Letter of resentment

Dear Glinda,

I am writing to you to inform you that you are in fact, a witch. I would use another word, however, I find that unfit for this situation. I’ll have you know, your morals and desires are, and I use this term loosely, wicked. You dress them hideously in pink and lace, and everything fake. And people say I’m the wicked one. Puh-lease. You sacrifice everything just to be popular. Like, honestly, who cares? It’s not that serious. You and your little Munchkin friends parade around town like you own the place, well let me tell you, you don’t. So take your pretty little perfect blond curls and blue eyes and stupid humongous crown and go elsewhere.

Mean regards,

Elphaba

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Dearest Elphaba,

I am shocked. I mean truly, no real un-wicked person would say such a thing. My crown is perfectly sized, and my friends, the Munchkins, are such adorable little people. They admire you, you know. They think you're bold, with your, erm, different skin. Really, darling, so bold of you to accept your skin as it is, and to do it in style. All that black, it really sets well with your tone. You have such a drab view on life, you really should take a look at all the beautiful things around you. We used to be such good friends. And now, you're saying all of these spiteful things. Is it about Fiyero? Really darling, I said we should not let a man get in between us. I do hope to hear back from you soon.

Much love,

Glinda

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Dear Glinda,

It is absolutely not about Fiyero. It was because of you that I was forced to put a spell on him. To save his life, may I remind you. You always do this—turn everything into something it isn’t. Don’t act like you care about him more than I do, just because you’ve decided to pretend we’re in some ridiculous love triangle where your perfection is the only thing that matters. I never needed to be "saved" by you, Glinda. You act like you’re doing some kind of charity work with your fake smiles and polished words, but I see right through it. You thrive on being adored, and you’ll trample anyone to get what you want. It’s exhausting to be around someone who believes the world should revolve around them, all because they wear pink and throw glitter at people.

So, no, it's not about Fiyero. It’s about you and your endless need to make everything about yourself. You parade around with your crown and your little act of kindness, but you're just as wicked as the rest of them. The only difference is, you’re so good at hiding it behind those perfect curls and that sweet little voice. It’s sickening. So don’t try to paint me as the villain here, Glinda. You’re the one who’s always been about the image, about the popularity, about the show. You may think you're winning, but you’re just a puppet, and I’m done playing along.

No love,

Elphaba

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Dear Elphaba,

Oh, Elphaba, I see you've really gone off the deep end now, haven’t you? It’s honestly exhausting trying to have a conversation with someone so bitter. You’ve always been like this, haven’t you? I try to reach out, try to be kind, but no, you just keep digging your little hole of misery. Maybe it’s the green skin, maybe it’s just who you are, but I’m really starting to wonder if there’s any hope for you.

And let’s talk about this spell. Are you really that convinced you had to save him? You didn’t have to do anything, Elphaba. You could have let Fiyero make his own choices, but no, you had to control everything, didn’t you? It’s all about you being the savior, even when you know nothing of real love or sacrifice. You think putting a spell on someone makes you noble? Please. You’re just as manipulative as the rest of us. The difference is, I don’t hide behind bitterness. I don’t have to act all superior to make myself feel better. I’ve got friends who love me, people who actually appreciate me. Maybe that’s what you’re missing. Maybe, just maybe, you need to stop being so miserable and open your eyes. We could have been friends, Elphaba, but you’ve made your choice.

As for Fiyero—he’s not my world. And I know he’s not yours either, so spare me the drama. This isn’t about him, it’s about you. You just love to play the martyr.

Do what you want. I’m done trying to fix someone who refuses to be fixed.

With genuine love (and a tad bit of exasperation),

Glinda

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Dear Glinda,

I hate you. Truly. You are wicked. I know who I am and I embrace it. You're just fake. You’ve managed to live your whole life pretending that everything is fine and that you're the perfect one, but it's all a show. You think your little crown and your perfect little world somehow make you special? Newsflash, Glinda: you’re just like everyone else. You use people. You manipulate them with your sweet smile and your charm, but you don’t care about anyone. You don’t feel anything unless it’s about you. And what’s worse is that you can’t even admit it to yourself.

I hate that you make me feel so small just because you think your life is better. You hide behind your popularity, behind your image and your perfectly rehearsed acts of kindness, but I see through it. And maybe that’s the worst part of all: I see you for what you really are. And I know deep down, you see it too, but you won’t admit it. You keep pretending, and I can’t keep living in your little fake world.

Much hate,

Elphaba

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Dear Elphie,

I agree. Which is why I am in more movies than you. I'm more popular. People love me.

With love,

Glinda

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Glinda,

That’s the problem. You think you’re better than everyone just because you have more followers, more attention, more admiration. You can’t see past the surface, can you? You’re obsessed with the idea that being loved means you’re worth something, that popularity somehow validates you. But all I see is a scared little girl hiding behind her image, afraid to let anyone see who she really is.

You can keep all the love, all the praise, all the fake smiles. I don’t want any of it. I would rather be alone, surrounded by my own thoughts and my real self, than to be stuck in your glitter-filled, hollow world. You think you’re so high and mighty, but you’re not. You’re just a shell.

I’ve had enough of it. I’ve had enough of you.

Tired and resentful,

Elphaba