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Galinda sat perfectly upright at her vanity, the golden light of late afternoon glinting off the polished glass and dancing along the fluted edges of her perfume bottles. Her fingers, adorned in a fresh gloss of rose-quartz polish, delicately cradled an elegant program, its corners crisp despite how often she’d pored over it. The elaborate script across the top originally declared Wizard’s Welcome and Emerald City Orientation in curling, celebratory flourishes—but no such title was visible now.
Thanks to her ever-resourceful Momsie, the outer cover had been thoroughly transformed. Pale lavender vellum wrapped the original program like a second skin, embossed with the faint sheen of fashion house emblems and lined with real pressed moonflower petals, a detail both charming and cunning. At first glance, it looked like nothing more than the latest seasonal style guide from Glossip & Bane. Stylish. Harmless. Most importantly, entirely uninteresting to anyone not fluent in couture.
Galinda let out a soft breath, careful not to wrinkle the delicate paper as she turned a page. She could feel Elphaba nearby—her presence as distinct as a thundercloud in spring. From her spot by the window, Elphaba was quiet, probably lost in another one of her thick, crumbling books. Galinda dared a glance.
There she was, tucked against the window ledge like a shadow given form. The light framed her in unlikely beauty, casting her profile in warmth and tracing faint amber lines along the contours of her green skin. One long leg was drawn up beneath her, the other stretched out just enough to tilt the book against her knee. She read with the same intensity she did everything—with her whole self as if the words might disappear if she didn’t hold them fast.
Galinda’s heart stuttered.
She turned back to the disguised program quickly, cheeks warming. The speech she’d been composing—her goodbye, though she hadn’t quite called it that—sat half-finished in the margin of her nearby notebook. Words were crossed out. Phrases circled, rewritten, scratched again.
She didn’t want Elphie to leave. And yet she had no intention of stopping her.
The Emerald City and the Wizard awaited—grand and glittering and full of possibility. Elphaba belonged in a place that large, that electric with change. Galinda just didn’t know how to say goodbye without feeling like she was carving out part of her chest.
With a sigh, she reached for her pen again, eyes flicking to the window once more—just to see her. Just to make sure she was still there.
Still hers, for now.
Galinda had never struggled to define her feelings for anything before. Everything in her world had always been cleanly categorized—likes and dislikes, wants and needs, ambitions and indulgences. But Elphaba defied categorization.
She had tried to rationalize it at first. Elphaba was her friend—her best friend, really, even if that was a little scandalacious at Shiz to admit. They shared things. Not just idle gossip or the carefully curated secrets of Galinda's high society back home, but real things—truths they dared not reveal to anyone else. Hopes. Doubts. The quiet fears settled in during the late hours of the night.
More and more, she found herself drawn to Elphaba’s company, choosing her over the effortless glamour of Pfannee and ShenShen, over the lazy charm of Fiyero. She even had to start consciously reminding herself to spend time with them, rationing her days like a common hostess ensuring every guest received their due of her invaluable attention. But no matter how she structured it, she always found herself gravitating back to Elphaba.
It was strange. She had never felt the lack of someone as acutely as she did whenever Elphaba wasn’t there.
She wanted Elphie to have everything she’d dreamed of—an audience with the Wizard, a place in his court, the chance to shape policy and protect the Animals the rest of Oz pretended not to see. Elphaba deserved that future. Galinda had never doubted that.
But…what about her?
Her reflection stared back at her—painted, perfect, practiced—and for once, she couldn’t find comfort in it. Her fingers toyed absently with the ribbon of a perfume bottle as her thoughts drifted, unmoored, toward the future.
There were only twelve days until Elphaba would board the train to the Emerald City, her path rising toward greatness.
And Galinda? Where would she be?
Would they keep in touch? Would there be letters? Or would Elphaba be swept up in her inevitable destiny, the ink of her life thick with purpose, while Galinda’s faded to the margins?
Her heart gave an involuntary squeeze at the thought.
Because of course, the Wizard would accept Elphaba as his pupil. How could he not? He would be an Oz-damned fool to overlook someone like her. No one else could match Elphaba’s intellect, her force of will. She was a storm in human shape, impossible to ignore.
But would she still need Galinda?
Would she want her?
Galinda pressed her hands to her lap, fidgeting with the folds of her skirt. It had been Elphaba, after all, who had secured her a spot in Madame Morrible’s sorcery seminar. Without her, who was to say the Headmistress wouldn’t revoke the offer on a whim? Morrible had made her disdain for Galinda obvious from the beginning. Her status, her lineage, none of it had impressed the older woman.
No, it had been Elphaba who insisted. Who stood firm in the face of that withering gaze and declared that Galinda belonged there.
And now she was leaving.
Galinda blinked, eyes suddenly stinging. The future was coming on fast, with all sharp edges and unanswered questions. She would miss their long, late-night debates—Elphaba pacing, gesturing wildly, that fierce mind ignited with conviction. Galinda had pretended to be exasperated, even rolled her eyes for dramatic effect, but she’d always hung on every word, secretly thrilled just to be the center of Elphaba’s attention.
And then there were the softer moments. The quiet evenings when Elphaba would settle at the foot of her bed with a book, sighing but never protesting when Galinda reached over to braid her hair. She would mutter complaints about vanity and distractions, but she never once pulled away. Galinda had memorized the texture of her hair, the exact curl of her lips when she smiled despite herself, the way her green cheeks darkened if she dared to compliment her too sincerely.
But it was Elphaba’s laugh that would likely haunt her most—the rare, abrupt, entirely unladylike cackle of a laugh that startled them both the first time it broke free. It always came from someplace deep and unguarded. And every time she heard it, something inside Galinda’s chest turned over, filled with lightness so fierce it almost hurt.
No. She couldn’t lose that. She wouldn’t. She and Elphaba must never part so there was only one thing to do.
Her reflection flickered back into focus as she straightened, the beginnings of a smile tugging at her lips. A plan was already crystallizing in her mind, delicate yet brilliant—like lace spun from starlight.
She felt a delighted thrill rush through her as she envisioned their future—the ceremony, the grand reception, the moment Elphaba would finally, finally realize they belonged together.
The decision settled over her with the ease of a foregone conclusion, as natural as breathing. Why had it taken her this long to see it?
She could envision it already. Elphaba would be startled at first—because Elphaba was always startled when something good happened to her as if she couldn’t quite believe she deserved it. Then her sharp emerald features would soften, the wary edges melting away as realization dawned. There would be a flustered, indignant protest—perhaps a muttered, "Galinda, that’s absurd," as her long fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. And then—then—that rare, breathtaking smile, the one that Galinda coveted like the most precious gift.
But she had to be careful. Elphaba had bolted when Galinda had first called her beautiful all those weeks ago, retreating into sharp sarcasm and stubborn denial. If she pushed too hard, if she spooked her, she might ruin everything.
With all the practiced grace of a girl who had spent her life at the center of attention, Galinda set the program down and tilted her head toward Elphaba, voice light, sweet, deceptively casual.
“Elphie, have you ever thought about the future?”
Elphaba turned a page in her book without looking up. “In what sense?”
Galinda took a moment to admire how adorably studios Elphaba always looked before she responded. “You know, where you’ll live, what you’ll do, who you’ll be with…”
Elphaba’s dark eyes flicked upward from her book, guarded as ever. “Oh that future?” she asked, her voice tinged with caution.
“Yes!” Galinda nearly sang the word, her whole face lighting up with anticipation. She bounced once on her heels, unable to contain the excitement thrumming through her.
But Elphaba didn’t mirror her enthusiasm. She frowned slightly and closed the book—not bothering to mark her place, only settling it on her lap as if anchoring herself there. Her gaze fixed on Galinda with a quiet intensity that always made her feel like she was being seen too clearly, too deeply.
“I'm going to meet the Wizard,” Elphaba said slowly, carefully weighing each word. “I still want to help the Animals. But beyond that…” She looked away, lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t let myself hope for much more.”
Galinda’s smile faltered. “Why not?” she asked, stepping forward, her voice softer now, threading its way into the stillness between them.
There was a long beat. Elphaba’s shoulders tensed, and then she answered in a voice barely above a whisper. “Because nothing ever goes according to plan. Not for me.”
Something in Galinda’s chest ached at the quiet resignation in her tone. How could someone so vibrant, so fearlessly clever, speak like she was cursed with disappointment? She felt a spark of fierce anger at the world—and at Elphaba’s horrendible father—for letting her grow up thinking she didn’t deserve to dream.
Without thinking, Galinda reached out, her perfectly manicured fingers brushing the worn sleeve of Elphaba’s blouse. “You listen to me, Elphaba Thropp,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly with emotion. “You deserve to be happy. You—not some watered-down version of you that the world finds easier to swallow. Just you.”
Elphaba blinked, caught off guard by the rawness of it. Her eyes met Galinda’s, and for a moment, the whole world narrowed to the space between them.
“If you say so,” Elphaba murmured at last, with the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Galinda seized the moment, grinning wide as she tugged Elphaba forward, catching her by the hands with playful insistence. “I do say so,” she declared. “Besides, some of us like to have the future planned out.”
Elphaba quirked a brow, dry amusement slipping into her tone as she went back to her book. “Are you still planning on marrying Fiyero, or has that particular disaster been averted?”
Galinda waved a perfectly manicured hand as if swatting away an insignificant inconvenience. "Oh, Elphie, don’t be so dramatic. Fiyero and I have agreed that we’ll get on much better as friends." She tilted her head, a satisfied smile playing at her lips as if she had just unraveled some great cosmic mystery. "Isn’t that just marvelous?"
Elphaba let out a quiet breath, something like relief flickering in her sharp green eyes. "We both agreed," she murmured, barely glancing up from her book.
Galinda blinked. "What?"
" We both agreed," Elphaba repeated, emphasizing the correction with an absentminded sort of fondness, as though she’d done it a thousand times before.
Galinda scoffed, tossing her curls over her shoulder. "Honestly, Elphie, must you always be so particular?"
Elphaba’s smirk. “Must you always make it so easy?”
Galinda beamed. There it is—that almost smile that makes my whole chest feel lighter.
“Well,” she continued, her voice airy but full of intent. “About my future, there are still a few little details to sort out…”
Elphaba raised a brow. “Such as?”
Galinda tilted her head just so, her dimple winking into view. “I suppose I need to make absolutely sure you’ll be there, Miss Elphaba.”
Elphaba blinked. “Me?”
“Obviously!” Galinda declared. “You do intend to stay by my side, don’t you?”
Elphaba hesitated—just for a second. Then, quieter, “Yes, of course. I don’t intend to abandon you.”
Something swelled in Galinda’s chest—pure, radiant joy. “Exactly,” she said, voice bubbling with satisfaction.
Elphaba narrowed her eyes ever so slightly as if trying to piece something together, but then she just shook her head, dismissing the thought. Another one of Galinda’s dramatic outbursts , no doubt.
“I… suppose that’s settled, then,” Elphaba murmured, though something about the exchange still felt oddly significant.
Galinda, on the other hand, felt her heart thrum in her chest, full of warmth, full of certainty. “It is ,” she said softly, with an almost dreamy sigh. “Oh, Elphie. You’ve made me so happy to hear that.”
Elphaba, satisfied that whatever that was about had been handled, turned back to her reading. Meanwhile, Galinda, already picturing herself in the perfect white gown, had just mentally confirmed her future wedding to Elphaba.
It was settled , indeed.
She was going to marry Elphaba.
So what if she would no longer be marrying a prince? The Wizard of Oz’s future Grand Vizier was nothing to scoff at. Certainly prestigious enough to make Momsie and Popsicle beam with pride. And if she just so happened to choose someone utterly dazzling, unconventional, and green? Well, that would be her triumph, wouldn't it?
The idea wasn’t just appealing—it felt right. She and Elphaba, together living in the Emerald City. She no longer had to worry about tearful goodbyes or wondering if fate would pull them apart. She would rise through the ranks, Elphaba at her side, where she belonged.
She was going to get married. Not to some dainty prince with hollow charm, but to Elphie—the most brilliant, maddening, extraordinary girl in all of Oz.
And somehow, the decision felt like something she’d known all along, just waiting for her to catch up. Like slipping into a pair of shoes she hadn't realized were made for her.
Besides, there were practical benefits to consider. As the Wizard’s Grand Vizier, Elphaba would have the power and influence to ensure her work for the Animals succeeded. They would rule the Emerald City together—Elphaba, the brilliant, untamed force of justice, and Galinda, the charming, irresistible face of their movement. Power couple didn’t even begin to cover it.
It was perfect.
Galinda arrived at the dining hall earlier than usual the next morning, a rare occurrence for someone who preferred a slow, leisurely start to her day. But this was urgent. She needed to speak to Pfannee and ShenShen immediately.
She spotted them at their usual table, just settling in with their breakfast trays. Without waiting for so much as a greeting, she practically floated over, an air of barely contained excitement swirling around her.
“I have the most thrillifying news to share,” she declared before they had even touched their seats.
Pfannee barely had time to lift his cup of tea before Galinda dropped the news.
“Elphie and I are engaged.”
A heavy clatter rang through the dining hall. Pfannee’s cup slipped from his grasp and hit the floor with a clatter. ShenShen, meanwhile, had frozen mid-motion, spoon halfway to her mouth, eyes wide with something akin to horror.
Around them, a few of the early risers turned at the commotion, curious whispers already starting to spread.
Pfannee's mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. Nothing came out. He looked like a fish gasping for air.
ShenShen was the first to find her voice—barely. “I—what? How?” she spluttered, leaning forward like she’d misheard. “When did this happen?”
Galinda, utterly unbothered by their reactions, beamed, clasping her hands together in delight. “Oh, it’s all been rather sudden, hasn’t it?” she sighed dreamily. “But when you know, you know.”
Pfannee finally managed to string together words. “Galinda.” His voice was strangled. “Are you telling us that you—and Elphaba—are to be married?”
“Yes, Pfannee,” Galinda said in a tone that suggested he was being terribly slow to catch up. “That is precisely what I’m saying.”
ShenShen looked positively stricken. “So, you're going to plan a wedding in less than a week? For you and…Elphaba?”
Galinda offered a sigh so light and practiced it could have been bottled and sold. “Oh, ShenShen, do try to keep up,” she said, waving one manicured hand in the air. “We’ve already agreed to be together forever. Honestly, what is marriage if not a public confirmation of what we already know to be true?”
ShenShen’s gaze darted to Pfannee, who sat stiff-backed in the nearby chair like he was trying not to physically recoil. The two shared a look—one of whispered panic, wide-eyed disbelief, and unspoken dread. It was the kind of look passed between passengers when the ship's captain steers directly into a storm.
Pfannee leaned forward slowly, his voice careful. “Don’t you think it’s all happening a bit suddenly?”
Galinda rose in a flourish, smoothing the front of her glittering blouse. “And that,” she said, ignoring the question entirely, “is why you, Pfannee, shall be my Maid of Honor. And ShenShen,” she turned with a dazzling smile, “you’ll stand as my Best Man.”
ShenShen’s jaw dropped. “What?”
Before either of them could muster a proper protest, Galinda swept past them, practically vibrating with energy.
“There’s so much to do!” she squealed, her voice echoing through the corridor as she vanished into the hall. “Stationery, sashes, seating arrangements, rings, a dress—I need five dresses— six, just to be safe!”
The door slammed shut behind her, leaving Pfannee and ShenShen alone in stunned silence.
Pfannee blinked. “Did she just tell us—?”
“Yes,” ShenShen breathed, still frozen. “She did.”
Elphaba had always been watched. Her skin—the color of fresh-cut emeralds, of envy, of every half-whispered insult—had ensured that. At Shiz, eyes followed her like shadows. Some curious. Most cautious. And many, outright contemptuous.
But lately… the stares had shifted.
Since Madame Morrible’s favor and the unexpected opportunity to meet the Wizard, people no longer looked at her with disgust—but with something bordering awe. Or worse, envy. Even the most unflappable students had begun whispering behind her back with a new kind of edge. Boq’s glare at breakfast had been so acidic he nearly curdled her tea just by being near it.
So, Elphaba did what she always did when the world felt too tight around her ribs: she escaped.
She slipped beyond the wrought-iron gates of Shiz and wandered into the woods bordering the campus, the trees tall and patient and blessedly indifferent to her presence. Here, the light filtered in broken gold through the branches, dappling her boots in warmth as she walked, her long black coat trailing behind her like a shadow with somewhere to be.
She didn’t expect company. Which meant, of course, she heard hoofbeats. Her mood soured immediately at the sound of a familiar, lazy drawl above her.
“Didn’t expect to see you hiding out in the woods.” A chuckle then. “Not that it would be difficult for you to disappear.” Came the tease.
Elphaba didn’t look up. “Hello, Feldspar,” she said, voice dry as bark, deliberately ignoring him as she stooped to brush moss from the toe of her boot.
Fiyero chuckled from atop his friend, kicking one leg over the saddle and dropping down with irritating grace. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
That earned her attention. Elphaba turned toward him, brow arched. “Oh. Yes. Madame Morrible says if I impress the Wizard, I may be granted a place at his side. A real chance to do some good.” She glanced away, almost shy. “It’s more than I ever expected.”
Fiyero’s expression flickered strangely. “So it’s true then? The wedding’s really happening in the Emerald City?”
Elphaba froze. Her mouth opened, then closed. “The what?”
“The wedding.” Fiyero leaned against a nearby tree, watching her with something unreadable in his eyes. “You and Galinda. I assumed the bit about the Wizard officiating was just exaggerated fluff. But I guess when you’re his apprentice, anything’s possible.”
Elphaba’s blood turned to ice.
The words didn’t make sense—not at first. They landed in her mind out of order, upside down. She stared at Fiyero, uncomprehending. “I’m not—Galinda and I—”
Her knees nearly buckled beneath her.
“I’m not getting married,” she said finally, the words thin and faint as mist. “Not to Galinda. I didn’t even know there were rumors.”
Fiyero blinked, thrown for a moment. “You mean… you two aren’t—?”
“No!” Elphaba snapped, louder than she meant to. She felt her magic flare in response and she stepped back, pressing a hand to her temple as if to push the spiraling thoughts into order. “I’m going to the Emerald City to meet the Wizard. That’s all.”
Fiyero looked genuinely taken aback. “But the way she talks about you, the way she’s been planning things—there were dresses, invitations—”
“I thought that was just… Galinda being Galinda,” Elphaba muttered, dazed. “She’s always planning something.”
There was a long silence between them, filled only by the rustle of leaves and the quiet snort of Feldspar behind him. Finally, Fiyero exhaled and ran a hand through his tousled hair.
“Well,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes, “I suppose congratulations are still in order. Whether it’s the Wizard’s court or Galinda’s altar, it seems you’re bound for something grand.”
Elphaba stared at him, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.
For the first time, she wondered—was she? Was she truly on the path she thought she was? Or had she been swept along by something else entirely—by dreams that weren’t entirely her own, by soft smiles in the dark and braids woven with more care than words could ever carry?
“I have to go,” she said, the words spilling out in a rush. Her voice was strained, distant—already halfway gone. She turned and began walking briskly, but after a few steps, the press of her thoughts became too heavy to bear at that pace.
Then she ran.
Leaves crunched underfoot as she dashed through the trees, branches clawing at her coat and wind tearing through her braids. The world blurred—sunlight through branches, the slap of her boots against the damp forest path, the way her name sounded in Fiyero’s voice, entangled with a misunderstanding she couldn’t afford to let fester.
She couldn’t stop.
All that mattered now was getting back to Galinda. To look her in the eyes. To ask. To know.
Because if everyone else already thought they were engaged… then what exactly had Galinda been planning?
And why did the idea of that not terrify her, but instead make something deep in her chest ache with impossible, glittering hope?
Elphaba had encountered plenty of oddities since becoming Galinda’s roommate. She had grown accustomed to the sheer excess of it all—the explosion of pink, the perfume that clung to every surface, the mountain range of shoes threatening to take over her side of the room. There were days when she could barely navigate the chaos of feathered accessories and jeweled baubles without tripping over something excessively frilly.
But this? This was new.
Galinda was half-folded into Elphaba’s minimal trunk, her dainty hands rifling through its sparse contents with the intensity of a treasure hunter searching for lost gold.
Elphaba paused just inside the door. “Should I be concerned that you’re pillaging my belongings?”
Galinda’s head snapped up, her curls bouncing in disarray. The effect was almost comical—her usual perfection unraveling as if she’d been caught red-handed. But instead of looking guilty, she beamed.
“Elphie!” she trilled, dragging out the last syllable with a flourish. “Perfect timing! I need your help.”
“With what?” Elphaba asked warily as she closed the door. With quick reflexes, she immediately sidestepped a black blouse Galinda had unceremoniously tossed aside.
Galinda turned to face her fully, making a grand show of flipping her hair over one shoulder—though the effect was somewhat lost, given the disheveled state of her usually pristine tresses. She placed a manicured hand on her hip and regarded Elphaba with a critical gaze as if she were appraising a particularly tricky math equation.
“Elphie, darling,” she said at last, voice dripping with exaggerated patience. “Do you own anything that isn’t black?”
Elphaba’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Black works best with my verdigris.”
Galinda gasped, clutching her heart as if personally wounded. “That is simply not true!” She pointed an accusatory finger. “We discovered—and I mean, scientifically confirmed—that pink goes good with green.”
“Goes well with green,” Elphaba corrected, though the fond roll of her eyes softened the remark.
Galinda waved a dismissive hand. “Semantics.”
Before Elphaba could protest further, Galinda spun on her heel and reached for a small notebook Elphaba hadn’t noticed before. The cover was a vibrant shade of pink, of course, and as Galinda flipped it open, Elphaba caught glimpses of carefully written notes, scribbled annotations, and what looked suspiciously like fabric swatches tucked between the pages.
Elphaba frowned. “Galinda, Fiyero just told me something and I need you to clarify if it's true?”
Galinda hummed as she made another note, tapping her pen against her chin in thought before finally looking up, eyes alight with purpose.
“What’s your favorite color?” she asked as if this were the most natural question in the world.
Elphaba blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Your favorite color,” Galinda repeated as if speaking to a particularly slow student. “I need to know.”
Elphaba hesitated. No one had ever asked her that before. Certainly, she had preferences—things she gravitated toward. But favorites? That implied indulgence, as if she were allowed to choose things based on desire rather than practicality.
“…I don’t think I have one,” she admitted at last.
Galinda’s face twisted into something between disbelief and determination. “Well, that won’t do. We must find one for you.”
Elphaba sighed. “And why, exactly, is this so important?”
Galinda snapped her notebook shut with a satisfied smile. “Because, my dear Elphie, if I’m going to marry you, I must ensure you look absolutely stunning for our wedding.”
Elphaba stared. “I—what?”
“Oh, don’t be so surprised,” Galinda said breezily, already flipping through fabric samples as if she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell into the conversation. “I simply refuse to let you wear plain black to our wedding. It’s positively criminal. Now, I’m thinking something in the jewel-tone family—perhaps a topaz? Or maybe a deep plum…”
Elphaba was still stuck on ‘if I’m going to marry you.’ She rubbed her temples. “Galinda, I don’t recall agreeing to this wedding of yours.”
Galinda gasped, clutching her chest as if Elphaba had suggested she not accessorize. “Elphie! How could you be so cruel? Here I am, planning our perfect future together, and you refuse to commit?”
“Oh Oz,” Elphaba hissed under her breath, her hands clenching tightly at her sides as the balcony doors rattled on their hinges. The curtains fluttered despite the absence of a breeze, and a low hum of energy prickled through the air like a rising storm. “You’ve told everyone we’re getting married—”
Galinda, unfazed, beamed. “Naturally. People need proper notice to clear their schedules.”
“—except me.” Elphaba's voice cracked like a whip, her eyes flashing dangerously.
Galinda pursed her lips and lifted her chin. “We promised to spend forever hereafter together,” she said.
Elphaba’s gaze dropped to her hands, fingers curling inward as if she could somehow keep the tremble from showing. A faint pulse in the air around her, like the first stirrings of a gathering storm. Her voice, when it came, was low and sharp-edged. “That’s not a proposal, Galinda,” she muttered, more to the quiver in her palms than to the woman across from her. “It’s hardly a declaration.”
Galinda gave a little huff and smoothed a hand down her skirt with theatrical grace. “Let’s not quarrel over logistics,” she said breezily, trying for charm. “It’s hardly the time for it. There are seating charts to finalize and floral options to approve, and you know how delicate peonies and poppies can be—”
Elphaba’s head snapped up, her eyes blazing with disbelief. “You were going to plan an entire wedding,” she growled, each word gathering weight, “without even asking me. How can you just—decide something like this—we haven’t even kissed—”
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Then Galinda’s eyes lit up mischievously, and she stepped forward with a brilliant grin that could have outshone the Emerald City itself. “Well, that’s an easy fix,” she chirped. “We can certainly practice before the wedding!”
She said it like she was offering a solution to an untied ribbon as if Elphaba's spiraling emotions were little more than misplaced theater nerves.
But the world around Elphaba began to shift in earnest.
A ripple of unseen magic surged outward from where she stood. The pens on the desk began to tremble, then lifted into the air, rotating slowly. Sheets of parchment rustled themselves free and floated upward in lazy spirals. The lamp bulbs on the mantle flared a fierce golden green, casting long, eerie shadows that flickered like spirits against the walls. Even the porcelain tea set near the window rose a few inches off the table, cups gently clinking against their saucers in defiance of gravity.
Elphaba stood at the center of the gathering storm, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, her expression caught between fury and heartbreak. Her magic threaded itself into every corner of the room—wild, and unfiltered.
Galinda’s smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of something more cautious. “Elphie…”
“I’m fine,” Elphaba whispered, clearly anything but fine. Her voice was hollow, distant. “I just wasn't expecting this.”
“I want you,” Galinda continued, fingers twitching at her sides. “I want all of it, with you. But maybe I rushed it. Maybe I got so caught up in the idea of forever that I forgot to ask what you wanted.”
The hovering objects paused as if listening.
Elphaba’s lips parted, the smallest sigh escaping her. The storm around her didn’t vanish, but it began to still—like a tide slowly receding.
“Oh, Elphie,” Galinda’s voice turned soft, almost chiding. She inhaled, and then, with all the grace her Upper Upland upbringing could summon, she sank into a deep, theatrical bow, her smile sparkling like polished glass. She extended a delicate hand. “Elphaba Thropp, I love you, and I cannot bear to imagine a life that doesn't have you in it. Please, make me the happiest woman in all of Oz—marry me.”
Elphaba stood frozen, her breath trapped in her throat. She stared at Galinda for a long, impossible moment.
Galinda’s smile twitched, becoming thinner. “…Well?” she prompted gently.
“I—” Elphaba breathed, barely audible, then reached out and placed her trembling hand in Galinda’s. “Yes.”
Galinda’s brows lifted. “Yes?”
“Yes,” Elphaba said again, firmer now. Sparks crackled softly where their skin met. “I said yes.”
Galinda gave a joyful gasp and flung her arms around her. Elphaba stiffened in the embrace at first, but then relaxed, just slightly, letting her head rest on Galinda’s shoulder. When they pulled apart, the magic slowly released its hold on the room—teacups settled, parchment floated to the floor, and candles calmed.
“Oh!” Galinda chirped suddenly, clapping her hands. “I have to tell you about the ring! Popsicle’s having my Granny’s wedding band restored. Emerald opals, can you imagine?”
“You don’t have to go to such trouble,” Elphaba murmured, voice distant again.
“I know. I'm so very generous. It should have been relinquished directly to me,” Galinda said with a warm, tinkling laugh. “But it would suit you so much better.”
Elphaba huffed something like a laugh, low and uncertain. “Like the hat,” she said quietly.
Galinda stepped forward and reached up, gently brushing two braids away from Elphaba’s face. “Elphie?” Her hand rested against the curve of Elphaba’s cheek. “Are you all right?”
Elphaba blinked, slowly, as if surfacing from a dream, and gave a tiny nod.
Galinda took her hands and tugged gently, guiding her toward the center of the room. “I mean, since we’re to be wed, we should probably practice, don’t you think?”
Elphaba tilted her head. “Practice?”
Galinda bit her lip, then leaned forward just enough to whisper, “A kiss. It was your idea. For appearances. Of course. We cannot have a hideoteous first kiss in front of the Gillikinese elite.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Elphaba, still blinking like the world had shifted beneath her, nodded once. “Right. For appearances.”
Their faces inched closer, the space between them narrowing with every heartbeat. Elphaba’s magic sparked around them again, subtle this time—a gentle pulse through the air, like the room itself held its breath. Galinda’s hands found Elphaba’s waist. Elphaba’s fingers brushed against the curve of Galinda’s jaw. The kiss deepened, sweet and quiet.
To Elphaba’s astonishment, Galinda didn’t rush. Instead, she leaned in with a softness that caught her entirely off guard, her breath warm and steady between them. Then, gently—almost reverently—she pressed a sweet, closed-mouth kiss to Elphaba’s lips.
Elphaba’s breath caught. Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing her cheekbones as a strange, wonderful weightlessness rose in her chest. The contact was feather-light, yet it sent her thoughts scattering in every direction. Her heart gave a startled flutter, as if unsure whether to race ahead or freeze entirely.
She returned the kiss slowly, testing the moment like a page turned with care. Her movements were hesitant at first, cautious, as though she half-expected Galinda to pull away or vanish like a dream dissipating at dawn.
But instead, Galinda stayed.
Elphaba felt a hand brush her jaw, fingers trembling slightly as they traced the edge of her neck. The touch grounded her, and when Galinda’s other hand found her shoulder, firm and sure, pulling her just a breath closer, any lingering doubt unraveled. This wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t charity. It was real.
Elphaba exhaled softly through her nose and deepened the kiss just enough to match the warmth blooming between them. Her fingers rose to Galinda’s waist, unsure where to rest, then settled there as if they’d always belonged.
She felt it, then—Galinda’s smile against her lips, small and dazzling. The gentle kiss shifted, deepening naturally, the air around them charged with sudden heat and heady sweetness. It wasn’t just about attraction. It was the culmination of everything unspoken between them—every shared glance, every late-night conversation, every fragile thread of trust they’d woven over time.
And in that moment, Elphaba didn’t feel strange.
She felt wanted.
Wanted by her.
“Oh!” Galinda squeaked, giving Elphaba’s hand a swift smack as it began to slip under her shirt.
Elphaba immediately froze, pulling back as though burned. “What? Did I do something wrong?” Her brows knit together, the edge of vulnerability in her voice cutting through the moment.
Galinda straightened, one hand at her throat, the other fanning her flushed face. “Oh, Elphie…” she said breathlessly, her tone wavering between flustered and utterly enchanted. “You are… quite passionate.”
Elphaba blinked, still unsure whether to feel ashamed or proud. “Is that a bad thing?” she asked cautiously, her voice low and searching.
“Certainly not,” Galinda said quickly, shaking her head with such fervor that a golden curl bounced free from its pin. “But we mustn’t let our passion run away with us.” She cleared her throat delicately, straightening her clothes. “It isn’t… proper.”
“I’d much rather be improper,” Elphaba murmured, the ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips as she inched closer again, eyes gleaming with a playful kind of heat.
Galinda gave a strangled little gasp as she placed a trembling hand on Elphaba’s bicep, meant to hold her back, but Elphaba’s muscles tensed beneath her fingers—flexing ever so slightly.
Galinda’s blush crept across her cheeks until it rivaled the vibrant bloom of highland poppies in peak summer. The color clashed delightfully with the soft pink of her silk dressing gown. She clutched Elphaba’s arm again, more firmly this time, fingertips brushing against the defined muscle beneath the fabric of her plain, fitted coat.
“Elphie,” Galinda whispered, her voice caught somewhere between awe and mischief, “honestly—why have you been hiding this from me?” Her fingers toyed with the buttons at the base of Elphaba’s neckline, nimble and curious.
Elphaba’s hands flew to the front of her coat, pulling it closed with a sharp, defensive motion. She stepped back as if the very air had become flammable, her voice taut. “I thought you cautioned against going further.”
Galinda blinked, startled, before letting out a dramatic huff and relinquishing the fabric. “I wasn’t trying to seduce you,” she said, indignantly—though she kept her voice low, glancing around as if a scandalized dormitory matron might appear from behind a curtain. “I was admiring,” she added, her fingers drifting again down Elphaba’s arm in a feather-light touch. “Truly, though. How are you so strong?”
Elphaba’s expression shifted—still guarded but touched with a trace of something bittersweet. Her gaze went distant, voice dropping into a tone dry with memory but softened by Galinda’s presence.
“When I was younger, I had an outburst,” she said simply. “One of the bad ones. My father gave me an axe and told me to chop wood until he said stop.” She let out a short breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “He never told me when to stop. I chopped through snowstorms and fever. By the end of the month, we had enough firewood to heat the whole home until First Melt.”
Galinda gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “That is horrid,” she exclaimed, scandalized. “I have half a mind to uninvite him entirely. That wretched old—” She broke off with a dramatic flourish, tossing yet another glitter-dusted notebook onto the ever-growing pile atop the bed. The book sparkled as it was flipped open, landing on a page thick with handwritten names.
Elphaba’s eyes tracked the movement, curiosity drawing her closer—until she caught sight of the page.
Her brows shot up. “Wait. Is this the guest list?” she asked, voice climbing in alarm. She reached out and flipped the page. And the next. And the next. “Galinda, there are six pages of names.”
Galinda beamed like the rising sun. “I know! Isn’t it splendid?”
Elphaba’s face was a perfect picture of disbelief. “There are at least four members of the Wizard’s Council on here. Two Glikkun Dukes. Someone named Countess Paprika—”
“She’s the foremost tea heiress in Oz!” Galinda chimed.
“We don’t need a parade. Or dancers in full sequin regalia. Or—what even is a champagne swan fountain?” Elphaba’s voice grew more incredulous with each syllable. “It sounds like a hazard.”
“Well,” Galinda said breezily, adjusting her curls with affected nonchalance, “it might be excessive. But can you imagine it? The most magical union in all the Four Provinces! Galinda Upland of the Upper Uplands, daughter of Highmuster Arduenna—” she gave a tiny curtsy, “—marrying Elphaba Thropp, the Thropp Third Descending of Nest Hardings and the most powerful sorceress Oz has ever seen.”
Elphaba groaned softly, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was warding off a spell-induced headache. “Galinda,” she said, quietly but firmly, “I would prefer something smaller. Intimate. No orchestras. No fountains. Just... us. You and me. That would be enough.”
Galinda's expression softened, her bravado dissolving. She reached out again, threading her fingers through Elphaba’s. “You’ll always be enough for me, Elphie,” she murmured, her voice velvet soft. “I just wanted the world to see what I already know.”
Elphaba met her gaze, caught in it. “And what’s that?”
Galinda’s smile turned gentle. “Someone extraordinary.”
Galinda had always believed that Gillikin was the fairest of the provinces—lavender skies at twilight, cobblestone paths that shimmered with star-laced dust, and the glimmering spires of Glikkus rising like spun glass in the distance. But today, with golden banners fluttering from the balconies of her family’s manse and enchanted lanterns twinkling midair in rhythmic hues of celadon and blush, it seemed nothing short of enchanting.
Guests filled the courtyard, seated in rows of carved moonstone chairs, their eyes wide, expressions suspended somewhere between awe and astonishment. One Gillikinese matron nearly dropped her rosewater flute when Elphaba stepped into view.
Elphaba. Her Elphie.
She was breathtaking.
The fitted gown shimmered in hues of ivory, threaded with real gold filigree that caught the sunlight like spellwork. It hugged her waist and flared just slightly over her hips, tailored to both elegance and unapologetic strength. A sash of deep forest green wrapped her waist like a quiet defiance, its matching cape draping from her shoulders and trailing behind her like the train of a true Ozian sovereign.
Galinda had nearly cried when she saw the ensemble that morning, barely resisting the urge to kiss every inch of her fiancée right there on the dressing platform.
And Galinda herself? She stood radiant in her sleeveless dress, the corset bodice cinched with emerald ribbons that mirrored Elphaba’s cape, the skirt tumbling around her in waves of shimmering ivory silk. Her curls had been charmed to remain in a perfect spiral, held in place with a delicate circlet that glowed faintly with moonstones—a begrudging gift from Elphaba’s father via Munchkinland artisans.
The officiant, a robed Luminary of Lurlinemas, was reciting the sacred vows in a blend of High Ozian and Gillikinese. Galinda barely registered the words. The world had gone cotton-soft and warm, her heart thrumming like a quadling drum as she stared into Elphaba’s dark, steady eyes.
And oh, Elphaba was looking at her like she was real. Like she was something worth believing in.
Galinda could sense Elphaba’s nerves, the stiff set of her shoulders, the breath she kept forgetting to take. But the moment their hands found each other, fingers lacing together with practiced ease, it was as though the world steadied beneath them.
The vows passed in a blur—promises spoken with aching honesty and eyes too full of emotion to look away.
And when it was done, when the officiant announced, “By the power invested in me by the Emerald Throne and the High Orders of Oz—I bind you, in light and magic, as wives,” a hush fell.
For the briefest moment.
Then came a collective sigh—part relief, part wonder—and not a single eye remained dry. Even Elphaba’s father, who had spent half the engagement muttering about scandal and appearances, dabbed discreetly at his cheek with his embroidered handkerchief.
Elphaba turned to her with a small, astonished smile, and Galinda didn’t wait for permission. She surged forward, curling both arms around Elphie’s neck, and kissed her like they were the only two beings in all of Oz.
And just like that, they were wed.
Bound by love. Defiant, dazzling, and unafraid—together.