Post by imperfectly_green on Dec 28, 2005 21:51:12 GMT -5
I'm thinking this might turn into something, but I'm not sure what it might be. For now, it's just a test. ;D Read and review!
How had it come to this?
Glinda never thought she would be the one who stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, straining to read the tiny printed words of a giant book. That had always been Elphaba. But never her. Young, shallow Galinda had never understood why Elphie would stay up, sometimes until dawn, reading by the dim light of a single candle. But now Glinda knew. There was no other time of day in which Elphaba could curl up with a book without being interrupted or distracted by some trivial thing or another. It was only at night, when the rest of the world was asleep, that she could really concentrate. Now Elphie was dead, and it was Glinda bent over the book, trying to absorb the meaning of every word.
Glinda smiled at the irony even as tears of frustration trickled down her cheeks. There was no way in Oz that she would ever be able to read this book, this damned Grimmerie. No way.
“Here. Go on. Take this.”
“Elphie, you know I can’t read this.”
“Well, you’ll have to learn.”
It was hopeless, Glinda knew. She tried, every single night, and she had never gotten any closer to deciphering the blasted lettering. The almost comprehensible words become mere calligraphic gibberish once again. Glinda tore her eyes away from the Grimmerie to watch the flames in the fireplace, now reduced merely to flickering tongues of light occasionally visible over the burnt remains of logs. I need something to fuel the fire, Glinda thought, fingering a withered page with one perfect finger. How many times had she considered throwing the book into the fire, ending it all at last? And how many times had she heard Elphaba’s voice, warning her, scolding her, so that every night she resisted?
“You’ll have to learn…”
Flinging open the window, Glinda screamed furiously into the night. “It’s not that easy! Can’t you see?! I’m not you!” Only her echo, bouncing of the cold emerald towers of the Ozian palace, responded. “You…you…you…”
She collapsed against the windowsill, sobbing. “I’m not you…Elphie…”
A knock on the door brought her back to reality. “Miss Glinda?” an unfamiliar voice asked. “Is everything alright?”
Glinda dried her eyes on the elegant green curtains; the salt water wouldn’t ruin them, and besides, she couldn’t let her people see her like this. Even if it was only a guard, or a maid coming to stoke the fire, it was unacceptable for her to be thought of as a hysterical wreck. She finger-combed her curls quickly and stood before calling, “Yes, you may come in,” at the door.
After that, everything happened in a whirlwind. Two men rushed in, they might have been guards, they seemed to have the uniforms, but they moved too quickly, too stealthily, too suspiciously. Glinda didn’t even have time to shout before one clamped his hand over her mouth and pressed her hard against the wall. The other man quietly closed the door as his companion pressed a knife to Glinda’s throat.
“You scream, you die,” he said, removing his hand from Glinda’s face to pin her arms behind her back. She was on the opposite side of the room from the fireplace, unable to make out the man’s features, only able to see the glint of the knife against her throat. “Understood?”
Glinda nodded. She didn’t even try to struggle. Somehow, it seemed that she would die anyway, no matter what she did. Strange, to think that it should end like this. She always thought that her life would be spent carrying on Elphaba’s work, trying desperately to fill the void that her and Fiyero’s deaths had left. Now it seemed it would all be over in a few minutes. Daring to whisper, she asked, “What do you want?”
The man dug the knife into Glinda’s throat just enough to make her wince as the cold steel bit into her neck. “You answer our questions. Now—were you friends with the Wicked Witch of the West?” It seemed more like a statement than a question.
Glinda swallowed. It seemed to be such an irrelevant thing to die for now that Elphaba herself was dead. Why could it possibly matter? It wasn’t as if she would suddenly turn green and take to flying on broomsticks, was it?
But I’m going to die, Glinda realized. I shouldn’t be ashamed. She drew herself up as best she could. “Yes,” she said proudly. “I was.”
The man holding the knife grinned. His companion, seemingly younger, murmured something along the lines of “I knew it” before being cut off with a slight yet threatening move of the man holding the knife’s head. “And,” he said, tightening his hold on Glinda’s arms, in case she tried to bolt, “Do you know where she is now?”
Glinda blinked incredulously. If she had more freedom of movement she would have downright stared at the man. “Elphaba,” she said, pronouncing every syllable, “is dead. She’s been dead for over a year.”
“Is that the way it’s going to be?” the man said, almost maniacally, digging the knife in a little harder. “I’ll ask one more time. Where is the Wicked Witch of the West?”
“She’s dead!” Glinda cried softly. “She’s dead. She was killed by that Dorothy and her dog. She’s—she’s gone.”
In the dim light, she thought she saw the man smile. “I see.”
Glinda closed her eyes, waiting for the man to cut her throat, waiting for the life to pour out of her. Waiting for the final pain.
Nothing came.
She felt herself being thrown aside, and cried out as her head hit the bed frame. She blinked through the blinding ache, trying to see if she could glimpse the men’s features as they left. She recovered too late to see them, but she heard one man’s voice float down the hallway. “If you see her, tell her we have something that…belongs to her. Something she’d like back. She knows who we are.” With that, the men then vanished as suddenly as they had come.
She’s dead, Glinda thought, rubbing her neck. I should be dead. Why did they leave me alive? It hadn’t occurred to her that she had, for one second, actually wanted to die, that for one second, the concept seemed almost welcome. Elphaba and Fiyero were dead, she couldn’t decode the Grimmerie, she’d been made to suffer unbearable humiliation by people who thought Elphaba was alive, and-
People thought Elphaba was alive. But that would be impossible. She was dead. Glinda had seen her melt when Dorothy threw water on her. But, then again, Elphaba had never mentioned being allergic to water. Maybe she had, once, in jest, but Glinda couldn’t remember her ever being serious about it. Glinda had seen her walk in the rain before without an umbrella, Glinda had seen her willingly stick her hand into a pond, Glinda had seen her go swimming without any fear of the water. Suddenly, Elphaba’s death didn’t make sense.
As if on an impulse, Glinda grabbed the Grimmerie, the book that Elphaba put so much trust in, praying that it would have the answer, praying that she would, for once, be able to read it. As she tore through the pages, she could almost hear distant chanting, as if Elphaba was in her head somehow, repeating a spell like the one she had used on the Wizard’s monkeys all those years ago. The chanting swelled to a climax, and then stopped suddenly. Glinda examined the page she was on. And, as if by some mysterious magic, the words seemed to swim and click into place, like pieces from a puzzle finally coming together. Glinda closed her eyes.
“Ama…tsay ele…man el…” she chanted, words sounding all too foreign on her tongue. “Reke ele ina may ane iray kun…eleka name nah!”
Glinda waited desperately for something to happen. Nothing did. Cautiously, she opened her eyes. The words on the page of the Grimmerie were as indecipherable as ever. Had any of it, the men, the spell, had it really happened?
“Miss?” A real maid poked her head shyly around the doorframe. “Is everything alright?”
“Everything,” said Glinda with a mix of bewilderment and sadness, “is perfectly alright. Thank you.”
As the maid back scurried down the hallway, Glinda called, “Send someone to throw another log on the fire.”
The maid’s reply was not audible. Glinda sighed and crawled into her plush blue bed, head aching. It had been a long, long night, she thought, eyelids drooping. She fell asleep with only one thought in her mind.
Elphie might still be alive…
How had it come to this?
Glinda never thought she would be the one who stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, straining to read the tiny printed words of a giant book. That had always been Elphaba. But never her. Young, shallow Galinda had never understood why Elphie would stay up, sometimes until dawn, reading by the dim light of a single candle. But now Glinda knew. There was no other time of day in which Elphaba could curl up with a book without being interrupted or distracted by some trivial thing or another. It was only at night, when the rest of the world was asleep, that she could really concentrate. Now Elphie was dead, and it was Glinda bent over the book, trying to absorb the meaning of every word.
Glinda smiled at the irony even as tears of frustration trickled down her cheeks. There was no way in Oz that she would ever be able to read this book, this damned Grimmerie. No way.
“Here. Go on. Take this.”
“Elphie, you know I can’t read this.”
“Well, you’ll have to learn.”
It was hopeless, Glinda knew. She tried, every single night, and she had never gotten any closer to deciphering the blasted lettering. The almost comprehensible words become mere calligraphic gibberish once again. Glinda tore her eyes away from the Grimmerie to watch the flames in the fireplace, now reduced merely to flickering tongues of light occasionally visible over the burnt remains of logs. I need something to fuel the fire, Glinda thought, fingering a withered page with one perfect finger. How many times had she considered throwing the book into the fire, ending it all at last? And how many times had she heard Elphaba’s voice, warning her, scolding her, so that every night she resisted?
“You’ll have to learn…”
Flinging open the window, Glinda screamed furiously into the night. “It’s not that easy! Can’t you see?! I’m not you!” Only her echo, bouncing of the cold emerald towers of the Ozian palace, responded. “You…you…you…”
She collapsed against the windowsill, sobbing. “I’m not you…Elphie…”
A knock on the door brought her back to reality. “Miss Glinda?” an unfamiliar voice asked. “Is everything alright?”
Glinda dried her eyes on the elegant green curtains; the salt water wouldn’t ruin them, and besides, she couldn’t let her people see her like this. Even if it was only a guard, or a maid coming to stoke the fire, it was unacceptable for her to be thought of as a hysterical wreck. She finger-combed her curls quickly and stood before calling, “Yes, you may come in,” at the door.
After that, everything happened in a whirlwind. Two men rushed in, they might have been guards, they seemed to have the uniforms, but they moved too quickly, too stealthily, too suspiciously. Glinda didn’t even have time to shout before one clamped his hand over her mouth and pressed her hard against the wall. The other man quietly closed the door as his companion pressed a knife to Glinda’s throat.
“You scream, you die,” he said, removing his hand from Glinda’s face to pin her arms behind her back. She was on the opposite side of the room from the fireplace, unable to make out the man’s features, only able to see the glint of the knife against her throat. “Understood?”
Glinda nodded. She didn’t even try to struggle. Somehow, it seemed that she would die anyway, no matter what she did. Strange, to think that it should end like this. She always thought that her life would be spent carrying on Elphaba’s work, trying desperately to fill the void that her and Fiyero’s deaths had left. Now it seemed it would all be over in a few minutes. Daring to whisper, she asked, “What do you want?”
The man dug the knife into Glinda’s throat just enough to make her wince as the cold steel bit into her neck. “You answer our questions. Now—were you friends with the Wicked Witch of the West?” It seemed more like a statement than a question.
Glinda swallowed. It seemed to be such an irrelevant thing to die for now that Elphaba herself was dead. Why could it possibly matter? It wasn’t as if she would suddenly turn green and take to flying on broomsticks, was it?
But I’m going to die, Glinda realized. I shouldn’t be ashamed. She drew herself up as best she could. “Yes,” she said proudly. “I was.”
The man holding the knife grinned. His companion, seemingly younger, murmured something along the lines of “I knew it” before being cut off with a slight yet threatening move of the man holding the knife’s head. “And,” he said, tightening his hold on Glinda’s arms, in case she tried to bolt, “Do you know where she is now?”
Glinda blinked incredulously. If she had more freedom of movement she would have downright stared at the man. “Elphaba,” she said, pronouncing every syllable, “is dead. She’s been dead for over a year.”
“Is that the way it’s going to be?” the man said, almost maniacally, digging the knife in a little harder. “I’ll ask one more time. Where is the Wicked Witch of the West?”
“She’s dead!” Glinda cried softly. “She’s dead. She was killed by that Dorothy and her dog. She’s—she’s gone.”
In the dim light, she thought she saw the man smile. “I see.”
Glinda closed her eyes, waiting for the man to cut her throat, waiting for the life to pour out of her. Waiting for the final pain.
Nothing came.
She felt herself being thrown aside, and cried out as her head hit the bed frame. She blinked through the blinding ache, trying to see if she could glimpse the men’s features as they left. She recovered too late to see them, but she heard one man’s voice float down the hallway. “If you see her, tell her we have something that…belongs to her. Something she’d like back. She knows who we are.” With that, the men then vanished as suddenly as they had come.
She’s dead, Glinda thought, rubbing her neck. I should be dead. Why did they leave me alive? It hadn’t occurred to her that she had, for one second, actually wanted to die, that for one second, the concept seemed almost welcome. Elphaba and Fiyero were dead, she couldn’t decode the Grimmerie, she’d been made to suffer unbearable humiliation by people who thought Elphaba was alive, and-
People thought Elphaba was alive. But that would be impossible. She was dead. Glinda had seen her melt when Dorothy threw water on her. But, then again, Elphaba had never mentioned being allergic to water. Maybe she had, once, in jest, but Glinda couldn’t remember her ever being serious about it. Glinda had seen her walk in the rain before without an umbrella, Glinda had seen her willingly stick her hand into a pond, Glinda had seen her go swimming without any fear of the water. Suddenly, Elphaba’s death didn’t make sense.
As if on an impulse, Glinda grabbed the Grimmerie, the book that Elphaba put so much trust in, praying that it would have the answer, praying that she would, for once, be able to read it. As she tore through the pages, she could almost hear distant chanting, as if Elphaba was in her head somehow, repeating a spell like the one she had used on the Wizard’s monkeys all those years ago. The chanting swelled to a climax, and then stopped suddenly. Glinda examined the page she was on. And, as if by some mysterious magic, the words seemed to swim and click into place, like pieces from a puzzle finally coming together. Glinda closed her eyes.
“Ama…tsay ele…man el…” she chanted, words sounding all too foreign on her tongue. “Reke ele ina may ane iray kun…eleka name nah!”
Glinda waited desperately for something to happen. Nothing did. Cautiously, she opened her eyes. The words on the page of the Grimmerie were as indecipherable as ever. Had any of it, the men, the spell, had it really happened?
“Miss?” A real maid poked her head shyly around the doorframe. “Is everything alright?”
“Everything,” said Glinda with a mix of bewilderment and sadness, “is perfectly alright. Thank you.”
As the maid back scurried down the hallway, Glinda called, “Send someone to throw another log on the fire.”
The maid’s reply was not audible. Glinda sighed and crawled into her plush blue bed, head aching. It had been a long, long night, she thought, eyelids drooping. She fell asleep with only one thought in her mind.
Elphie might still be alive…
The description & characterization are wonderful. ^^
