she  cradles the bloom between her fingers, most often   annoyed   by
                little children, and usually flowers as well ––– allergies having plagued
                her since youth. she’d WARNED elsa when first she’d spoken of being
                with child,  that she’d never had the   PATIENCE   to put up with them,
                bringing back only memories of her late sister, she who’d elphaba had
                NEVER                                                 been      good      enough      for.  

                ––––– but then there was ALEXANDER,       who quite  i r r i t a t i n g l y
                had found his way onto her better side.   maybe it was because she saw
                more of herself in the reserved yet wanderlusting child than she wished
                to admit, but something about him,  between the pieces that resembled
                elsa,                                  to  the  pieces  that  were  distinctly           his. 

        ‘ THANK YOU, alexander. but you needn’t WORRY for me, what you should worry
           about      is       gerda    finding    you’ve      picked    from  the   gardens   again! ‘