Disclaimer: I don't own Wicked or its characters, no matter how much I wish I did.

I just remembered the page in the front of this diary.

Isn't it odd to remember something completely irrelevant after all of your adventures are supposedly over? But the memory got me to pull the diary out of its dusty corner and read its pages once again. It's hard to believe how naive I was back then, when I started writing in this old diary. So young, it seems, though in reality I'm not that much older. But I'm so different now that it's hard to believe the girl in the diary is—or should I say, was—me. And, even though I called it a journal in those years, I realize now what it truly is. I recorded emotions in this little book, not just events, so it really is a diary.

I recall that I left the page in the front blank so I could look back and record my reaction to anything that happened during the span of the entries. I don't think I ever expected so dramatic a change. But now, not so many years later, the Elphaba at the beginning seems like a stranger. That Elphaba became, in turn, an enemy to be shunned and hated, a best friend, a misunderstood witch, a witch's sister, a lover, a real witch, and finally, a woman who is haunted by demons of the past but at long, long last content with who she is.

But the diary speaks for itself. If anyone should find this diary, after Fiyero and I are long gone, I entreat you to burn it, to protect the reputations of the living and the dead. These old demons deserve to rest in peace at last. And perhaps (who knows?) the lives of my contemporaries and me will make an entertaining story one day.

Elphaba Thropp