanging there for hours. Carefully, she pulled out a small box wrapped in very plain brown paper, without bows or decorations, barely closed with a thin red string. She looked at it like someone holding something fragile and extremely important. And then, just as quickly as she'd taken it out, she hid it behind a cushion on the sofa just as Glinda came skipping back with a package in her hands, perfectly wrapped in satiny gold paper, with a white bow of enormous proportions.

"Here it is!" she announced triumphantly, as if she had recovered a sacred relic. "Open it! Open it now!"

Elphaba cocked an eyebrow with mock caution.

"Are you sure it won't explode?"

"Shut up and open it," Glinda replied with a bright smile, sitting down beside her and thrusting the package into her hands as if she accepted no other possible fate.

Elphaba held it for a second between her palms, looking at it as if trying to decipher it by osmosis. Finally, leisurely, she began to remove the bow, unroll the paper, and tear the ribbon with exasperating slowness, only to see Glinda squirm in anxiety beside her.

"You're doing that on purpose," Glinda snapped.

"Absolutely," Elphaba said, flashing a sideways smile.

When she finally opened the box, what she found inside stunned her. It was a hardcover notebook, bound in black leather, with her name stamped in small letters in the bottom corner: E. Thropp. But what left her speechless wasn't that, but what she found inside: the first page had already been written.

A dedication. Written in Glinda's neat handwriting.

"To get you started. Or rather... to keep you going. Because you've been doing it since the day I met you. All that was left was to put it on paper."

Elphaba swallowed, running her fingertip over the words.

"Glinda... this is..."

"Don't say anything," Glinda interrupted, now much more serious, a fierce tenderness shining in her eyes. "I know you're still hesitating, and that you don't know where to begin, but it doesn't matter. Just... do it. Write. The world needs to hear you. I need to."

Elphaba held the notebook as if it were something alive. Something sacred.

And then, without another thought, she reached behind the sofa, reached between the cushions, and pulled out her small brown package.

"Well... now mine looks sadder than a sandwich wrapped in newspaper, but... it's yours."

Glinda smiled excitedly as she carefully unwrapped the red thread. When she opened the small box, her eyes lit up with a glow that had nothing to do with the reflected lights.

Her trembling fingers touched the bracelet: a thin, black band of polished leather, simple but elegant, with a metal clasp engraved with the initials G & E. As soon as she saw it, Glinda knew instantly what it was. It wasn't just a gift. It was the bracelet. The one Elphaba wore the first day they met. That absurd, chaotic, unforgettable day in the Shiz.Corp office, when it all began without either of them knowing.

"Is it... is it the same one?" Glinda whispered, with a mixture of wonder and nostalgia.

Elphaba swallowed and nodded with a small, nervous smile.

"Yes. I found it a few months ago... in a forgotten box. I almost threw it away. But... I don't know, I couldn't. And I had it fixed." "I added this," she said, pointing to the carved initials. "I thought it was... symbolic."

Glinda stroked the surface with her fingers, as if trying to capture the exact memory of that moment between her fingertips. The struggle, the fight, the entanglement of bodies, the burning glances that didn't know they were desire, the suppressed laughter, the fury disguised as judgment... the spark that started it all.

"It was our first bond," Glinda murmured. "Before I knew what it meant. Before we understood each other."

Elphaba sat down beside her, unable to hide the mixture of emotion and shame that flooded her.

"I always talk about the mistakes I made... the things I wish I could change," she said, her voice low but firm. "About that Christmas, a year ago, which I wished with all my heart I could redo. End it differently. But now... now I think if I could go back, I wouldn't change a thing. Because every mistake, every bad decision, every fight, brought us to this moment."

Her green eyes shone, soft and clear. There was no shadow or rancor in her voice. Only certainty.

"And there's nowhere else I'd rather be," she added. "There's no other night I'd rather live than this one. With you."

Glinda swallowed, tears beginning to well up in her eyes without permission, without warning. And yet, she smiled. She smiled with that unique expression of hers, the one that combined absolute vulnerability with a fierce tenderness that made Elphaba tremble inside.

"I wouldn't change a thing either," she whispered. "Because everything, even what hurt, brought us here. To this night. To this gift. To this... 'us.'"

They looked at each other. The world seemed to stop. The lights flickered once more, as if silently applauding. And with their faces so close they could hear each other's heartbeat, Glinda whispered in a trembling voice,

"Merry Christmas, my love."

"Merry Christmas, my Glinda," Elphaba replied, caressing her cheek.

And without any rush, they melted into a long, slow, warm kiss. One of those that need no ceremony or fireworks, because they are enough on their own to seal an entire universe.

In that kiss were all the Christmases past. All the forgiven mistakes. All the battles fought. And all those yet to come.

And they were there. Together. Finally. And forever.

FUTURE:

Elphaba blinked as if waking from a second trance—this time interrupted not by melancholy, but by the plastic clatter of a toy dart bouncing off her forehead with a comical, ridiculous pop. She looked ahead, bewildered, and saw a guilty-looking boy about to fire another shot from his foam gun. Before Elphaba could open her mouth, the girl with her—with the agility of a schoolyard avenger—snatched a rubber ball from a nearby box and threw it at the boy with astonishing accuracy. The projectile hit its target: the boy fell backward with a theatrical groan.

"That's what you get for interrupting!" the little girl declared, as she gracefully settled back at Elphaba's feet, as if nothing had happened.

Elphaba couldn't help but laugh. That little girl was a little whirlwind, but she reminded her a little of someone… or several people. She rubbed her forehead with a smile and looked at the enormous shelf of Christmas boxes, all glowing with artificial light.

"So what happened then?" the girl insisted, crossing her arms. "After the kiss under the mistletoe? After the bracelet? After the party? What happened next?!"

Elphaba looked at her sideways, as if testing how honest she could be with a child her age.

"Then…" she said thoughtfully, tilting her head, "we went to bed."

The girl's eyes widened.

"So?"

"And I gave Glinda her second gift."

"And what was it?"

Elphaba stopped. She opened her mouth, closed it. Opened it again. Closed it again. Then she raised an eyebrow, hesitantly.

"It was… a very special gift. Very intimate." That it's not... necessarily appropriate for... certain ages.

The girl frowned.

"Was it underwear?"

"No!" Elphaba answered quickly, on the verge of choking. "It was... a letter. A very long one. Handwritten."

The girl narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but decided not to press further.

"And after that," Elphaba added, getting back into the swing of things, "we spent the rest of Christmas Day eating leftovers from the party, wrapped in a blanket, watching terrible Christmas movies with incoherent plots, redeemed villains, and talking snowmen."

The girl wrinkled her nose.

"Nothing else?"

"Not everything has to be a grand adventure," Elphaba replied with a wistful smile. "Sometimes, the most important moment of your life is being in silence, with the right person, eating reheated mashed potatoes."

The girl looked disappointed. She crossed her arms, pouting.

"But that was years ago. What happened next? Until now?"

Elphaba was silent for a moment. The bustle of the toy store continued to whizz around as if nothing had happened, but for her, time seemed like a suspended thread. Her gaze fell on a cardboard heart-shaped ornament with wings, hanging crookedly from a hook. And she smiled.

“Afterwards… we lived. There were happy days. And days not so happy. There were arguments. Many reunions. Moves. Books I wrote. Campaigns she led. We adopted a cat who hates everyone except us. We celebrated each anniversary with the most absurd tradition possible. Then we had the greatest gift of our lives, which was sadly followed by many, too many, dirty diapers. And we still say “yes” every day. Even though we don’t have everything figured out.”

“And are you still together?” the girl interrupted, with a mixture of anxiety and hope.

“Of course you are,” Elphaba replied firmly. “We still choose each other. Every day. Sometimes with flowers. Sometimes with patience. Sometimes just by handing each other a cup of coffee without saying a word.”

“And were they happily ever after?”

Elphaba laughed, more softly this time. She crouched down to his level and lovingly ruffled his hair.

“Not always.” But enough times to make it worth it.

The little girl nodded slowly, thoughtfully. As if she realized that maybe that—and not the magical part of a comic book—was what "happily ever after" really meant.

At that moment, the line finally moved forward. And Elphaba, without thinking, took the little girl's hand so she wouldn't get lost among the adults.

"Come on. We don't want to miss the dancing robot Santa."

The little girl laughed loudly.

"I remember that part! The story started there!"

"Exactly." Elphaba smirked. "It all starts in the most absurd places, doesn't it?"

And as they walked together, under the harsh light of the gondolas, with the murmur of pre-recorded Christmas songs in the background and the smell of new plastic in the air, Elphaba thought that maybe, without realizing it, she had just told not just one story... but an entire life.

Elphaba finally reached the checkout like someone reaching the top of a mountain after crossing a blizzard, wild bears, and blaring Christmas music. She placed the infamous talking dinosaur on the belt with a mixture of triumph and resignation. The cashier, wearing an elf hat, gave her an automatic smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"The model that walks, talks, and sings Christmas carols in five languages?" she asked as if it were a threat.

"Yes," Elphaba replied, serious as if signing a contract with the devil himself. "And with no option to turn it off. May she feel it in her soul."

The cashier typed list list listlessly. Elphaba, meanwhile, turned slightly toward her young companion, who now had her cheeks flushed with excitement, her eyes shining, and was clutching her illustrated volume of A Tale of Two Witches to her chest.

"And that's all?" the cashier asked.

Elphaba hesitated only a second. Then she pointed to a side shelf and said,

"And that one, too. The Witches' Book. For her."

The girl jumped.

"Really?" she asked, her voice so excited it cracked a little.

"Christmas, right?" Elphaba replied without looking at her, pulling out her wallet. "Besides, you need to know how your story ends."

The cashier added the book, the bag shifted in weight and shape. Elphaba paid, gathered her things, and the girl, with a twinkle in her eye that only children who still believe anything is possible can have, briefly clung to her coat in an awkward but genuine hug.

"Thanks, WitchyWest."

Elphaba rolled her eyes, but smiled.

"Read wisely, okay? And don't throw any more balls at anyone unless it's really necessary."

"I promise!" —said the girl, before running towards some adults at the back of the store, who were probably convinced that their daughter had escaped to another dimension.

Elphaba watched her for a second longer. The little girl waved enthusiastically before disappearing among the shelves and lights. And Elphaba, without realizing it, returned the gesture with a smile she didn't often show.

Then she turned, grabbed her damn bag with the damn dinosaur that wouldn't stop singing even in hell, and walked out of that store as if emerging from a parallel universe.

The icy night air hit her with the gentleness of an annoying and well-intentioned old friend. She walked to her car with the bag in one hand and her coat tucked into the other, her face reflecting that mix of tiredness and tenderness that only Christmas chaos can generate.

Once inside the vehicle, she closed the door, dropped the bag on the passenger seat, and started the engine. The car responded with a familiar purr, the windshield fogged up slightly from the change in temperature, and Elphaba sat there for a few seconds. No music. No rush. Only the muffled whisper of the Christmas city in the distance, as if the world had been muffled by an invisible layer of snow.

She rested her forehead against the steering wheel for a moment.

"A talking dinosaur..." she murmured with a resigned smile.

But her mind wasn't on the toy, or the queue, or even on the boy with the impossible name for whom the gift was. It was on another story. The story. The one she never thought she'd tell in such a soft voice. That little girl—the one with the bright eyes, the boundless imagination, and the unquestioning faith in the "ridiculous" comic—had made her talk like she hadn't in a long time. She made her see that this series of moments, from the first bracelet shared to the kiss under the mistletoe, weren't just picturesque episodes or sentimental memories... but chapters of something real. Something big. Something that had grown without her fully realizing it. Until now.

She drove in silence. The Christmas lights on the streets flashed by like fleeting reflections, and somewhere between the traffic lights and static radios, she felt something new: a quiet nostalgia. A certainty.

Finally, she reached the building. She parked, turned off the engine, and stared at the entrance for a few seconds. The windows of the penthouse above glowed softly. Warm light. Dancing shadows. Home.

She grabbed her bag and got out of the car.

As she rode up the elevator, she thought about how, over the years, everything had changed. She no longer had to pretend she wasn't afraid. She didn't even have to pretend she had it all figured out. All she had to do was keep showing up. Like that night. Like every night. For Glinda. For her family. For herself.

The elevator doors opened with their signature whir. Elphaba took a deep breath and took a step forward.

Elphaba had barely crossed the threshold of the penthouse when the familiar symphony of home enveloped her: distant Christmas carols playing from the kitchen speaker, the soft hum of excessively flickering Christmas lights, and, of course, the dull roar of domestic chaos manifested in toys on the floor, glitter remnants on the carpet, and what was clearly a Christmas stocking stuffed with applesauce—another “masterpiece” of her son's that neither of them had the heart to discard.

She sighed with resignation and tenderness as she removed her coat with slow, ceremonial movements, as if hanging it up were the closing act of an epic battle. She placed the bag on the dining room table, unable to even open it, and just as she reached up to untie her bootlaces, she heard a voice.

"Have you been good this year... or very, very bad?"

The tone was flirtatious, almost feline, wrapped in a provocative musicality that could only belong to one person. Elphaba turned with a movement of her shoulders and neck as if she feared she'd hallucinated from the lack of caffeine... but no. There was Glinda.

Standing across the living room, leaning casually against the kitchen frame, as if posing for a postcard from a banned F.A.N. calendar, she was wearing a bright red leather catsuit with fuzzy white trim, a bow at the neckline, and vertigo-inducing heels that Elphaba swore were legal weapons in at least three states. Elphaba recognized her immediately: it was the damned "Christmas of Conflict" catsuit—as they had dubbed that night years ago when a role-playing game had ended with a minor fire, two confused neighbors, and an empty fire extinguisher.

Only now, years later, it fit her better. And more perfectly.

Glinda smiled mischievously when she noticed her witch's gaze suspended in time.

"Too much?" she said with a charmingly innocent tilt of her head. "I found it in the box at the back of the closet. As soon as I walked in, I had to cast a spell of willpower to get it to zip up."

Elphaba leaned against the back of the sofa, her jacket halfway off and her eyebrows raised.

"No. It's... historically appropriate."

Glinda walked toward her, her steps slow and theatrical, the leather of her suit creaking softly with each movement.

"I thought you deserved something special for your heroic journey among screeching dragons and talking dinosaurs..." She stopped in front of her, wrapping her arms around her neck. "You were brave, Elphie. Not all witches make it through an hour in the mall toy store."

"Not parents. Not gods." Elphaba smiled, tired but overcome by the scene.

"And... you succeeded?"

"With threats, emotional blackmail, and a frequent-customer bonus, yes."

"Then," Glinda said, leaning her forehead against hers, "let me reward you."

Elphaba chuckled softly and slid her hands down Glinda's waist, feeling the taut, warm material of the dress.

"You do know this technically constitutes Christmas blackmail, right?"

"Shhh," Glinda murmured, sealing her lips with a soft kiss, laced with warmth and tenderness. "It's Christmas. Some misbehavior is allowed if the festive spirit is involved."

"Mommy!" a high-pitched voice suddenly squealed from the top of the stairs, just as Elphaba and Glinda were about to seal the Christmas deal.

Elphaba froze, her lips barely millimeters from Glinda's, as the two strongest instincts in her—maternal and criminal—collided brutally in her head. Without thinking, she shoved Glinda with an urgent and strategic clumsiness behind the Christmas tree. Glinda, with a muffled moan and a swirl of red ribbon, leather, and glitter, disappeared into the branches as if she were part of the scenery.

"Ow!" she whispered indignantly from deep within the foliage, completely sprawled out, one knee caught between two branches decorated with figures made of popsicle sticks and school glue.

Elphaba, at the same time, was already running upstairs with a smile so tight it seemed about to burst. There, on the landing, in his dinosaur pajamas covered in fluorescent stars and his hair tousled from sleep, was her son: a perfect mix of chaos, sweetness, and night watch.

"What are you doing up, little one?" Elphaba said as she picked him up, her heart still racing for not-so-holy reasons.

"I heard noises. I thought they were fighting monsters," she said with complete seriousness as she settled into her mother's neck.

"Sort of..." Elphaba murmured, looking down in some embarrassment.

"Can I help you fight? I have my laser flashlight."

"I'm sure you are, but now what we need is for the little commander to get back to his base of operations and sleep, because Santa already came and took your drawings. And if he sees you awake, he can trade them for broccoli."

"Nooooo!" she cried with laughter, allowing her mother to drag her upstairs while promising that she would fall asleep immediately if they read "A Tale of Two Witches" to her again.

"Not again..." Elphaba sighed with sweet resignation.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Glinda was still collapsed behind the tree, a cellophane star tangled in her hair and a reindeer-shaped ornament stuck in her thigh. She lifted her head just above the edge of the sofa and murmured,

"Merry Christmas, witch... interrupted again."

And with a sigh, a defeated smile, and the lights flickering out of time on her blushing face, she concluded that, however improvised, interrupted, and disastrous it was… this too was another perfect family Christmas.

Notes:

MERRY CHRISTMAS.... In August! Yes, I know this "special" is a bit late, but I wanted to do a Christmas special before the story ends, and I doubt it'll last until the holiday season, so I hope you enjoy it anyway. And I'm announcing that I'll soon begin publishing the fourth season, which will return to a slightly more serialized style than the previous season, which was more episodic. But there are still several surprises, and it will be the longest one yet. Look for it soon!