Limited

Summary:

Wicked Fic (musical-verse). Glinda's about ready to crack, setting off a chain of events that lead her to finally discoverate her friend's whereabouts.

Disclaimer:

I re-uploaded this chapter because I realize I never put in a disclaimer. Yeah. So, uh, I don't own anything, even though most of the characters are public domain, and I can legally use them, blah, blah, blah. The point is, I don't own them. Oh, and while I'm at it: any discrepancies, illogical moments, typos, and/or plot holes are the sole fault of magical intervention, so don't get all hissy with me. Take it up with the Wizard or something.

The sun rose as it did every other, normal, day. The people of the Emerald City awoke and went through their morning routines, but none of them went to their jobs. None went out to get groceries. Instead, nearly every man, woman, and child that dwelled in the City gathered in Town Square, in the shadow of the Emerald Palace.

And right at the chime of the Clock of the Time Dragon, the land's ruler, Glinda the Good, shuffled her way out onto her balcony.

She hated this damned day.

She appeared a little bedraggled, but to someone as naturally breath-taking as her, that only meant she looked somewhat radiant, instead of completely so. Still, she was far further up than any of those folks below her, awaiting her speech.

"Fellow Ozians," Glinda began, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Seven years ago today, Oz was freed from the tyranny of the Wicked Witch of the West. Yes, this is a day for celebrating, but so, in fact, is everyday. That said, his will be the last time we publicly celebrate the passing of the Wicked Witches."

The crowd collectively groaned.

"Now, now. We couldn't have celebrated this forever, you know. It isn't right to celebrate death, when the natural thing to do is mourn someone's passing."

A Munchkin farmer spoke up from the crowd, "No one mourns the Wicked!"

The crowd roared with laughter, cheers, and applause.

Glinda was not so amused.

"No one mourns the Wicked?" She bellowed, silencing the crowd; for no one had ever seen Glinda the Good in a foul mood, let alone this angry. "No one! I do! I mourn them every damned day! Every day that I have to speak out to you people, smiling through my teeth and waving mechanically!"

The crowd was silent, save for a few scattered gasps.

"Did any of you know them? Did any of you bear witness yourselves to one of the so-called heinous acts as it was being committed? I understand that the Witch of the Eas—Nessarose was a dictator in Munchkinland."

There were a few grunts of confirmation below her.

"Fine. But what of the Witch of the West? What did she do?"

A sickly woman screeched, "She helped out those rebel Animals!" And cheers backed up her outburst.

Glinda scoffed. "They were rebels only because they could speak. And, my dear woman, as far as I'm concerned, they have more of a right to speak their minds than you have to speak yours!"

The crowd was taken aback once again, staring at their beloved leader in silence. Then a young man dressed in emerald finery lurched back, before flinging a tomato up at the balcony.

It hit Glinda the Good squarely on the collarbone. She let out a shriek of outrage as the crowd laughed, and soon others joined in, throwing what they could, to show their disapproval of her defense of the Witches.

Horrified, both at the crowd of her people and the fact she had lashed out at them so suddenly, Glinda whirled around, practically diving back into her room, shutting the doors behind her. More produce, clumps of dirt, and even glass smashed against the closed doors.

Panting lightly, she pulled herself off of the floor, and promptly fell onto her bed. She forced herself to calm down, and was disgustified to find herself sweating slightly.

A knock at the door caused her to sit up with a petulant groan. So distressed was she that she wiped her face on her billowing skirt before opening the door, revealing one of the servants.

"A visitor for you, Lady Glinda," said the young woman airily.

Glinda blanched. "Are they carrying fruit?" she asked nervously.

Perplexed, the young woman shook her head, and Glinda gracefully stepped out of her chambers, closing the door behind her.

She took a few steps, then turned back to the serving girl. "In the foyer, then?"

At the girl's confirmation, Glinda went the rest of the way, wondering if any of her servants knew the cause of the racket outside.