𝑮𝑶𝑶𝑫 ⠀⠀⠀𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑪𝑯 ✧

a private interpretation of g(a)linda upland as told by mara/bonnibel. first created in early 2025 and revamped may 2026. affiliated with @fabala's elphaba thropp. single-ship, and low activity. my portrayal derives mainly from the theatre production and film, with inspirations taken from the book as i see fit. my graphics were generously made by my wonderful esme as well!

⋆˙ ⟡ the words strike glinda like shattered glass wrapped in velvet. as though elphaba is asking her to survive instead of asking her to stay. the wizard’s chambers pulse around them in sickly gold and green, machinery groaning somewhere deep within the walls, smoke curling through candlelight like the room itself is choking on its own wickedness. guards shout in distant corridors hile somewhere below them oz trembles on the edge of becoming something terrible. and in the center of it all stands elphaba — beautiful, furious, and terrified. ❝ don’t, ❞ glinda breathes immediately, the word escaping before pride or composure can soften it into something prettier. her voice shakes in a way she hates, all cracked starlight and panic unraveling at the seams. because suddenly the room feels unbearably wrong, tilted sideways by the horrifying implication hidden inside elphaba’s command. leave me behind. glinda stares at them as though the very thought is impossible. offensive, because the idea of a world where she runs while elphaba stays standing in the fire feels less like survival and more like cruelty dressed in virtue. her slippers scrape softly against marble as she steps closer instead of away, silk skirts trembling around her ankles like frightened petals caught in a storm. tears burn bright behind her eyes now, making everything shimmer too beautifully to bear. ❝ you can’t ask me to do that, ❞ she whispers, softer this time, as though gentleness might somehow make the truth less devastating. ❝ not after you came back for me. ❞ her hands rise almost helplessly toward elphaba’s face then, fingertips trembling where they brush against green skin still warm from magic and rage and life. the contact feels sacred, almost fragile, like trying to hold onto lightning without being burned alive by it. ❝ please. come with me. [i can't do this alone!] ❞

⋆˙ ⟡ ❝ you say that like it’s a talent you picked up on purpose, ❞ glinda murmurs, already smiling before she’s finished the sentence, because of course elphaba would turn something so earnest into a joke and somehow make it sweeter for it. she shifts closer without asking, curls loosening, skirts rustling like a secret being kept. elphaba’s shoulder is warm, comfortingly, impossibly warm, and glinda thinks, briefly and fondly, that the world could end right here and she’d be fine so long as this stayed exactly the same. she settles her head against them, careful at first, then less so, laughter soft and breathy when she realizes how perfectly she fits. ❝ well, ❞ she says, voice gone syrupy with contentment, ❝ if you insist on being useful, who am i to deny you your calling? ❞ her fingers toy absently with the edge of elphaba’s sleeve, tracing little half-moons she doesn’t even notice she’s making. it smells like parchment and rain and something sharper she’s learned to associate with safety. glinda hums, pleased, a sound that lives somewhere between a sigh and a secret. ❝ don’t move, ❞ she adds, eyes fluttering shut, utterly serious now. ❝ you’ll ruin everything. ❞ a pause, then softer still, meant only for the space between them. ❝ you’re very good at this. ❞ and because glinda is glinda, because affection always spills over when she isn’t watching, she presses a small kiss to elphaba’s temple like a seal of approval and lets herself drift, perfectly content, cradled by the very best pillow she’s ever known.

now she's here, standing before them. it should have felt like fear, galinda thinks, standing there with the weight of oz stitched neatly into her sleeves, watching elphaba emerge from shadow into lamplight. they are meant to be enemies, opposite sides of a war written in codes and consequences, and yet the moment stretches, charged and intimate, as if the world has narrowed to the space between them. elphaba’s gaze is sharp, unafraid, cutting straight through the smile galinda wears like armor, and something in her chest tilts dangerously toward recognition, attraction, she realizes, is just another kind of betrayal. ❝ don't come any closer, ❞ galinda whispers, but her voice betrays her. ❝ i'll, i'll shoot! ❞

her composure frays in quieter places now, not in grand gestures, but in the way her breath forgets its rhythm when elphaba stands too near, in the heat that gathers low and insistent as though her body has begun answering questions her mouth refuses to ask. galinda’s gaze drifts, betrays her, lingers on the line of their mouth, the promise implied in the slightest tilt of their head. ❝ you don’t even touch me, ❞ she murmurs, almost smiling at her own undoing, ❝ and still you leave me feeling as though i’ve been thoroughly ruined. ❞ the words are silked with hunger, with the dangerous knowledge of how easily she would unravel if given leave, stays loosened, breath stuttering, every carefully learned rule slipping like gloves to the floor. she leans in just enough that the space between them aches, a held note stretched too long, and whispers, ❝ if this is what restraint feels like, then i fear what will become of me the moment you decide to stop being kind. ❞

the air between them stills, heavy as the moment before a glass chandelier shatters. glinda turns away first (...) not out of mercy, but because her face is no longer something she trusts the world to see. her breath trembles in her chest, thin as a thread, as she gathers her skirts and wills her spine into that perfect, punishing posture she once mistook for strength. [ she has learned to walk away from everything she loves: shiz, innocence, elphaba, herself most of all. ] the lanternlight catches on her cheek and makes it gleam like a polished mask, but beneath it her expression is a ruin, delicate and unfixable. ❝ go, ❞ she whispers, not looking back. ❝ before oz demands more of you than you can bear. before i say something even worse. ❞ the words bleed into the corridor like a benediction sharpened into a curse. she takes one step, then another, until her silhouette becomes a pale echo swallowed by the gold-lit hall. [ she will not cry. she will not break. she will not let a girl from another world see how thoroughly oz has hollowed her. ] and when the last sliver of her figure disappears around the marble arch, all that remains in the silence is the faint perfume of rosewater, the lingering tremor of unsaid forgiveness, and the unbearable truth that the only witch she ever loved is gone, leaving glinda to inherit an emerald throne with nothing left in her hands but ashes.