'Wicked' fic, somewhere in some bizarre twist between musicalverse and bookverse. One-shot. Glinda. Own no one. But I wanna own Glinda
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Glinda took a long, hard gaze into the mirror.
She had just been given news of Elphaba's death. The population of Munchkinland immediately broke out into garish celebration, cheering and yelling and singing. The sound of happiness and drunken ecstasy carried across the rooftops, but nothing penetrated Glinda's deaf ears.
Somewhere in the distance someone cried out, "Hooray for Glinda!" An exuberant array of joyful agreements chorused in reply.
But the ears never picked up any of that.
Piercingly azure eyes kept gazing as they began to quiver. The bright coloring became brighter, magnified by a wall of liquid so familiar to Glinda.
Tears. Tears that she deserved.
Celebration and jubilee to a crowd of people who never knew a thing about Elphie. Elphie's kindness or gentle disposition, or caring personality or unbreakable will.
They could all cry out in merriment, merriment drenched and coated thickly in ignorance.
Glinda's merriment would cease on that day, never would she know what it was like to be truly happy again.
The liquid spilled over, like small, crystal droplets rolling down her pale cheeks. Eyeliner smudged and was absorbed into each tear, leaving a black line in its' wake as it fell down her cheek.
Next came the quivering of her lip, trembling as a helpless whimper escaped her perfect lips.
The eyeliner sullied her complexion and she watched more of it smudge. She raised a hand to wipe it away, but her fingertips slipped against her skin and left a streak of sticky black upon her flesh.
The tears kept falling, like a million little drops erasing away the perfection she slaved so hard to retain.
The helpless whimper was soon coupled with a violent spasm of squeaky hiccups, causing her to bounce in the chair in front of her vanity.
Before she couldn't restrain it anymore, the strangled cry of "Elphie!" came from her parted lips and echoed in the empty halls. She listened to her own voice as it bounced, reverberated and met back with her own sensitive ears.
The strangled cry slowly became a series of yelps and shrill screams of "Elphie! Oh Elphaba!" that could have deafened everyone within a mile at the pitch alone.
The rejoicing simply rose outside to challenge the volume of her voice, heightening with each pained scream.
Tiny hands balled into fists, well manicured nails dug into porcelain skin and dashed forth onto the vanity's desk. Slam!
Her head buried deeply into her arms, running eyeliner now painting across her bare arms in obsidian streaks. Obsidian streaks and lines that brought back the memories of Elphaba's beautiful hair, shimmering in its' thick, inky texture.
A tiny fist swung helplessly in front of Glinda, knuckles making contact with the first thing she could hit.
The mirror.
It shattered into a billion tiny shards, splitting open every inch of her hand. The small, glass pieces dug themselves deeply into her flesh, cutting open the delicate china and giving way to trickles of scarlet.
She couldn't bare it any longer.
She slid from the chair and onto the floor, on her knees, face buried in her hands. Eyeliner mixed and thickened bits of crimson blood, all swirling together with salty beads of wet.
She kept sobbing, harder and harder. Her oceanic eyes flitted fearfully to the glass mess she had created.
Back at her, in the broken shards, stared her reflection. Scattered and destroyed. She retreated back into her hands, tiny form shaking and shivering and trembling with new sobs and tears that would soon replace those yet to fall.
Even her broken reflection frightened her. The tears kept coming, oval dewdrops rolling and washing away her infallibility, her excellence, her very façade.
"Elphie! Elphie! ELPHIE!" the shout was anguished and heart-wrenching, making Glinda's stomach do a little flip flop at the sound of her own tone.
Somewhere in the distance, a loud cheer rang out of "Thank Goodness!"
Beads of perfection scattered across the carpet, staining it red and maroon and crimson and scarlet, dripping in a syrupy puddle.
Glinda the Good Witch of the North shattered.
More dribbles of perfection fell.
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It's just so bad and stupid. Ahh, well, I'll be better next time. 2:09 in the morning makes for crappy one-shots. Feedback would be much appreciated! (D)