A/N: Following Elphaba's death at the end of the book. The news travels fast and Glinda is hit by the reality of her best friends death. It's too much for her to handle and she breaks down. This is pretty much just plotless Angst and Pain. Just like some people write PWP I'm here sharing feels... Sorry, but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless!
In the End
The time it took for Glinda to be on her own after the news had reached her felt immeasurable. It could have been a couple of minutes or maybe even days – either way, she couldn't tell, so what did it matter?
There were no tick tocks to count as the world was suddenly muted entirely, besides the echo of her blood rushing through her very own skull. A few of the people surrounding her were moving their mouths, corners up and about, but their words never reached her.
There were expectant eyes and questioning faces but not a single sound that she really couldn't even have replied to, had Glinda actually heard any of them direct at her. There was no sound. Nothing.
She was in her wonderful town estate right there in Oz by the dynamically build channels and the sun was blasting like it hadn't as of late. Everything was ever so absurd. Yet, all the servants running around had seemed gloomy until the news rushed over the place like a hurricane! Suddenly there were cheers and even the most irritated boy was uncharacteristically chipper.
So, there she was, putting on a smile. By Lurline, that she knew how to do!
Maybe Glindas greatest talent in life was to smile and offer cheerfulness even when she feared she might not have felt any real, true happiness in a while. But then again, who could really say what true happiness was? Did anyone even know? People threw these terms around and everyone agreed without a thought on them. So that out of nowhere, something completely ridiculous turns into the universally acknowledged meaning of life!
Nevertheless, Glinda smiled and stopped pondering questions she didn't need to have the answer to in the first place. She needn't worry her pretty little head like this anymore. Hadn't in years.
Only very briefly did the seasoned girl really ponder the greater meanings in life at all. But those were different times. Times she avoided to return to or even think of nowadays.
A boy came up to her, lips moving and eyes sparkling wildly for a long moment. Then nothing. He had that expectant look on his face that commoners often had when they looked at her.
Glinda supposed he had been asking her a question of some sort. She nodded along and pursed her lips while tilting her head, golden locks falling over her shoulder as she appeared to be thinking.
It was a very well-rehearsed choreography that she had no control over anymore.
Even though Glinda hadn't heard a single word in her numbed state, she played along and chuckled, maybe – she wasn't sure of that part or whether it really happened. Luckily the child left, running off to his mother who no doubt worked somewhere around here. She ought to have done something right then.
Why ever he was around in the first place and talking to her like this though? She could not tell. There were so many people. Why? Why were there so many of them? The house was never empty but had it been this cramped all along?
Each person passing her with a smile playing along their lips made her feel more claustrophobic to the point where her surroundings began to blur and Glinda accidentally misplaced her hand in an attempt to steady herself and one of those ridiculously expensive vases she was harboring shattered to the ground. Spiked red flowers and water decorated the rigorously scrubbed floor and a maid rushed over to her like a bolt of silver lightning.
The blonde woman didn't dare look at her in fear of failing at her perfect act. Glinda didn't step away either, far too shaken. She didn't move as little as a finger until the maid was done cleaning the hazardous mess.
Glinda felt her pink lips move apart, as though she was speaking wordlessly, so dryly it almost hurt and she feared they'd split unattractively, which would be a dire look on her.
Next thing she knew her feet carried her out of the hall like they no longer belonged to her, freed of the jiggered control of her simple mind.
The first thing Glinda heard again after the news had been passed onto her was the massive wooden door falling into its lock behind her. It was loud enough to echo through the halls for a small eternity. Yet no one seemed to be bothered by it, too used to slamming doors in the household.
That served her just right. There was not a single person Glinda wanted to be around right now.
Well, that wasn't true.
There was one.
Next came the choking sounds and the gasping for deeply required air.
It broke over her so suddenly that she felt like she was going to faint after all, right there and right then. Not the kind of fainting she used to do when someone said something utterly scandalous or ridiculous (especially her late husband Sir Lord Chuffrey of Mockkenbeggar). No this was different.
This was real. The kind of realness Glinda hadn't had in her life in years.
The room was spinning as she slid down the dark, old door to her private chambers, dress wrinkling terribly.
Once Glinda hit the floor she noticed that she was soundlessly screaming.
Unable to breathe after all and therefore not in a place to make a single sound.
Maybe it was for the better, at least that was what she'd have thought if she were really consciously herself right now.
She didn't need anyone hearing her, but even the consideration of whether or not it would be unexpectantly pleasurable to choke to death on a breathless yell was invalidated seconds later as she finally caught her breath.
Lungs filled up with all the air they lacked, and there it was. The deafening, shrill and mindless sound of Glinda screaming at the very top of her lungs.
Not a single thought on her mind, none but one. Only Elphie. Her Elphie. Her Elphie who would never be around her ever again. Her Elphie who wouldn't even look at her the last time that they had seen each other. Her Elphie who was so terribly, terribly mad. Mad at Glinda, mad at that child, mad at the world. Mad. Mad and gone. Never to come back. Never to yell at or be yelled at by Glinda.
She didn't know how to stop screaming as the tears rushed down her puffy, pink cheeks. The noise filled everything around her. It wasn't something she did consciously.
Glinda's head had met the door behind her with a painful thud in the process, but she was merely glad to, for a second, feel something other than despair.
Her trembling hands reached up, tried to cover her mouth as her lungs started to give up on her and the loud screams turned into violent sobs in between gasps for air.
Glinda would gladly choke on the nothingness surrounding her right now. She'd gladly be swallowed by the emptiness in her shattered bones. She wouldn't mind dying painfully just now. Join her Elphie. Scream and cry herself into the sweet embrace of not feeling anything ever again. Die and just be done with it. This kind of pain wasn't going to stop. Not ever. It bore itself deeper and deeper into the secret corners of her mind. Quietly becoming a part of her.
The screams stopped and started again as time went on and Glinda sat there all by herself, not a soul around to comfort or even share her mourning. And then the sobbing continued.
Tears never stopping, endlessly fueled by the extinguishing desperation that consumed her.
Never, Glinda thought, she would never be able to stop crying. Never. This was too much for her. She couldn't handle it. She couldn't live like this – in a world like this. She couldn't!
The blonde needn't have a huge, clever brain the way her Elphie has – had – to know that this sorrow wasn't going to fade away over time. It was breaking her.
Glinda had loved her Sir Chuffrey, she really had. But in a very different way. She loved who she was when they traveled and she could do at least a little good. She loved how obnoxiously philanthropic he had made her. She loved that he smiled at her like she was the actual sun shining through the heavy darkifyed clouds above the city of Oz on a ridiculously long rainy day.
But he was also older than most people she had ever been acquainted with, so Glinda wasn't especially shocked when he died. Saddened, but not surprised.
Glinda didn't feel like it was the end of all goodness in the world. She didn't feel the way she felt right now! Trying to will herself into realizing that the wicked witch – Elphaba – her Elphie, was ready dead. Dead and gone forever, with nothing left of her but aged memories of better days.
This was too much! There was still so much of her heart attached to that terribly ill tempered, clever, fantastic, green woman. Glinda hadn't even realized just how much she was hung up on her until now. Had pushed it too far away when Elphie had sent her away all these years ago, in a miserable attempted to make herself not feel the way she felt, which was the worst that she had ever felt in her young life.
Maybe she had never even felt such pain and heartache ever again until now. Maybe, Glinda figured, only Elphaba could make her feel this awful, awful way. Only she had this power over her. Only Elphaba. Only Elphaba could make her feel and make her feel real.
But in this case, how could Glinda possibly exist in a world where she no longer did?
The strange taste of iron spread in her mouth. The blonde was trying to muffle her cries by biting painlessly down on her lower lip but it didn't work. Of course, it didn't work.
Glinda wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold the pieces together and not shatter like that ugly vase had. Only, Lady Glinda had already been broken and there was no putting back together. No way to mend the ends of her broken heart back together.
She kept crying and crying and crying. How much time passed? Glinda still couldn't tell.
She just kept screaming and crying until the exhaustion crushed her so heavily that she fell to the floor entirely and eventually cried herself into a numb, restless kind of slumber, at the foot of the single door separating her from the rest of the jubilant world out there.
No one came to knock.
Maybe a few servants thought about it, wondered what was going on but didn't want to endure the fury they were sure to receive if they disturbed their mistress. But most simply just didn't care enough or didn't want to accept the reality of Lady Glinda the Good feeling not quite so good today.
By any chance, they were just so busy with their celebrations of the Wicked Witches death that they did not even notice the outburst. Who could tell what was going on in their heads?
It wasn't like Glinda cared anymore. For maybe the first time in her life she really, absolutely and entirely did not think once about what others might think of her. She didn't spend as long as a single second on fearing about someone overhearing her. Let them hear it! Glinda had every reason to mourn.
The blonde witch would possibly even be immune to a stranger seeing her right now. Laying curled up and broken on the expensive rug covering the floor of the large room.
Glindas delicately painted face was a mess at best and her hair tried to compete with all its might.
She couldn't bring herself to pick herself up.
She just stayed there and sobbed. Glinda did not have any energy left in her to scream. She still shuddered at every sob but that was only the loss of control over her very muscles.
How someone could cry so many tears, she wondered, without drying out like an ancient flower.
The sun rose eventually and Lady Glinda sat up, running her hands over her face. She ought to have fallen asleep again as her face felt dry and disgusting.
Glinda took a deep, shaky breath. Not crying for the first time in what must have been hours at least. She had to get up. Wash off that paint and maybe some of the pain too. Sort out the fresh knots in her hair and change into a different dress. She didn't really have a choice. She would put on that wonderfully good mask of goodness again, in a little while.
For now, though, she was going to sit here a little longer.
Close her eyes and let a fresh set of tears fall down into her lap, silently this time.
"Oh, Elphie... my Elphie..."
A/N: I'd love a comment with some thoughts or just pure anger towards me. I'm always here to talk about how much Gelphie hurts, so hit me up! (Do consider that English isn't my first language and the story isn't beta read, meaning that I do love to be corrected, just don't be too mean about, at least I tried haha...)