Hello, my pretties! It's been awhile. Now, I'll cut the chit-chat and get right to the point: I am writing a new story. This is my first story published that exceeds a chapter. Please be kind, because most likely it sucks. I don't know how to judge my own writing. This is based on the book Wicked.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything remotely related to Wicked (the book), Wizard of Oz, Wicked (the musical). I do, however, own a very good impression of Margaret Hamilton.
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All of the Pertha Hills bloomed in springtime. The hills themselves lost their comforter of snow and instead shifted to a thin blanket of light green grass. Tulips, crocuses, primroses, pansies, and daffodils shot up, giving the towns that had once been all blue and silver sparks of color. Graceful willows draped their branches protectively over lakes, homes, and parks. Stubby, puffy trees dotted the roads, opening their salmon-pink buds, and looking, from a distance, like several cotton-candy sticks sold at the annual Gillikin Spring Festival.
The time for the Spring Festival was approaching, and all of Frottica was preparing. Lanterns in pastel shades of pink, yellow, blue, and green adorned houses, shops, and public squares. Children chattered about the games and the rides. Wives were baking cookies, cakes, pies, and other scrumptious dishes ceaselessly. Men were building booths and repairing ones from years before. And the elderly sat and watched, as they had done all the work so many times before, and talked of Spring Festivals from long ago.
This year, Glinda the Good Witch thought glumly, I'm probably old enough to be considered one of the elderly. At forty-eight, her once-golden locks were streaked with silver. Though her eyes were still a pale, docile blue, they were now surrounded by little wrinkles in her milk-white skin.
On the night of the festival, ignoring the precedent that the elders stayed inside, Glinda dressed in a light blue gown and threw on a white cloak, for not all of the chill had yet gone from the air. She bought a funnel cake and wandered around aimlessly. Settling onto a bench near the Fountain of Ozma, she watched the young people lead the community in dancing. As she studied them, with their smooth skin and dark curls bouncing, she sighed and thought, What I wouldn't give to go back in time thirty years!
Of course, Glinda calculated, thirty years ago, she would have been at Shiz during this time, rather than dancing at the Spring Festival. Thinking about Shiz brought back memories. They were such a group: her, Elphie, Fiyero, Nessarose, Boq, Avaric, and sometimes Crope and Tibbett. Glinda closed her eyes. These subjects were too painful to think about. Forcing the memories out of her mind, Glinda stood and trekked back to her house.
She approached the huge white mansion with a clouded mind. Their wonderful little charmed circle of college friends was alarmingly diminishing. Elphie, Fiyero, Tibbett, Nessarose, and Avaric had all died. Glinda hadn't been in touch with Boq lately. The last time she spoke to him, three years ago, his health was dwindling. Crope was the only one who was as active and healthy (and communicative) as Glinda.
Opening the gilded gold door, she glided past the gold-bedecked guards, who greeted her with the customary, "Good evening, Miss Glinda," and didn't remarkupon her absence. Glinda ascended up the grand staircase- up forty steps, turn right, up another twenty steps. She panted as she walked and cursed herself for eating the funnel cake.
Finally, she reached her room. Even if she cared not for her husband, she adored the room he had specially decorated for her. It was a pink fantasy, with a dark pink rug, and a rose pink canopy bed, and a lovely pale pink armoire. And, thought Glinda as she put away her festival clothes and slipped into a nightgown (pink, of course), my sanctuary is clutter-free now that Chuffney is dead. Feeling guilty for her thought (and wanting to stay in the Unnamed God's good graces) Glinda knelt beside her bed and said a prayer for the soul of her husband, Sir Chuffney, who had departed two years before.
Glinda sunk into the cushions of her bed and was just drifting off to sleep when a quiet rap on her bedroom door brought her back to reality sharply. Glinda wondered drowsily if it was her imagination, until she heard a soft voice call, "Miss Glinda? Are you awake?"
Hurriedly lighting a candle, Glinda called, "Yes; enter."
A maid came in. Glinda vaguely recalled her name as being Marla. Thechild carried a candle, which she set down on Glinda's nightstand, and also a brown box. It was not big, but deep. "My apologies, madam, for disturbing you. This package arrived for you awhile ago, while you were out." Glinda sat up abruptly and took the box. It wasn't addressed. "Did you see who delivered it?" she asked.
"No, madam," Marla replied. "He was masked. If he was a he at all."
Glinda nodded and said, "Thank you. You may go. Sweet dreams, Miss Marla."
Marla curtsied and tiptoed out of the room. Glinda grabbed a knife from her nightstand drawer (which she kept in case a criminal ever escaped and found his way into her house) and slit the box's bindings. Removing the lid, she saw that it contained a stack of letters, tied together with a ribbon. One, however, was not tied in the stack, so Glinda picked it up and decided to read it first.
It was dated from the day before, and as Glinda scanned the greeting, she recognized the large, scratchy writing of her old friend and comrade, Fiyero.
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Please please please R&R! I am dying for some reviews!