Merry Christmas @mudefrau!
The evening sun gilds the trees and hanging moss and reflection off the water into something precious, the chorus of the wetland-bugs rises like a welcome, and Nessarose is distraught, because Elphaba is leaving.
She must not show it, of course. She sits on the end of Elphaba’s bed, watching owl-faced as her elder sister packs up what little she owns.
“What do you think, Nessa, the red or the brown?” Elphaba is holding up a pair of traveling dresses, the only two she owns that are physically suitable for the rigors of the journey.
“The red clashes horribly, you know this.”
“You’re right, first impressions are so vital to the life of any girl newly blossomed into adulthood. Finding a way to stand out is of paramount importance,” she says as she folds up and packs away the brown dress, setting aside the red one to wear tomorrow.
Nessarose scoffs in nominal disgust, for the sake of appearances, but lacking any teeth. “A noteworthy first impression is important, yes, but not so important that it’s worth making the faithful think they need to perform an exorcism on you.”
“Assuming any remain.”
“Shiz is a Unionist university, correct?”
“It was, originally, but it’s become rather secular, even the pleasure faith has been rumored to grow amongst the student body.”
“Well, perhaps the faculty will be more sensible. Are they not renowned for their wisdom and experience? Is that not why they were chosen to shepherd young, impressionable minds towards a gracious adulthood?”
“One would hope.”
Elphaba had stopped, staring at nothing with a shadow in her eyes. Nessa tries to not wish for arms very often, her condition must after all be crucial to the Unnamed God’s plan for her, but she thinks it must not be blasphemous to wish she could put a comforting hand on her sister’s shoulder.
She settles for words. “Well, even if the contents have rotted, the structure might yet be sound, no?”
“It’s the library I’m most interested in, actually,” Elphaba says, avoiding the question, “Since Shiz was an old Unionist school, they’ve got one of the largest repositories of very old Unionist texts. I’m interested in comparing the origins of the religion to its modern state, and seeing if I can trace back how it got here.”
And there it is. Nessa knows Elphaba must be only posturing when she throws her supposed atheism into their father’s face; after all, who but the truly devout would put so much effort into understanding the growth of this religion, to learn which supposed “traditions” are in truth harmful later additions that must be scraped away?
Even if Elphaba claims to reject the faith, should she devote herself to it beyond university, why, she might be the greatest thing to happen to Unionism since the Saints of old. Truly living up to her name.
“That sounds wonderful. You’ll keep me up-to-date with your findings, won’t you?”
Elphaba’s expression softens into the warm face reserved exclusively for Nessa. “Of course,” she says, with a gentle yet toothy smile that displays her unusually sharp canines.
Her teeth, her skin, her aversion to water, her sandpaper personality, all of these things make others think Elphaba some demon of prophecy, a human-shaped incarnation of a draconic herald of the apocalypse.
But here is the truth: Elphaba is tame for Nessa. Elphaba is gentle for Nessa. Nessa is certain that the Unnamed God gave them to each other for a reason: the dragon that would have raged across field and city has instead become the guardian of a holy woman. Or something along those lines. Whether Elphaba truly has faith does not matter, because her love for Nessa is the most real thing in the world.
In the most locked-down, guarded space in her heart, she thinks Elphaba’s love is more real, even, than Father’s love for her.
And Elphaba is leaving.
“But do you have to go now? Couldn’t you wait a couple years and go with me, when the time comes?”
Elphaba sighs, deep and heavier than her lungs should allow. “Nessa, if I stay in this house much longer, I fear I will no longer be able to restrain myself, and might one day tear Father’s throat out.” She is outgrowing them, the house too small to stretch her wings.
“You won’t hurt him if I’m there.”
“But you can’t be with me every moment of the day,” I wish I could, “And besides, every day I spend here is another day I risk slipping on a wayward patch of lichen and falling into the water, and then there would be nothing to threaten Father at all.”
“We could go back to Colwen Grounds together.”
“Without Father? You know he loved Turtle Heart too much to abandon this cause.”
“Well, Nanny would be happy at least.”
“You are not wrong.” Her smile fades. “But Nessa, I have to go. I can’t— can’t stay still any longer.”
Nessa sighs. “Alright.” She worries, privately, about what Elphaba will become without her. “But we will write frequently, yes?”
“Of course.” And in that secluded spot in her heart, Nessa worries about what she will become without Elphaba.
Worries that Elphaba’s true gentleness and affection might no longer be reserved for her. That Elphaba might find someone who can give her something Nessarose couldn’t, and decide that this other person is more important.
That she might be a part of what Elphaba is outgrowing.
Not that she allows herself to articulate this thought into words, even in her own mind.
Elphaba stands up straight, then, and turns around to rummage through her things.
“Listen, Nessa— about Turtle Heart.”
“Yes,” she says shortly. That frayed knot at the beginning of her existence—something that should have been a shame on her father, perhaps, but which Father had instead turned into the fuel for his holy mission.
“When he first came to our parents, he made something for me.” She pulls out a glass disc, at first appearing to be a pale green, but displaying a subtle iridescence as it turns in the light. “I want you to have it. Something of him.”
Nessa frowns. “Would he have approved of me getting something like this?”
“Oh, Nessa, he would have adored you.” Elphaba places the disc in the satchel Nessa has strung around her shoulders.
Then, Nessa pitches forward into Elphaba’s embrace. They are both silent.
The moment is broken by Nanny barging into the room. “Do you two have any idea what time it is? Nessa must come to bed, now, it gets dark so late this time of year, we wouldn’t want to deprive her of her sleep, now would we?”
Nessa stands up to leave, then turns back with a questioning look.
“I’ll probably be gone by the time you wake up,” says Elphaba, “But I will write, of course.”
Of course.
“Farewell, then,” Nessa says, and leaves.
She ends up placing the disc on her nightstand, unsure of what else to do with it.Father has said that Turtle Heart taught him to make this sort of thing. So she doesn’t feel too bad a few days later when she bumps up against the desk and watches, helpless to reach out and catch it, as the disc falls and shatters against the floor.