For Good

For Good

Good News

The creature known as Glinda the Good was a pathetic one. Her life was a masquerade, a cheap manifestation of the root of politics: smiling on the outside, writhing on the inside.

It had been a year since her best friend died. A year with no one who really understood her had taken its toll on the public figure: the once-bouncy golden curls were now limp, framing an ashy, prematurely aged face. And now, with public figures arriving from all over Oz to gather for the anniversary celebration of the Witch's melting, Glinda felt as if she was drowning.

She was sick of this.

She was sick of the lies, sick of the expectations, sick of the false smiles plastered on peoples' faces as they chatted aimlessly about things no more important than someone's social standing.

Galinda Upland, the flouncing debutante who, at Shiz, had always been surrounded by chatty, self-absorbed girls, was perfect for the political world. It was becoming more and more apparent that, despite her original desires, Glinda was not.

---

Mouth open in an 'o', hands steady, Glinda finished applying the last bit of mascara to her eyelashes and gave her reflection a final glimpse. She allowed a small, nostalgic sigh to escape her lips before forcing a smile and stepping outside.

"Ready, miss?" her aide asked, greeting her briefly.

She nodded as she stepped into the accursed bubble and began to rise above the City of Emeralds. Such an appropriate name, she thought sardonically. It's as jaded as its citizens.

"Fellow Ozians," she proclaimed once the bubble was high enough to see the swarms of people on the ground. "Today, we celebrate. I am quite happy to say that it has been a year since the death of the Wicked Witch!"

She fought back the instinctual cringe at the sound of the deliriously happy cheers below her.

And they sang. They sang in the same mocking tune, the sound that brought a twinge to her heart with each word and threatened to bring tears to her eyes once more.

"Ding dong, a year has passed! Sing it loud: the peace has last. Ding dong! Our fear is in the past! ..."

Glinda was proud of herself for keeping her plastered expression unwavering for the entire time she stood in the bubble like a figurine, smiling and waving. When the contraption finally started lowering itself down, she let out a breath of relief, allowing her smile to falter.

Her aide was there once she reached the bottom again. Her distress must have showed, though, for at once the aide asked, "Are you all right, Miss Glinda?"

Glinda laughed and nodded. "Of course, why wouldn't I be? This is a wonderful day, is it not?"

The 'wonderful day' was nearly unbearable. Countless brainless fools came up to her to shake her hand and told her how fantastic of a job she had been doing while the Wizard was away (obviously, they had not received the memo that he was gone for good yet). Ozians paraded, drank, feasted, and sang. Everywhere there were countless reminders of her friend's death. It was enough to make anyone go crazy.

The first, brief reprieve came late in the afternoon.

"Lady Glinda?" A former high-ranking official in the Gale Force tapped her on the shoulder as she was chatting with a noble from the Glikkus.

Glinda turned around, trying to convey her gratitude through her expression as she nodded.

He must've understood, for a small smile formed as he bowed. It was gone as he straightened, all business once more. "A message for you from Southstairs."

Glinda's legs went numb as she processed the meaning. "Yes, thank you," she said, taking the proffered note. "Did they say which prisoner it was from?"

"Cell 5132A, I believe." When she remained silent, he smiled at her encouragingly. "Don't worry, Lady Glinda. They had it checked for curses and the like."

Glinda smiled at the man, hoping her nervousness did not show. "Thank you," she said again, tucking the note into her sash; she had memorised that cell number a while ago.

Excusing herself, she left the duchess she had been talking with, promising to catch up at another time, and half-heartedly headed back to the Emerald Palace once more. With each step, her forged expression seemed to fade, the worry lines reappearing under the thick coat of makeup.

Whatever small amount of calm she had left fled upon setting foot in Southstairs. The prison was dark and damp, a harsh contradiction to the balmy environment outside. Where the sunlight did shine through barred windows, the imprint was filthy and sickly, casting eerie shadows along the walls. The cheers and songs from outside faded, replaced with moans from the prisoners. Once her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Glinda saw they were reaching towards her.