Chapter 2
Morrible knows how to train people and beasts alike, and bend them to her will. It’s what she did with Elphaba. That was, however, much easier than caging and training her songbird, her meadowlark. Because Glinda Upland was stubborn and loyal. Was, being the keyword here.
It took a few years of gruelling training, a vicious cycle of breaking a shattered soul even more, but the sorceress managed. It had proved troublesome at first, of course, but Morrible wasn’t one to give up, and that proved to be the right decision.
The Wizard never believed in her little bird. Morrible remembers his scepticism when they first let her take flight outside.
“You’re sure she’ll come back?”
“Of course. A single whistle and she’ll return to my hand. Birds are easy to train with a bit of effort, patience, and reward.”
“You’re sure? She won’t just…go? Fly away?”
“A well trained falcon will always return to its mistress, your greatness. Mine is no different.”
Oz had seen Glinda then. They’d seen what the Wicked Witch did to an innocent, and they immediately sided with the Wizard and his cause, sympathising with Glinda. Although Glinda’s public appearances were minimal, she was loved by all Ozians.
The Wizard had also seen her. He'd never truly believed in her songbird before, he'd scoffed at her use. But she proved to be useful, and one day the very thing the Wicked Witch had left behind would bring about her downfall. Both Morrible and the Wizard know it.
The dimness in her once bright eyes still makes Morrible smile. It means she has succeeded. No one seems to notice it either. They never seem to notice the paleness of her skin or the scars — both visible and invisible — of a life behind the emerald curtains.
There are some nights where Morrible hears her falcon crying out for the green girl she’d once called a friend. Morrible doesn’t do anything to interrupt her, because when she wakes up, Glinda will know once again that Elphaba abandoned her when she needed her, and it will break her once again, and Morrible will be there when she wakes up, just like she was there when Glinda woke up that day.
She walks to the west towers of the palace which is, ironically, the place her songbird is caged.
Glinda squints at the light entering the room when Morrible opens the door a crack to slip in.
“...Madame?” She tries, her voice hoarse from misuse. Morrible smiles.
Her eyes quickly adjust to the darkness of the room. It smells like an animal. Her student would have hated it, but her bird knows nothing else.
“Yes, meadowlark.” Morrible says. “It’s time for your training.” Glinda whimpers, shrinking away ever so slightly. “Now, now.” Morrible tsks. “Don’t be disobedient, you know the punishment.”
“Yes Madame.” Glinda says quietly, dipping her head and stepping out to clutch Morrible’s leather wrapped glove in her hands, her emerald chains rattling as she does so.
“That’s a good bird.” Morrible coos, and Glinda’s wings ruffle restlessly behind her.
Morrible brings two fingers to her thin lips and blows out a sharp whistle. Glinda’s great white wings spread, and she pushes off the ground.
Her meadowlark takes flight.
***
Glinda is tired.
She carefully nibbles on the scraps of raw meat thrown to her. She can sometimes make them last the whole day this way. Then she’d be okay for the next few days until her mistress came again, until she behaved well enough to be fed.
Glinda is always tired.
Her wings weigh heavy on her back. She remembers waking up with the unfamiliar weight, trying to get up, and failing to. It took her a while just to gain enough balance to stand, and once she did she remembers confusion and pain. And anger.
Glinda is exhausted.
Elphaba had left her mutilated, then abandoned her. For a while she was angry at everything until it was trained out of her. Now the only person she’s allowed to feel angry at is the green girl she had once considered a friend.
Glinda draws her knees close to her chest, her tattered clothes shifting. Someone inside her head is constantly screaming, constantly complaining, but Glinda can barely hear the words. She just knows they are there. She has memories of that person’s life, and somewhere deep down she remembers being her. But she just can’t associate with that person anymore. She remembers everything and nothing at all.
The only time she’s fed properly, given proper clothes is when it’s time for a public appearance. Judging by her spread today, she doubts that is coming anytime soon.
Glinda nibbles another piece of meat before laying it down, curling up on the straw covered floor, and allowing the clutches of sleep to drag her down into their dark depths.
Glinda is always exhausted.
***
Elphaba sighs as she flips through the newspaper with disinterest.
No news of Glinda.
She squeezes her eyes shut, trying not to think about brown eyes, blonde hair, and a laugh that sounded like honey to her ears.
On the best days she thinks and dreams of Glinda like this, like she was at Shiz. On the bad ones, she dreams of her screaming and bleeding due to Elphaba’s blunder. She dreams of her falling to the ground with a sickening thump, her chest barely rising.
The first time she’d got a newspaper featuring Glinda after nearly four months, she’d heaved a sigh of relief. Because Glinda was alive, and she looked well. Her wings weren’t bloodied as before, instead they were a pure snowy white, and they were majestic. Pinfeathers lined her skin in different areas, and she looked as beautiful as always.
Glinda was beloved by Oz while Elphaba was a fugitive, a wanted criminal.
Elphaba slinks through the shadows of the Emerald City. Quite frankly, she doesn’t know why she came here. She just…
Elphaba shakes her head and moves through the slums, ignoring the homeless and addicts. This was a mistake. Glinda probably hates her, and Elphaba wouldn’t blame her. But if she could just catch a glimpse of her old roommate, see her with her own two eyes rather than through photos splattered over the newspaper.
Her head falls back against the stone wall and she slides down to the floor, a tear slipping down her face. The hat Glinda had given for Ozdust barely leaves her head. The only times she takes it off are the rare moments she gets to take a bath. She could just imagine Glinda wrinkling her nose at the fact that Elphaba bathes so rarely. The blonde is always so impeccable when it comes to appearances.
Elphaba chuckles briefly at the thought.
She closes her eyes, thinking back to sunny days at Shiz. Days of laughter and happiness, both of which were in short supply now. Elphaba misses those days, but most of all she misses the blonde who made those days infinitely better.
Another tear.
Happy birthday, my sweet.