Note: Since Gregory Maguire doesn't really give us a detailed picture concerning Elphaba's mauntery years, I decided to take it upon myself to provide an insight. I hope you like what I've come up with. I am still stuck on chapter 4, so if anyone has any ideas please feel free to share. You will get credit, this I promise lol. Read on...

There was blood everywhere. Elphaba stood in the doorway, numb and heartbroken. She knew whose blood stained the walls and the floor. She searched for the body of her lover, but found none.

"Somehow they found out," she thought furiously.

Her clenched hands shook with rage. How dare they violate her haven and kill Fiyero! Elphaba knelt next to a pool of blood in the far corner of the loft. It was surrounded by bloody boot prints.

"Fiyero," she whispered reverently.

She smeared some of the crimson liquid on her wrists. Tears stung her dark eyes. Elphaba was beside herself with grief. Her last moments with Fiyero played over in her mind.

"Why should I keep myself so safe?"

"I love you."

"So that's that then, and that's it. And I love you. So I promise to be careful."

Elphaba couldn't stand it any longer. She threw her head back and screamed. She didn't care of the Gale Force found her now. She had failed her mission. She had failed her life. What hurt the most was that she had failed her lover. Her tears fell freely and in her grief, Elphaba willed them to scar.

It was hours before she rose from the floor and left the loft. Swathed in her cloaks, she wandered the streets aimlessly. Eventually, Elphaba came upon the mauntery in the north of the city. A steady snow had begun to fall. Elphaba took no notice. Something inside had snapped. She was neither here nor there.

She crouched in front of the massive wooden doors, her eyes darted like a frightened animal's. The faint strains of an organ drifted into the peaceful night. The Lurlinemas Mass had begun.

Elphaba tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. It felt like her heart had become lodged there. A thick rope hung to her left. Her hand was poised in midair while she debated pulling it. In the end, the bell rang out like a distant voice.

It was some moments before a young maunt answered the door. She was a lively thing, only a year or two younger than Elphaba. She glanced around the stone porch before spotting Elphaba in the corner. Her eyes reflected mild surprise.

"Good evening, friend. Merry Lurlinemas to you."

Elphaba did not answer. She remained crouched, staring at her hands. The maunt clucked her tongue and helped Elphaba to her feet.

Elphaba was led to a washroom and made to sit on a stool. The maunt began filling a wash basin to clean the blood off the green woman's wrists, but stopped when she saw the horrified look on Elphaba's face.

"Come with me, dolly."

The maunt led Elphaba to a parlor room. A glowing fire warmed the room and the lethargic older maunts who occupied it. Elphaba was tucked into a large armchair. Its color resembled that of an old photograph or a faded memory. Elphaba looked faded as well.

Her head sank back into the secure embrace of the soft material. A wool blanket was draped over her legs. Once the maunt was satisfied the Elphaba was comfortable, she hurried off to her devotions.

Outside, the snow danced and drifted. Inside, the maunts dribbled and snored. Elphaba's brain buzzed noisily in her skull. Images of Fiyero haunted her dreams. While Elphaba slept, one of the elder maunts wheeled over to her. The maunt held Elphaba's hands and muttered soothing encouragements.

"The poor dolly is in pain, but her scars are not visible. The poor dolly is sick. She needs to rest. Sleep, my pet. Old Mother Yackle will watch over you."