No One Mourns the Wicked - But What About the Good?
The slim, blonde woman eases herself carefully into the polished wood seat of the writing desk. A creamy sheet of paper in front of her, she stares at the face behind her eyelids for a moment before touching the paper. Tucking a curly, light sprig behind her ear, she begins.
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Dear Elphie,
It's been a while. I don't know where you are, or how you are, but I hope wherever you are, you are well.
I have been thinking about that day lately. That one where you told me to come with you, that you were going to fight the wizard. I don't know who was right. Maybe I should have gone with you. Together, we could have stopped things from happening the way they did.
Anyway, I'm not dwelling on the past. I wish you could see my house. I decorated it wonderfully. Don't worry - I left one bedroom bare. It's completely utilitarian, just the way you like it. Just in case you're ever in the area...
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The woman pauses in her writing for a moment. She gazes at the sentence she had written for a long while, before turning away. A tear falls from her face and lands on her overcoat, making a darker spot in the material. A plate sits next to her, and a cup of steaming liquid. She sips slowly from the mug, and manages some of the food with a visible effort.
She balls up the first paper, and begins with a fresh sheet.
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Dear Elphie,
You'll never guess what happened to me. My cousin wanted her daughter to learn more about the 'important' people of Oz. Since I am Glinda the Good after all, I took the girl in for a few months.
She was very eager to learn, bright. She reminded me a lot of you.
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The woman looks up from her work again, gazing into the far off space for quite a long time. Finally, she discards that sheet as well, and starts anew, a light behind her eyes now. Her movements are precise and full of some emotion, possibly anger.
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Dear Elphaba,
It is the thirtieth anniversary since you have left me. I know that somewhere, somehow you will get these messages. I would like you to know that not a day goes by that I don't think of you.
My every day, from waking to sleeping, and even after that, is filled with the knowledge that I sat back and did nothing as the people of Oz celebrated your death. I alone know what sort of person you are. I alone bear the guilt of what has happened....
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The uniformed orderly peeks through the door of the bare room. It contains only a bed, and the polished wood writing desk. An elderly woman sits at the desk, her grey hair cascading past her shoulders as she writes feverishly on the sheet of paper in front of her.
"All she does now is write at that desk." The orderly says in a low voice to the woman next to him. "Such a shame, really. She was Glinda the Good, a long time ago." He turns his eyes on the frail figure at the desk, a look of compassion on his face. "She gets like this every time the anniversary rolls around." He sighs, glancing at his companion. "I suppose it was the strain of responsibility that did it."
"Who are the letters to?" The young woman with him asks in a soft voice, so as not to disturb the woman at the desk.
"No one knows." He replies, with a shrug. "She never lets anyone see them." He turns from the door, closing it softly. "It's a shame that someone so Good will die so alone." He says to the girl, as they move down the hallway.
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Author's Notes: I do not own Wicked or Glinda. This fic was based on the musical.
I hope you don't mind that Glinda went crazy. I love Glinda to death, but I really think that eventually she would have gone nuts. She just didn't seem like the type that could take it, and as far as she knew, Elphaba died.
I got the idea for this while listening to the song 'Thank Goodness'. Glinda has a line that goes 'There's a kind of a sort of a... cost. And a couple of things get... lost.'
Apologies for the short fic, but it was an idea I wanted to get out. Thanks for reading.
Love,
B