Disclaimer: I do not own Wicked or any of the characters mentioned in this story.

Second Chances
Kirra White Tigress

Glinda the Good was dead.

It was a perfect Spring morning approximately seven-and-a-quarter years after the Witch of the West's demise—if one were basing time on that one particular, yet monumental, event. All of Oz seemed to be in perfect bloom on this one day, a strange occurrence considering that the night before had brought on a horrifying wave of storms. The flowers—even the ones that bloomed in the colder months—were in full blossom; the children were merrily on their way to school; husband and wife were not in an argument that had the potential to spiral into a war….

Everything was perfect.

Or so it seemed….

That same morning, the Emerald Palace was wrought with sorrow—the cause of this, unfortunately, would not be spread or believed until the next evening. It all began when the maid in charge of rousing Lady Glinda from sleep—which the woman was paid heavily for, since this was the most difficult task around—went up to do her morning duty, only to come rushing down the stairs five seconds later, crying and screaming like a banshee. "Tortured!" she sobbed. "Mauled! Why?!"

The state of her body was too gruesome to be recorded, but the full truth was not. They speculated that Lady Glinda was not happy with life—that much was evident from the words etched into the skin of her wrists (but we won't go there)—and rather than someone coming to kill her like they would want happening if such a horrible event were to occur, she took her own life. That was seen by many, if not all, as an abomination, a sin that could never be forgiven. But her fate could not be decided, unlike the rest of the poor inhabitants of theLand. After all, she was the Ultimate Good.

Glinda the Good was dead.

Her soul, however, was not.

-( ~ )-

Contrary to popular belief, there is no "light at the end of the tunnel" or "living flashbacks" before reaching the Afterlife. Either one reaches Heaven, which is presided over by a Good, Supreme Being that is not Lurline nor the Unnamed God; or their soul vanishes completely—there is no alternative, nor were there any exceptions to this unwritten law.

Or were there?

Glinda—or her soul, really, but it looked like her—traveled slowly through darkness, through time and space. The pink essence that surrounded her glowed brightly, piercing in such a way that it seemed to be a light toward which she was led. She was too smart to believe that nonsense, though. Death—freedom from her limited mind and body—had made her more aware of things both natural and supernatural. She knew that her own soul was without a destination; what Fate had decided for her at the beginning of her existence was now deemed inconsequential based on how she lived the majority (or remainder) of her life in Oz.

So…did what they say have merit? Was she really the Ultimate Good, and thus free to decide her own fate?

The blonde sighed, her mind—was it a mind, since she was free from life?—processing events from both past and present. Though her knowledge and memory were more acute than before, she still found it hard to believe that she was pure, of all things. How could she be when she had done so much that was bad? She didn't consider Animals as a race until Doctor Dillamond was fired. She treated people horribly—like playthings, almost—until she was positioned as the Wizard's second-in-command. And Elphaba….

There were so many things that Glinda regretted in her life, things that could never be forgotten or forgiven. She'd been the cause of so much pain and suffering…. And yet they called her Perfect! They had worshipped her like a Queen, a title she didn't deserve! How would they feel if they knew how impure she was—she still was? How would they react if they found out she was the cause of the horrible incidents that they blamed the Witch of the West for?

How would they see me if they knew I was in love with her?

Yes, the Good Witch of the North was in love with the Wicked Witch of the West. Perhaps that was what held her soul at a cross-road. Loving someone of the same sex was among the foulest things a person could do, according to the religions and morals of her fellow Ozians. And since Elphaba was seen as Wicked….

She shook her head. No, she shouldn't be thinking this way. The laws of men had no power over the Universe and Death. Now that she was uninhibited by the weight of their doctrines, Glinda knew that her soul was safe. While homosexuality wasn't encouraged, it didn't keep one from reaching Heaven. Also, although Elphaba Thropp was the most stubborn, reckless, and sharp-tongued woman Glinda had ever met, that didn't qualify her as something so evil. In fact, those same qualities were what made her fall in love with the green woman….

So…why am I here?

For once in her entire life—afterlife, whichever—there was no answer. There was no voice in her subconscious to tell her what to do, or even give her an explanation as to why things were; souls don't have consciences because they are consciences.

For once, Glinda was alone.

The silence was broken by a sudden sob, a sound of anguish. Glinda dropped to her knees—though there was no surface to fall upon—and curled into herself; the pain from the past ten years rushed toward her, unfiltered and increasing in intensity. Tears wouldn't fall, for there was no such thing as tears anymore. She could only whimper and hold herself as the misery tore at her, threatened to eliminate her once and for all….

She needed release. She needed to be calm again, to be able to forget. All she could think about was her beloved Elphie—the woman she loved yet could never tell. So many memories. So many regrets. So much guilt…. The blonde wanted it to go away. It had to go away! Death was supposed to take these things from her, not make them worse! But no, she was trapped with nowhere else to go. She had no escape….

I need to get out of here!

"Why am I here?!" Glinda screamed; her voice echoed throughout the darkness, only reaching her own ears in return. She barely noticed. The pain was too much. "Why must I hurt so? I tried! I only meant the best!...I only meant the best…."

The best is not enough.

"I don't know what I did…. Why am I here?" The blonde curled further into herself, suddenly the fragile Galinda she was at one point in her life. She whimpered. "I want to see her…. I want to start over…."

Start over….

"Give me another chance…. I need to see her…!"

There was no answer.

Glinda shuddered, tearless sobs wracking her form. She remained in this state for what seemed like an eternity, though one can not tell time when trapped in the middle of two realms. The sadness ate at her, ebbing and growing like a river, bringing her closer to insanity. She clung to the perfect memory of the woman she adored—her face, her hair, her beautiful green eyes…. Life wasn't the same without her; Heaven would not be Paradise if she had to endure it in the green woman's absence….

Elphie…. Please come back to me….

And with that, her soul finally disappeared to the place where she belonged.

-( ~ )-

The classroom quickly became similar to a war zone the moment Mrs. Cole walked out with one of her students in tow—another trip to the office for talking back, the fifth time this week. Students talked to each other and about each other; rubber bands were shot across the room to hit a certain target (usually missing); the dry-erase markers became instruments for creativity rather than academic instruction.

Just a typical day at Larouche High School….

Almost.

Eyes glanced toward the back of the room every so often, locking onto a specific person without any attempts at being subtle. The whispers came more frequently, almost loud enough to be heard by others and thus calling more students to the discussion. To be blunt, they did not like what they saw.

"Why is she always with that book? Who reads that psychology shit, anyway?"

"She probably thinks she's better than us."

"I heard that the only reason she gets straight A's is because she fucks all the teachers. That's all people like her are good for."

There were snickers from almost every person in the room, except one. Her bright blue eyes remained locked on the new girl, taking in every detail about her and trying to settle on her own opinion. She had to admit that she was already impressed—with Larouche High School's reputation as a racist institution, there were hardly any black people who would dare to even walk near it. But then again, this girl was obvious not like most people of her ethnicity.

As she looked closer, the blonde realized that the girl's skin wasn't even that dark—it was more of a milk-chocolate color. And her eyes…. As they skimmed the pages of her book, they appeared to be a regular murky brown. But when the girl secretly glanced up every once in a while they turned out to be green.

Something stirred within the blonde's heart—intrigue, she decided. She'd never seen anyone with such brilliant eyes. Not to mention her inability to be intimidated. She must have the entire school against her already…. The blonde flushed a bright pink when those emerald eyes turned on her, but she refused to look away. There was something about this girl that seemed to activate a hidden part of her soul, that spurred her to get up and move closer….

"Lindy, where are you going?" she heard her friend Melanie ask, but she ignored her. There was no way that she was going to segue back into her former place and act like them.

The blonde moved to the desk in front of the dark-skinned girl, sitting on the table with her feet on the seat. She watched her closely, her mind tripping over the right thing to say first. Where did you come from? What's your name? Welcome to Larouche High; my name is…you have beautiful eyes—

"If you've come to point and laugh at me to my face, I'll kick you in the neck."

Lindy blushed again. She absorbed everything that she could about the new girl. The melodious quality of her voice, the passion in which she spoke, the scent of lilacs apparent on her skin…. The blonde tilted her head slightly to the side. "Why would I do that? I only wanted to see what you were doing."

The girl raised an eyebrow at her. "Reading?" she offered. Her eyes returned to the tome. "You really are blonde, aren't you?"

"Not really. It's dyed," Lindy corrected. She grinned when the girl looked at her again, interest finally sparking in those emerald irises. "My name's Lindy. At least, that's my nickname."

"And your real name is…?"

"Galinda Morgan." She wrinkled her nose. "My mom's a Broadway fanatic. Took it right out of Wicked. I bet she would get in trouble with it if the nerds weren't already doing it with Star Wars."

The dark girl smirked. "So true. And it's really strange because my mother did the same thing." The book was closed, a hand was extended. "My name's Elphaba Tanner."

Galinda took the offered hand and grinned at who she hoped would be her new friend. "Hello, Elphie," she said with a giggle, a joke between them. "I can tell we're going to be best friends."