So much had changed. Times had changed. Politics, money, fashion, everything.

They were no different.

His breath was taken away, and he was suddenly thirty years younger, seeing a frightened girl in a schoolyard. He didn't know whether to run to her and take her in his arms or call the authorities.

Because the battered, broken woman that stood in front of him just was not Elphaba Thropp, the eldest daughter of Frex and Melena.

No, she was the Wicked Witch of the West, and hell bent on revenge. Her once soft, smooth black hair was a mess, knotted in a severe bun at the nape of her neck. Her black dress was dirty, and her hat as well. But... that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was the look in her eyes. When she had been young her eyes had always been undeniably beautiful. Soft and warm chocolate brown, with little flecks of gold and green. They had been innocent eyes, of a girl who loved and wore her heart on her sleeve.

That was gone.

All he could see was those eyes, turned cold by pain and suffering and lonliness.

"Boq." She said softly, taking him in.

He tried to smile. He tried to assure himself that Elphaba was still in there, still holding a part of him. "Miss Elphie."

Later, weeks later, it was all over. Milla had taken his arm, trying to reassure him, or something. She didn't know, and would never know what had once been.

No one knew but him...

The End