[It could be said that our Elphaba has many in her thrall, and I wanted to explore the thoughts of these various admirers. I'm not sure how long this will be, but it will most likely fall into a four-shot; Fiyeraba, Gelphie, Elphaboq and Elpharic. If you enjoy one of those pairings, read for your favourite and if you feel open, stay for the others. Broaden your shipping horizons, sail new seas (if you'll pardon the awful pun). This stpry was inspired by Desire's ethereal and gorgeous song Under Your Spell. I do not own it, and no lyrics are included in my writing. Thank you, read, enjoy and review!]
Entrancing. Enchanting. Intoxicating. Addictive.
All synonyms to describe one Elphaba Thropp. According to Fiyero Tigelaar, at the very least. No man had ever been quite as committed to a woman as he to her, and never would there be such a pairing.
Her allure was entirely her own, no gimmicks here. Her strange brand of beauty, curious but stunning nonetheless, called to him.
Unapologetically green skin, the rich colour of fresh-cut emeralds, intense brown eyes with swirling stardust trails of silver, like a far-off galaxy, unreadable and unreachable. A form seemingly knit from fire and Glikkun iron, hard and sharp, yet oxymoronically smooth and soft. Quick hands, quicker mind, and hair like midnight spun into silk, like the darkest of spider's webs.
Sultry yet awkward. Sexy yet gauche. Forbidding yet welcoming. A swirling bundle of contradictions made up Elphaba, and confused everyone else, including him.
Fiyero could never commit her to one type, as such. She could be this, but also that. Elements of some, qualities of others. She was just her, just Elphaba, and there would never be another quite like her.
Not because of her skin. Well, truthfully, that was a factor. But she was so much more than her unconventional hue. She had a mind, and a spirit, and a passion, and a sharp tongue that possessed unexpected skill, and not just in conversation.
She was a puzzle, a riddle wrapped in a conondrum, tied with a paradox as a decorative bow. She wanted solitude, yet clutched at Fiyero with desperate loneliness. She pushed him away, but still opened her arms to him. Cursed him almost every clock-circle, yet cried out his name in ecstasy in the throes of passion.
A peculiar girl. Woman, Fiyero corrects himself. She's a woman. She has experience, some kind of background. She knew where everything went, at least, and wanted it with a burning desire that threatened to consume herself, plus Fiyero. A girl implies innocence, purity. Elphaba had none of those qualities, but for an inexperience with love. Romantic love, that is. Not the perverse devotion she felt she owed her sister and brother, nor the reluctant obedience forced on her by her father and Nanny. Genuine, dizzying, passionate, lustful, wanting, true love, that made one mad with desire and insane with longing. Made one yearn for their loved one, their partner in crime. Made one hopelessly devoted to their mate.
Of course, she's restless. Never liked an idle life, despised sitting still, unless it was to read. Elphaba would ignore him for days on end in favour of a new, interesting book. Well, maybe not days. Two at the very most. Before she needed him again.
He seemed to need her every clock-tick of the day, every moment alone was time wasted, time that could be spent with her. but she was relatively self-sufficient. She could say goodbye with a sense of finality. Fiyero always meant his goodbyes as a 'see you soon'. He had developed a mortifying habit of lingering on her street, cloak covering his face and torso, somehow hoping he'd be called back.
But he loved her. Lurline, Preenella, Unnamed God even, any deity that was listening, help him, he loved her. And she loved him. Somehow, someway, Elphaba had made space in her crowded heart for Fiyero Tigelaar.
[Review please! If I don't get anything, I'll still continue this story. But that doesn't mean I don't want some response!]