Only Skin

You keep a large, Victorian mirror on the wall by your bed.

This is completely understandable, of course, because your vanity mirror is simply too small to admire your entire outfit within. This mirror encompasses your image from your knees up – you can turn about this way or that to judge your own appearance. It is a large oval framed by beautiful twisting designs carved out of gold – a gift from your father. "To remind you of how beautiful you are, my dearie," he'd said, and beautiful you always feel when you look into it.

So, it is easy to presume that it never occurred to you that Elphaba may feel quite the opposite about the reflective piece.

You soon work this out for yourself, however. You've just had a date with Fiyero – he's still acting distant and a bit moodified, but he was slightly more engaged this time than others. You're floating a bit, the way Fiyero's beauty and attention, however minimal, always make you feel. You're about to burst into your room in a bout of excitement to squeal at Elphaba about the wonderfulment of it all when you remember it's actually quite late – past curfew, in fact. You and Fiyero had to sneak back to the dorms.

So, with both the fear of getting caught and the fear of waking your delicately insomniatic roommate, you proceed by grabbing the doorknob with both hands, twisting gently. You push open the door silently and ever-so-carefully to find that this is futile – Elphaba is not asleep.

In fact, she is very much up and about – standing before your large Victorian-style mirror, twisting about this way and that. Much the way you often do. You would smile – you would find it amusing and a bit endearing – if it weren't for the look of absolute dissatisfaction and loathing on her face. She finally turns to face the mirror, eyes narrowed, nose scrunched – this is normally the face she'd make at Shen Shen or Pfanee. To see her looking at herself with such…. disgust hurts your heart.

Her lips curl downward and she turns away, unable to bare her own appearance any longer. This hurts you most, and so you finally step in and close the door behind you, making sure it clicks noisily enough behind you to point to your entrance. Elphaba starts, whipping around to face you.

"Galinda," she gasps, surprised – "I hadn't heard you come in."

"Elphie," you sigh, "do you really hate yourself so much?"

The green girl has no answer, just turns her gaze downcast and folds her arms before her hollow chest.

"You're beautiful, you know," you throw out nonchalantly, putting down your purse and rummaging through your dresser for night clothes. "Your hair is so-"

"Oh please!" Elphaba bellows, and the wind outside suddenly picks up to a howl, high and menacing. You jump, surprised by the sudden storm, and look at your green roommate. She is looking directly at you, fire in her eyes, a scowl set deep in her mouth. Wrinkles! Your mind automatically screams at the deeply carved lines the scowl creates, but you restrain yourself.

"Elphie?" you try, but she cuts you off again.

"I'm disgusting, Galinda. This skin is proof of it. It's a mark of my soiled soul, or lack thereof. I'm a monster, a-"

It's your turn to interrupt. "Elphaba Thropp, you listen to me!" You stomp your foot, firmly.

You've never taken this tone with anybody, let alone Elphaba, and so she looks quite surprised, mouth clapping shut.

"Come here," you command, and you grab her by the wrist. The two of you stand in front of the mirror.

"Look at your reflection," you say. She does, and pain fills her eyes. Consequently, it fills your heart as well. "Tell me what you see."

"Green," she manages to mumbles hoarsely. You wait for more, but nothing comes.

"Is that all you see?"

No answer.

"All right," you say calmly. "You wanna know what I see? I see a deeply intelligent girl, with a kind heart. I see quick wit and cleverness. I see deep brown eyes and silky dark hair. And I see unique, dazzlingly emerald skin that is exotic in every way. I see your green skin, Elphie, it's there. But it's not the only thing I see. It doesn't define you. Do you understand?"

Tears are making little steaming marks on her face. She says nothing, just stares at the floor, hardly acknowledging the burning.

"Elphie?" you urge, slightly concerned, when suddenly she takes a deep, shuddering breath.

"He…. He said…"

You don't know who "he" is, but you ask, "What did he say, Elphie?" anyway.

"Father said… it's all my fault. My skin's fault."

"What is?"

Another breath. "When my mother was carrying Nessa, my father became concerned that the new baby might come out…. Might end up…."

"Green," you gently finish for her, and she nods.

"So he made her chew milk flowers, day and night. Only…. Only they made Nessa come too soon, and… her little legs all tangled…. Mother never woke up…" She can't bring herself to say anymore, so she doesn't. She looks down and away from you, ashamed, as if now that you know her secret you will now hate her. This is the complete opposite of how you feel.

You're trying to figure out what to say next, when she makes a sound distinctly similar to a sob and you no longer have to think. Instead you wrap both arms around her and squeeze as she is taken by violent shudders. She cries for real this time, the sound of a broken heart leaving her in short bursts. Her whole being shakes within your hold, so much that you can barely keep your arms around her. And while she moans "My fault, my fault, this dreadful skin…" you murmur "Not your fault, so beautiful, milk flowers' fault…" and rock her to and fro.

And all the while your heart fills with a feeling so strong it scares you for a moment. You feel warm and your fingertips tingle, and you are aware of one thing and one thing only.

You are entirely and hopelessly in love with the disaster that is Elphaba Thropp.