Who's the Wicked One?

"Labels are so ambiguous, don't you agree? I'm Good and you're Wicked."

One hand slipped lower, groping at the tattered layers of black fabric, the other reached for the hat.

"Glinda..." She could feel the blonde's hot breath against her lips. "You look ridiculous."

"You look like shit." She pushed the dress up roughly. "What did you do? Sow this yourself?"

"S-Stop...please?"

Cold silk sheets pressed against her newly exposed calves. A brush of air chilled her scalp as the hat was tipped back.

"I asked you the same thing years ago." She moved the dress higher, tracing swirls on verdant thighs. "I guess this dress suits you...menacingly elegant from a distance, but no one gets close enough to see the stitching."

"Except..." Green fingers pushed against the tiara ensnared in golden curls.

"Me."

Her fingers reached their target, delving into Elphaba, breaking her.

"Now, Elphaba, tell me who's the Wicked one?"

And the Wicked Witch of the West drank her first sip of defeat.