Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was different from the Isle of the Lost. Auradon had been beautiful, once. But now, the marble halls of the palace were covered in splashes of blood, and thick grooves were carved out of the walls (sword marks, from the storming of the castle {and something else- someone else. Claw marks}). The throne was made of dragonhide and held together by moss-coloured magic that sparked and cracked violently.

The Isle of the Lost had always been dirty, been trashed and been false, so when Maleficent sat on the throne {cheap, dirty couch Mal had found} it hadn’t seemed evil, just pathetic. Now, the dirty halls seemed ominous, the slime on the floors echoing caucasian skin, and the fluttering between the walls seemed like it might be hiding a destructive force.

The Queen of Auradon brushed through the halls.

Her hair was mauve and long, pieces of faerie dust braided in so that she shone with an ethereal light. She wore a black corset, a high neckline of netting rising up from the stiff linen and silk. She wore leather pants and heeled boots, and a purple cloak was settled on her shoulders. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, stolen fae magic rushing through them, making her pupils white and her irises the colour of the throne.

Under the cloak, scaled wings sprouted from her spine, twice the length of her arm span when unfurled. They’d sprouted {along with her horns} shortly after her hundredth birthday when she reached her age of majority. A wicked grin curled across her face, and she looked at the silhouette on the pillars through thick eyelashes.

*

“I’m back!”

Mal stood in a ballgown, wand clasped in her hand. Having just sworn to be good {how could she be anything else? Because Ben would never be anything else}. Her eyes were wide, the wand hissing in her hand {the grasp of evil}. Maleficent was in front of her, looking exactly the same as when she’d cast that curse. A conflict raged inside her {loyalty to the one who protected her? Or love for the one who saved her?}

“Mal, honey,” her mom’s voice broke through her thoughts, laced with poison {and a terrible love}, “the wand, baby girl. Give me the wand.” And Mal’s jaw clenched as she looked at Evie and Carlos and Jay. Her brother and sisters. She had to protect them.

“On one condition,” she didn't pause to let her mother agree or disagree, choosing to barrel on instead, “Ben lives.”

Maleficent’s eyes rolled into the back of her head in exasperation, but she nodded.

Mal handed her the Faerie Godmother’s Magick Wand.

*

A demon stood next to Mal.

He had milky skin, stretched over bone. His fingernails hardened into claws, and his hair was long and knotted. His teeth were pointed like the Fae’s. He was humanoid, a second pair of arms sprouting from his sides, near the bottom of his ribcage. He wore no shirt {it wouldn't have been any use, anyway. His wings, like those of a butterfly, encompassed most of his back}. A toga, strapped over his shoulder, protected his dignity. It was sewn of pure silver and dragon fire. A wreath of ivy and viscaria encircled his head. His hair was made of a million loose curls, unbrushed and yet somehow perfect. But his eyes.

His eyes shouldn't have belonged to a demon. They were Ben’s eyes, deep brown and real and burning with life. They should have died with him but hadn't. And it was terrifying.

He stood next to Mal as a protector, and it was apparent {in every move of every limb, in every breath of the magnificent creature} that he would die to protect her. Power flowed through his veins, all the powers of hell giving him the strength of a thousand men and the lifespan of a billion. He was the eternal lover of the Queen, and when she turned to him he brought her in and kisses her, trying to express his thankfulness to just be alive in the force behind his lips.

*

Maleficent sat on a throne of roses {weak}. The Magick Wand lay on a nearby table, too far for Maleficent to reach it from her throne. Her daughter walked through the shadows, straying on the edges of the Fae Queen’s vision. She ghosted towards the wand, trying to use her magick to conceal her. But Maleficent’s head snapped up.

“Mal, darling. Come into the light. We don't have to hide anymore, sweetheart. We haven't had to for ten years, and we won't have to, ever again.”

Maleficent’s victory had made her careless, Mal thought, as she cautiously approached her mother’s throne. Maleficent took her daughter by the chin and kissed her forehead. It burned a soft Mark on Mal’s forehead {Glinda had been Fae}. Mal smiled and kissed her mother’s hand, the expected sign of gratitude for women of their stature.

“No, mother,” The faeries held eye contact, the tension thick enough to slice with a knife, “You'll never have to hide. Never again.”

She reached for the wand at the same time as Maleficent.

It slipped past her fingers and into Maleficent’s hand.

And thus started a battle that ran for hours, Maleficent steadily overpowering her daughter, each hurling decades of hate at the other, lightning cracking through the room, steadily echoing in the halls of the palace. Until Mal caught a glimpse of the crown that Ben had worn {for barely a second}, on the day he was struck down. Hung up on her mother’s wall like a trophy {kept to taunt Mal, day in and day out; “Love has made you weak!”}.

She began to recite the chant she’d memorized all those years ago when she’d buried her One True Love.

caritatem exspiravit

de industria accipere condemnabitur

Ut vestri vita resonare

in tuo corpore

The magick in the room began to swirl into itself, a humanoid forming in its centre. But it was weak {it needed the Fae magick to keep}.

The wand exploded.

The world went black.

*

Evie Amara lay on a silk bed {wearing a crown made of nasturtium and fern}, painting a boy's nails. The polish was matt and purple, matching the eyeshadow she'd already done {and the deep red blood on his lips, the human flesh that sometimes stuck between his sharpened teeth}. They were listening to Fae music, made with instruments neither had ever heard of.

They were best friends.

Both prized treasures of the Queen of Auradon, both deathly and beautiful {in their own ways}. They laughed together and cried together and watched movies together while the queen ran the country, but when she walked into the room, they'd curl up against her sides and let her shower them with affection. They'd weave each other flower crowns with secret meanings, and let themselves be perfect and innocent {and yet willing to kill at the threat of harm}.

They weren't perfect. In fact, they were hideous in many ways.

But they were the Queen's, and so they were honoured.