Hello, my dear folks! So, a Reviewer asked that I write Mending the Tears as Ben/Mal, because they only sister-shipped Evie/Mal. I personally wanted to write both but I don't like transitioning from one major ship to another, and I was really torn about what to do until I decided to write the story with two different versions; one Ben/Mal and one Evie/Mal (this one) with slightly different plot lines to keep it interesting.

So this is the Evie/Mal version, lemme know what you think?

Disclaimer: I do not own Descendants or any of its characters


Prologue: The Doubtful Stirring

Mal looked up into the dreary skies outside her window, her mind racing and making everything around her appear slow-paced, like it was frozen in a single second. She felt the stirring of change deep in her gut, the coming of something new and powerful, although she couldn't tell what. Without magic, Mal's feelings for the future were never fully formed; they weren't quite the great premonitions that she felt lingering just out of reach in her dreams, or the mystical predictions her mother used to make seemingly without thought. They were just pangs in her torso, pulling at different parts of her being and promising the beginning of something, or the end.

The only true premonitions she'd had, she felt, were the ones of the boy and those of Evie. Evie, who she had always known would return from her castle-bound schooling to join the ranks of evil's most notorious children. Evie; who made the world seem more grey than black and white, more hopeful than the Lost could ever dream, more beautiful than Mal could ever imagine. Evie who was not as defined by her parentage as the rest of the Island; who had the freedom to dream and the will to hope. Evie, who made the world seem less evil and the tear in Mal's world seem easily breached.

And then there was the boy. The boy that promised in her dreams that they were friends, that they would always be friends, no matter what decision she made or who she chose to be, though for the life of her; Mal could not understand what he was referring to. The boy with crystalline blue eyes and a friendly smile that tore her down the middle; part of her desiring to return the sight and the other part desiring nothing more than to eclipse his smile with misery.

She often felt that, were it not for her mortal blood, her father's blood, the part of her desiring misery would be much larger, taking over her whole self, making her strong with the lust for evil. She would be perfect then. Without weakness. She would be the daughter her mother had always wanted; one worthy enough to continue her legacy, to bear her full name, instead of only part of it. Instead, she was split, torn between what she knew was right and good, and what was considered wrong and evil. The thing that she could not rid herself of and the thing she desperately wanted to be.

Thunder rattled the sky and lightning soon followed, sprinkling the night with flashes of light before the rain fell. Mal traced the droplets on her window pane with a lone finger, watching them trail down it; merging together with other droplets to become bigger until they finally reached the end and slipped away. Her mother cackled loudly downstairs but Mal payed her no attention, content to sit in silence as lightning replicated her in the sky, splitting it apart.

She wondered if her mother would notice if she left; if she raced out into the rain and just…left. If she never came back.

Would she care?

Well, of course, she huffed at herself. Maleficent may be evil, but she loves her. Villains – even the most cruel and heartless – love their children. They care…just in their own way. This was the Isle of the Lost, after all, caring was not the same as it was in Auradon – nothing was.

"She loves me," Mal assured herself, still trailing after the dismal droplets.

There was a shuffle behind her and Mal glanced back, moving to pick up one of her trinkets that had slumped to the floor. The window blew open – not violently, but softly – and wind whipped past her, rain following it into her room.

Does she really? the wind whispered, a voice so soft and smooth Mal could hardly stomach it. It lacked the serpentine quality of her mother's, and she knew it wasn't anyone she knew – it was late, and they wouldn't dare bother her. But then…

Mal shut the window, nodding to herself even as she felt the words collide with the doubt building in her chest.

Her mother loved her. Mal was her only child, her legacy, of course her mother loved her.

But...is it really you she loves?...Or just that? What you represent - her legacy?

Mal looked around her room, desperate to find the voice only for nothing to reveal itself. There was nothing there but her. But she wasn't saying anything… Perhaps…

Were these her doubts? Her fears?

What was that word…the frighteningly funny one…

"Conscience…" Mal muttered softly, questioningly. Was the voice her conscience? Telling her right from wrong? But then… what was right in this scenario? What was wrong?

It's questioning of her once certain statements…did it mean to tell her she was wrong? Her mother didn't love her?

Mal shook away the thought, enraged that she would allow herself to even consider the idea of her having a conscience. Her! Daughter of the Mistress of Evil! What would she know of a conscience? Nothing, of course. She had never known one, had never known somebody who had one and – she had never even known anybody who knew somebody who had one. There was no way…

She was just being silly. Riled up with nerves over the coming change. It was powerful, and although she did not fear it as such, she worried of its outcome. There was nothing else. No conscience, no doubt, no fear…no split. She was evil – rotten to the core, and there was nothing that could change that.

Somewhat set in her convictions, Mal turned away from the window and dizzily put on her pyjamas, tossing her clothes on the floor and resolving to pick them up the next morning, if ever. Lying prone beneath the sheets, feeling the chill on her skin she settled to sleep counting the rumbles of thunder; her last thoughts being of the mischief she was sure to cause with her friends tomorrow.