Re: Edge of a rooftop; defying gravity/scaring himself
Fiyero didn't think about bad things. Or he tried not to. He could never convince himself that they weren't there, out of sight and out of mind, like everyone else. But, he tried. He knew the pantomime, and even if it didn't always manage to blot out the bad, it left a haze, something you had to squint to see through. So, he just had to try not to squint. His eye wasn't supposed to catch on anything that glimmered behind that gauzy curtain. But, will you believe me when I tell you that was out of his control too? It was. It was, and he felt compelled, even though he shouldn't, to find out what it was. The gilt and charm of the dancers in the street weren't enough to obfuscate, even if he wanted them to be.
So, he went up to that rooftop. Up a fire escape that shrieked under his weight, then to the roof. A form was cutout against the light and life below, an inkblot of a person. Even from behind her, he could see her hands on the bricks were green. That wasn't right, but so many things weren't, did it matter? Fiyero piped up from the shadows, the lights behind him picking out hair in a straw silhouette. "Don't you want to go down?"