Walking down the street, you notice a small building swathed in shadows. You approach, and hear distant chanting and cackling.
What is this place? You are unsure if your words are thought or spoken.
The air is thick and clouded with the taste of raw magical power. Flying Monkeys carrying strange bundles constantly soar from some unseen window in the roof.
You open the door. A dank, musty smell reaches your nose. There is a crystal ball of some sort in the middle of the room. Footsteps echo loudly when you enter. You hear a noise. It is only a cat, darker than the darkest night, with eyes that flash evilly in the little light."Who dares to enter the residence of the Wicked?" a voice rings out. It is a female voice, harsh and raspy though it is.
The speaker is revealed to be a young woman, skin green as sin, looking as wicked as rumored. Her dress is long and black, her cloak blows in the slightest breeze, her long black hair falls limply out of a pointed black hat. She is the very face of Wickedness, but you do not feel afraid. Her dark eyes glint playfully as she chuckles lightly, a sharp contrast to the harsh cackling you heard earlier.
"Do you believe the rumors?" she asks in a kinder tone, a tone that could hint to a fine singing voice. "Do you believe all you are told?" She smiles. "Did you come to try and melt me?" She lets out another bark of laughter, halfway between a cackle and a bell-like note. "I have no idea how that blasted rumor got started." She steps out underneath a dripping pipe, letting a drop land on her palm. She holds her hand out for you to see. It is green, but otherwise perfectly normal. Small blisters are at random intervals along her fingers, as if she spent the better part of her days clutching something. "Come in, come in, I'm making a big mess of our introduction. I am Elphaba. Come on, do not be afraid. I'll lend you a broomstick if you wish. Have you ever defied the very forces of gravity? Let us now, forget the laws that bind us to Oz. Let us forget regulations. Let us make our own path in life."
Welcome, to the home of a rebellious witch. They call me Wicked--the Wicked Witch of the West, if you wanted the full title. I am Elphaba Thropp. Defying gravity one land at a time.
"'That's why I call myself a witch now: the Wicked Witch of the West, if you want the full glory of it. As long as people are going to call you a lunatic anyway, why not get the benefit of it? It liberates you from convention.'" (Wicked the book, page 357)
"'I can do whatever I want I am the Wicked Witch of the West!'" (Wicked the musical, Act II)
You may chat here. My home is your home, until we are raided by the Gale Force and have to leave. Being a Wicked Witch isn't all it's cracked up to be at most times. Be sure to leave all broomsticks at the door; the Flying Monkeys take great delight in pulling out the twigs. Don't feed said Monkeys. They are fed their rations daily and supplies are low enough.
The Flying Monkeys are here to serve as they wish. They come and go as they please. They are not slaves, they are hired help. I made them what they are so I bear their troubles. Only ask them for help if you cannot fly out on a broomstick on your own.
