Work Text:
It Was Elphaba
It was Elphaba. Constricted Elphaba. Yanked braid, hair ache. Devoid of variety. Colorless. Muted. Tight.
Stiff sister.
“Why do you always dress in such sullen colors?” Nessa asked Elphaba.
“Appearance doesn’t matter much to me,” Elphaba shrugged as she pulled a loose thread off of her darkly colored blouse.
“It matters to everyone else,” Nessa pointed out.
“Don’t I know it,” Elphaba muttered.
“You know, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to look your best, Elphaba,” Nessa said defensively, feeling a bit judged. Elphaba always acted as though pretty things were beneath her, but just because she rejected nice things didn’t mean Nessarose had to. “You could at least make more of an effort.”
“I don’t concern myself with such things, Nessarose. I have much more important things to do with my time.”
It was Elphaba. Realist Elphaba. Stunted. Stubborn. Stuck. No room to dream, no room to grow, no room to imagine. Grounded.
Sensible sister.
Nessarose twisted the dial at the back of her ballerina music box and stared at it achingly as a tinkling of music underscored the pretty girl’s twirls.
“Father says I could have been a ballerina if things were different,” she mentioned glumly. “He says that if it weren’t for my legs, I could be a beautiful dancer. I wish I could dance like her.”
“And I wish I could fly,” Elphaba responded flatly as she fluffed Nessa’s pillow for bed.
Nessa wilted at her sister’s sardonic response. Right. Just like the old adage, Nessarose would be a ballerina ‘when monkeys flew’. Elphaba helped Nessarose into bed and began to tuck her in. Nessa stared at the porcelain ballerina going round and round in the box until a green hand slammed the lid shut.
“Forget it, Nessie. You will never be a dancer like her.”
It was Elphaba. Midnight Elphaba. Insidious insomniac, hall haunter, witching hour walker.
Shadowy sister.
Nessarose found no thrill in fear. She cried at the sight of spiders or snakes and got sick over the simplest urban legends and campfire tales. There were very few things that did not make her afraid, but she perhaps dreaded storms worst of all.
Elphaba, incurably rational, was different. She’d wander the halls of Thropp manor in the middle of the night like a ghost when she ought to be sleeping. While true that nighttime had a way of planting frightening fancies in one’s mind, as Nessarose lay awake listening to hallway floorboards creak beneath Elphaba’s step, she resented and feared the unspoken darkness that lived within her sister.
One spring midnight Nessa awoke from a terrible nightmare to a fierce storm thrashing at her window. Loud, heavy footsteps began bounding down the hallway as thunder quaked the house. Nessa covered her face with her sheet as the door to her room flew open.
Nessa screamed.
***
“It was Elphaba, Boq!” Nessarose frantically shouted once more towards the door Boq had already left towards, voice strained from terror and grief.
Yes, it was Elphaba. It was Elphaba’s fault.
It was her fault showing her that horrendible book, for disfiguring Boq, for leaving! For leaving her alone to fly about Oz helping others instead of ever once thinking to help her own sister! Nessarose stepped away from her chair, hands clutching at her heart in anguish, but her feet stalled as reality truly sunk in.
She had stepped away on functioning legs. Sturdy, capable legs that held her up. She was walking upon her two feet completely on her own! Nessa looked up and around her study, as if looking for someone to rejoicify with, but of course…she was alone.
She examined her jeweled shoes, the once silver gems now giving off a ruby shine, and clicked her heels together. She reached down to curiously remove one slipper but found her legs giving way from beneath herself the moment it slid off of her heel. Crumpled in a heap on the floor, Nessarose stared at her shoes wrathfully.
No, she was not walking completely on her own. She was still, as she had always been, dependent on Elphaba! Elphaba this, Elphaba that. Stiff, sensible, shadowy Elphaba!
With a feral scream, Nessarose chucked her jeweled shoe across her study where it collided with her mirrored armoire. It shattered all about the floor and Nessa recoiled as bits of glass scattered near her. She caught herself with her hand and winced as a tiny shard pricked her.
She lifted her hand and pensively examined the bead of blood squeezing out of her pale index finger. In an instant, all-consuming, guilt-ridden sobs heaved at Nessa’s chest as shattered fragments of forgotten memories began to piece themselves together in her mind.
***
It was Elphaba. Dedicated Elphaba. Loose threads and pinpricks. Giver of garments. Tender to tresses. Creator of colors. Bearer of all. Wearer of none.
Selfless sister.
“You could at least make more of an effort.”
“I don’t concern myself with such things, Nessarose. I have much more important things to do with my time.”
“Fabala, what happened to your finger?” Nessa asked, noticing a small bandage on her sister’s index finger as she picked up a hairbrush off Nessa's vanity.
“Just a little mishap at the sewing machine today,” Elphaba shrugged as she moved behind Nessa’s chair and began carefully working out the tangles in her hair with the brush. “I picked up a bolt of that fabric you spotted at the market.”
“With the daffodils?” Nessa asked hopefully.
“With the daffodils,” Elphaba smiled softly as she brushed her sister’s hair. “It’ll make a beautiful sundress for you.”
“Don’t forget to do—”
“A hundred strokes,” Elphaba nodded dutifully. “I’m on stroke thirteen, would you like to count with me?”
“Fourteen…fifteen…sixteen…”
It was Elphaba. Aspirational Elphaba. Determined dreamer, gentle goal setter. Executioner to expectations. Proof of the possible.
Supportive sister.
Nessa stared at the porcelain ballerina going round and round in the box until a green hand slammed the lid shut.
“Forget it, Nessie. You will never be a dancer like her.”
Nessa’s eyes filled with tears and her lower lip began to tremble. Elphaba sat on the edge of her bed, squeezed her hand, and met her sister’s misty eyes in a fiercely devoted gaze.
“You will be a dancer like you. There is no could have been, there is no if things were different, there is no ‘if it weren’t for’! Do not limit yourself, sweet Nessa. Wish for something greater than being like that ballerina,” Elphaba said, pressing a doting kiss to her sister’s hand. “Do things your own way or not at all.”
“Fabala…sometimes I wish I could just twirl and twirl so fast that I’d spin off right off the ground and float somewhere far away,” Nessa sniffed as tears rolled down her tragically beautiful face. Elphaba reached over to brush them away.
“You think of such pretty words, my Nessarose. Have you ever tried writing poetry?”
It was Elphaba. Any hour Elphaba. Brave smile, stifled yawns. Servant in sunlight and defender in dark. Bracing the door against horrors of night. Flinging it open for the safety of dawn.
Savior Sister.
Loud, heavy footsteps began bounding down the hallway as thunder shook the house. Nessa covered her face with her sheet as the door to her room flew open.
Nessa screamed.
“I’m here, Nessie. I’m here,” Elphaba assured her distressed sister, rushing to collect her into the safe haven of her arms. “I’ve got you.”
“I had that dream again!” Nessa sobbed. “The one about the tornado.”
“I’ll bet the storm was scary to wake up to,” Elphaba stated knowingly as she rocked her back and forth in her arms. “It’s loud tonight, isn’t it?”
Nessa nodded tearfully as she tried to catch her breath. “Will—will you stay with me?”
“Always.”
Elphaba climbed into bed beside Nessa and pulled her into her arms. She planted a kiss on the top of her head and rubbed her back. “Know something, Nessa? Your big sister is scarier than anything that goes bump in the night. You just keep me around and nothing will ever hurt you.”
“Promise?”
“I promise,” Elphaba whispered, touching the tip of Nessa’s nose with her finger.
***
Yes, it was Elphaba.
Elphaba the defender, the advocate, the nurturer, the conscience.
The sister.
Strong sister. Smart sister. Safe sister.
Serious, shameless, secretive sister.
Steadfast, solid, sincere, severe, scowling, shrill sister.
Sweet sister.
Her sister.
Nessa’s sweet, sweet, sister.
Father spoiled her until he didn’t. Boq was her miracle until he wasn’t. Jeweled shoes sparkled until they dulled. Dances were magic until they ended. Power was pleasing until it was stripped.
But Elphaba. Oh, Elphaba. Elphaba was unlimited.
Elphaba gave and gave and gave and gave and Nessa had still managed to take too much.
It had never been enough.
Elphaba, whose fingernails would get caked with dirt from planting lilies to make her smile. Elphaba, whose arms had never stopped reaching for her, seeking connection, seeking reciprocation. Elphaba whose love was the only thing in life that had never failed her.
It had always been enough.
Her sister had always been enough.
But Nessarose found that out too late.
For when violent winds of change began to hunt her, Nessa did not think about her shoes. When a dark shadow began expanding all around her, Nessa did not wish to cry out to Father. When she realized it was too late to run, Nessa did not long to hold Boq’s hand.
No. In the end, as death loomed a clock-tick away over Nessa’s head, it was none of those things that she thought of in her final moment.
It was Elphaba.