Chapter 3
Elphaba sat cross-legged on the threadbare rug in her small room above the bakery. The air smelled faintly of flour and yeast from below, mingled with the sharp tang of the ink she had spilled earlier. A pencil was clenched between her teeth as she scribbled notes on a torn scrap of paper. She was midway through drafting a new melody when the knock came at the door.
“Elphaba! A letter for you!” the baker’s assistant called, her voice muffled but insistent.
Elphaba sighed, setting her pencil down and rubbing her temples. Letters were rare. Useful letters, even rarer. She opened the door to find the assistant holding out an envelope that looked wildly out of place in her modest surroundings.
The paper was smooth and cream-colored, the handwriting impossibly neat and swirling, like someone had spent hours perfecting each loop. Her name—Miss Elphaba Thropp.
“Who sent this?” she asked, eyeing the envelope as though it might bite her.
“No idea. A fancy looking Courier brought it,” the assistant said with a shrug.
Elphaba frowned but took the envelope, closing the door with her hip. She carried it to her desk and sat down, turning it over in her hands. The wax seal—an obnoxious pink, stamped with an ornate “G”, stood out starkly against the cream paper. The smell of flowers hit her senses. Had the sender really sprayed the letter with perfume?
Her brow furrowed as she broke the seal and unfolded the thick sheet of paper inside. She scanned the first few lines, and her lips quirked in a skeptical half-smile.
Galinda Upland.
Nessa’s recent conversations regarding a letter from a fellow student that she was clearly in awe of rushed to the forefront of her mind. Her eyes began to follow the delicate dance of curves and lines.
Dear Miss Elphaba Thropp,
Well, this is exciting, isn’t it? Me, writing to you, a stranger (and a mysterious one, at that)! Let me start with introductions. I am Galinda Upland, of the Upper Uplands. Yes, those Uplands. I’m currently a student at Shiz University, and a classmate of your sister and that strange Munchkin boy, that I believe you know.
Now, you may be wondering why a perfect stranger (me) is writing to someone like you. Are you? I can’t hear your answer because this is a letter, but let me explain. I’ve been given the very important and very high-profile task of organizing this year’s Winter Ball at Shiz. It’s the social event of the season and naturally, everyone expects me to make it spectacular.
And that’s where you and your band, Emerald Fog, come in!
Yes, I know, it’s positively amazifying that I, Galinda Upland, would reach out to you to give you this once in a lifetime opportunity. The truth of the matter is that I was in attendance at the Ozdust when you captured the attention of everyone in the room. I’ve heard your music, Miss Thropp, and dare I say, it intrigued me. It’s all very… intense? Emotional? Uncategorisable? It sounded like nothing anyone here has ever experienced. And don’t you think the Winter Ball deserves something unexpected? (Well, I do, and since I’m in charge, my opinion is the one that matters most.)
Here’s the thing, though…this sort of arrangement really needs to be discussed in person. I’m certain you have questions, and frankly, I do too. So, would you consider coming to Shiz to meet with me? We can go over everything—the logistics of your performance, the very generous payment you would receive, and perhaps even a few pointers from me about how to further impress a crowd. (I’m something of an expert in the art of being adored.)
And while you’re here, I could give you a little tour of campus! Shiz is so much more than classrooms and dormitories…it’s practically a world of its own. It’s really quite breathtaking.
I hope you’ll consider it. I have a feeling…call it intuition, that this could be… well, special. Write back soon, won’t you? I’ll be waiting.
Yours (with just the right amount of impatience),
Galinda Upland
P.S. If you do visit and agree to play at the ball, perhaps you’d consider dedicating a song to someone in the audience. I mean, hypothetically speaking, it’s a perfectly reasonable request from the girl who invited you here, wouldn’t you say? No pressure, of course, but I do have a favorite spot by the champagne fountain, should you need to know where to look.
Even without having met her, Elphaba could picture her already: someone preposterously pretty with too much time and too much money. Someone who, judging by the letter’s tone, loved herself far too much.
And yet…
Elphaba found herself snorting at the writer’s audacity. The letter, full of playful quips and self-assured comments, somehow managed to be rude without crossing into outright insult. She was clearly the kind of person who believed her charm could excuse just about anything and, annoyingly, it almost did.
She scanned further. Emerald Fog. The Ozdust. Shiz Winter Ball.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. So this Galinda Upland had seen one of their performances and decided they were worth inviting to some high-society event at Shiz? Why? And why write a letter so… over the top?
By the time she reached the bottom, where Galinda’s name was signed in an elaborate flourish, Elphaba’s lips had pressed into a thin line.
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended,” she muttered to herself.
The letter didn’t make much sense. It reeked of self-importance but also… something oddly sincere. Galinda had clearly gone out of her way to track her down, and not everyone could turn casual arrogance into something oddly endearing. Elphaba hated to admit it, but she found herself smirking as she re-read certain parts.
“Well, she certainly thinks highly of herself,” she muttered, leaning back in her chair. “Probably doesn’t leave much room to think about anyone else.”
But the way Galinda’s wit seemed to dance off the page…it was sharp, deliberate, and had a kind of warmth beneath the vanity that Elphaba couldn’t quite place.
She folded the letter carefully and set it on the desk.
Elphaba found herself staring at the letter for the better part of an hour, torn between amusement and exasperation.
She snorted, pulling a scrap of much more practical paper from a pile on her desk. “Well, Miss Upland,” she muttered, dipping her quill into the inkpot, “let’s see how you like sarcasm with a side of reality.”
Miss Galinda Upland,
I must begin by extending my deepest sympathies to the courier who carried your letter all the way to Munchkinland. I can only hope they were adequately compensated for the burden of transporting such an extravagance. The gold trim alone must have added several pounds to the load. Truly, I’m flattered by the effort (and the cost) that must have gone into ensuring I received your message in the most dramatic way possible.
Now, onto the contents of your letter which, despite the overwhelming distraction of its stationery, I did eventually manage to read.
Your invitation to perform at the Shiz Winter Ball is certainly… ambitious. I do hope you’re prepared for the reactions of your more refined peers. After all, Emerald Fog isn’t exactly known for “respectable” music. If your guests start clutching their pearls or fainting into their canapés, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
As for the logistics, I suppose I have no choice but to meet with you to arrange the details. You seem the sort who doesn’t take no for an answer (or doesn’t hear it). I’ll be at Shiz next week. Hopefully, you can find time to fit me in between your undoubtedly packed schedule of hair appointments and dramatic sighing.
Finally, a word of advice: While your stationery is undeniably impressive, you may want to consider something more understated next time. The sheer opulence of your letter nearly blinded me. Perhaps something in plain parchment?
Yours (with only moderate sarcasm),
Elphaba Thropp
P.S. Do let Nessa know that you have received my reply, as she has been quite incessant that I not ignore the “simply wonderful, Galinda Upland.”
P.P.S Is a champagne fountain a real thing?
Elphaba leaned back, rereading her words with a smirk. Perfectly cutting, but not too much to scare the blonde away. Folding the letter neatly, she tucked it into a much more practical envelope, sealed it, and addressed it in her scratchy, no-nonsense handwriting.
“Well, Miss Upland,” she murmured, standing and heading for the door, “let’s see if your high society humour can take a proper roasting.” She was already looking forward to the meeting more than she cared to admit.