confusifying | wicked | book 3/3

Nessa

I want nothing more, at this current moment in time, than to be rid of this horrible ache in my arms.
My sister isn't as stupid as she is green but I managed to convince her to take me out of bed.
I'm desperate to regain what little shred of normality I can, before having to go traipsing round Oz to gain three important signatures.
I'm now filled with determination to become ruler of Oz, a little voice inside of me is telling me that I deserve this and this position is mine for the taking and I intend to do just that.
Elphaba has dressed me rather formally today despite her knowing that I'm not leaving for a few days, I intend to regain more movement in my arms before I attempt to go anywhere.

The thick, black, velvety fabric of my dress is clinging tightly to me and yet cascading down my legs like a waterfall, my sister has placed me in deep crimson tights, the colour of blood and around my neck is a necklace of the same colour.
It is my belief that this is what she intends on me wearing when I embark upon my mission.
The only thing really missing from my ensemble is my hair being styled, currently it's hanging loosely round my shoulders, making my face look thin and sickly.
Or perhaps it's just my face that looks thin and sickly naturally.
My sister had kindly positioned my chair before the vanity table in my room so I'm able to admire and berate my own reflection, there's a gold hairbrush positioned on the table about three inches away from me, I know how much I want to do my hair myself.
The one part of my outfit that I don't require any help to adorn, except from now when the idea of reaching my hand over to grasp the hairbrush fills me with dread.

Elphaba moves behind my chair and stares at me through the mirror.
"You'll make a fine leader Nessa." She remarks merrily, though he words seem dystopian and foreign to me.
I'm far too focused on my hairbrush to fully comprehend what I'm being told.
I decide it's now or never, leaning forward hurriedly and grasping the brush tightly, I lean back with the same urgency as I sat up and place the brush onto my lap as I contemplate how I'm going to go about doing this.
"Would you like a hand Nessa?"
One that doesn't hurt? Why yes!
"I'm sure I'll manage." I reply to my sister through gritted teeth, as I pick the brush up slowly as begin to rake it through my hair, brushing it in and out of my eyes like a fool.
My gold vanity set is gorgeous, all be it the mirror is long gone along with that crone Madame Morrible, but the beautiful gold has its drawbacks.
Despite being pleasing to the eye, the brush is weighty, making it difficult to hold due to the heaviness of the Gold.
Once I've finished brushing my hair I place the brush back into the vanity unit, and examine myself in the mirror.
I still look pale and ghastly but now I'm pale and ghastly with slightly better hair.

Elphaba goes to pick up my hair in her hands but I jolt my head out of the way.
"I can do it!" I wail like an infant.
Elphaba seems taken aback by my sudden outburst and steps away from me slightly, it's uncommon that I don't let her touch my hair.
I soon realise that it's almost impossible for me to hold my hands up behind my head for long enough to plait my hair, the pain is far to excruciating and I can't bare another minute.
I eventually give in to my sisters offer of help and she neatly braids my hair into a thick plait that makes me look fierce and angry though I'm feeling fierce and angry so I don't complain.
"Thank you sister" I whisper meekly when my sister has completed the plaiting of my hair.
Elphaba marches around to be at my side and examined my appearance from top to bottom, dressing me is a craft she perfected long ago so her need to examine me is purely a habit caused by father yelling at her terribly if I didn't look up to his standards.
"You look wonderful." Elphaba smiles, patting me gently on the hand, thankfully causing me no pain.
I stare down at my somewhat useless arms and think to myself for a moment, looking myself within my train of thought.

"What am I to do about my arms?" I ask after a moments time of silent contemplation, my sister ponders for a few seconds before answering unhelpfully.
"I have to admit Nessa, I don't really know what aught to be done." My sister replies apologetically "I know they will repair themselves on their own but I understand that you don't wish to wait thus long."
"So what could we do?" I ask, tilting my head quizzically towards my sister.
"We are best asking our mother." Elphaba answers with a sudden smile on her face "she spent a lot of time with nurses whilst pregnant with you, so she may have some wise words."
Elphabas reasoning, however reasonable, makes me feel sick.
I know why she spent so much time around nurses, because she was unknowingly dying, mother was poisoning herself to ensure I wasn't green but was deforming me in the process, which in turn, I've been told, made her terribly ill.
Elphaba once told me that towards the end of her pregnancy with me, she barley left her bed chambers, or her bed for that matter, and spent most of the day either sleeping or crying because of how unwell she felt.
I just hope asking my mother all sorts of medical questions doesn't make her remember the irreparable trauma that carrying me caused her.