While the spirals of spiny thorns sprang wildly on the outside of her window, Elphie sat, watching, waiting… she shivered, took deep breaths, tried to concentrate despite the frost that lingered on the thorny tendrils.

It was true, that tonight was Lurinemas Eve.

"Cancel all expectations, all hopes, dreams, all magnitude of this hopeless little thing called life," she said miserably. "And, be sure to cover yourself, thick in size, with layers upon layers of resistance, my dear." And she sighed. "If you were only here…"

It was true… that this was the anniversary… of his death. It was true that she was despaired, in dejection, wallowing herself in angst.

"Preenella, you bastard, give those children not the comfort and graciousness of Lurinemas treats," she said. "Give them your worst wrath rather than. Humble them with the piss of the damned." She then messed with the ragged hem of her sleeve, soon taking out a plain black thread and working it between her teeth; a distraction; a game, if you will.

It was true that she was eclipsed by the own enormity of her guilt, grief, and love. Love that had never been decided true. Perhaps, though… it was not love at all that made her feel as she did, but the fact that she had taken away the love from another. Maybe the enormity of the love should be replaced by the enormity of the abolition? The removal of a loved one from his kin? Elphie spat.

"Dear, dear, Sarima, do not cry…" Elphie soothed, knowing perfectly well that Sarima was layers of floors away, and—in all possibilities—not crying at all, but her own grief made her smitten with the need to heal other's. "Do not cry my dear… your fault, it was not…" she said. Auntie Witch then smiled; a cocky smile, devious in its own. "It was the blasted witch, it was, modest in appearance—'becoming' as dear Nessie would put it—yet broken at heart. So do not cry unwanted tears; enough have been shed as it is, and you, my dear, do not look pretty in red." Elphie's smiled faded, and she presumed in activity with her string.

It was most certainly true that she was coming out of hiding. The poor bitch was finally speaking once more! Spiny words appeared at lips, the doorstep, and stepped out to bite at other's hems. Elphie never took in remorse at the harshness of her words. Words could sting, but they couldn't break bones. Even Liir knew that, in all of his blubbering stupidity! Even Liir… with his dim gaze and quivering self. Elphaba spat again, despite herself.

"Fiyero, Fiyero, Fiyero, you imbecile…" she said fervently. "You should have listened to me!" Elphie stood up and knocked a stack of books clear across the room, making a cloud of dust floated up and surrounded her head, like a storm cloud. She sneezed wildly and tripped over her own skirt. The Witch fell with a heavy thud and got up, rubbing her backside. "I'm too old for this," she muttered.

Elphaba threw open the Grimmerie. "Maybe," she said, "If I had had this in my possession at the time, I could have saved him…" Auntie Witch threw all of her despair out of the window and scanned the lavender pages for anything. She gave up on that too. "Maybe… it was destiny that took him from me…"

Then, Liir scurried out of her doorway, having heard every word. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew that she was upset… and didn't want to get in the middle of it. He slipped out of vision and heard her murmur four last words, "I loved you, Fiyero." Then, he heard her heave a deep breath.