“Glinda— listen.” Glinda shakes her head, pushing the other woman away, and she becomes fully aware of the gravity of the situation. She becomes painfully aware of the shade of green that is holding her wrist. The same shade of green she used to wake up to, the shade of green she had looked forward to seeing, even just a tiny shade on the corner of her eye whenever she woke up. The same shade of green she had grown to known, grown to love—
“Elphie, you know I can't. Elphie. This hurts me, this hurts us, you know that right?” Elphaba slightly opens her mouth, wanting to say something but Glinda reluctantly shakes her head again, No. She wants to say. “See, I've- I've spent the last few years replaying the tiny set of memories I have of you. I spent it memorizing every tiny, every last detail of your stupid, freckled skin. I spent it thinking about how stupid and naive I was when I met you, when I spent the first few semesters going on and on about how much I loathed you. I didn't. How I didn't think of coming with you, how I didn't stop you even though I know that is probably the last thing you want me to do. But it's what I wanted, I wanted you to stay. I know you wanted me to come with you, and that's the thing, Elphie. We both have different views.” Glinda stops, as if observing the woman in front of her, to remember each and every tiny thing about her. “How stupid I was to not kiss you. So you don't have the right to tell me that I can't tell everyone the truth about you, if they turn against me I know it'll be worth it because I'll do it for you, I've imagined it already, you besides me—”
Elphaba's arm finds her waist, and Glinda couldn't register how or when, but their lips are finally meeting, and Glinda thinks back to the moments where she had once gotten close, and she thinks about how it took them that long. How terrible it is that she couldn't be here forever. How terrible it is for it to happen in this circumstance, how it resembles a goodbye kiss. But Glinda thinks, and hopes, and hopes, it won't be the last.
“Hold out if you can. Hold out, my sweet.” Elphaba murmurs, the warmth of her breath hovering at the top of her lips. She wipes off the tears that stream down from Glinda's face with a soft brush of her thumb, and it's silly. It's silly how it takes Glinda back to the Oz-dust. “I have to go.” And she leaves, never comes back, and the feeling of her lips still linger, probably forever. Glinda thinks as she reaches out to touch her lip, to feel the ghost of her. Holding the Grimmerie close to her chest, as if Elphaba could hear her heartbeat through the Grimmerie, she cherishes it because it's the only thing left of her.
Glinda never got the chance to ask, to make her promise that it wouldn't be the last. To promise that she'll come back and see her again. Glinda doesn't want her to leave, but she must. She must. And she thinks it's punishment, she thinks of the years, she thinks of the things she could've done. She thinks, she thinks. She thinks of green, she sees green everywhere. She's surrounded by green emeralds, everywhere. It's not her preferred shade, but she doesn't tell. She doesn't speak. Eventually, it all fades away. The memory that there once was a Wicked Witch, harboring green skin. It faded away. Yet, Glinda still thinks, she never stops thinking.