Author's note: You could kind of call this a sequel to my other story, Dead Hearts, or you could just see this as its own story. Up to the readers I guess. Sorry it's so short
Disclaimer: I do not own Maleficent or any of its characters
Above the clouds where no one could see or hear, a large raven stopped flying. He had flown up and up and still further up, cawing and crying as loud as he could. His wings ached from the vigor of his efforts, so at last he stopped. The bird fell backwards and began spiraling back down. He let himself fall, reveling in the freedom. His heart was breaking but the control brought him solace, if only for a moment. When he struck the cloud cover he outstretched his wings, causing his body to swoop upward suddenly. The wind stung his eyes and he let out another caw. Flying had always soothed him in times of turmoil but now he couldn't help but think of the times he'd flown with his mistress. Together they'd soared amongst the clouds, nearly touching the heavens. The sun touched their wings, bringing them warmth.
And to Diaval she had looked like a goddess. Some of the few times Maleficent would ever smile were in those moments. The half bird half man reveled in those moments. No matter how cold-hearted she could be, no matter the cruelties she could bring upon others, seeing her drenched in sun and wind made it all worth it.
Though now these thoughts of his master only brought him sorrow. He felt himself foolish for feeling such pain. Maleficent did not reciprocate his feelings, plain and simple. He'd have to respect that. But to say it didn't hurt and would be easy to get over was a lie he could not convince himself of.
Diaval swerved to the left and began flying in the opposite direction. He descended slightly, coming just below the clouds. Below were the Moors, lush and wet. Ever since the young princess's curse had been lifted things were good and there was no more darkness and anger. Truly he loved the Moors. He had come to love them in the year serving Maleficent, despite the lands being drenched in doom. They, too, calmed him in his usual state of mind.
But for the moment neither the freedom of flying nor the beauty of the Moors could quell his aching heart. To a broken heart everything looks dead, he concluded.
Diaval continued flying over the Moors, past their borders, and into a dead part of the forest surrounding the castle and villages. He flew deep under the canopy into the heart of the forest. Spotting a weathered tree dark with age, he flew lightly. As he approached the tree, he spread his wings wide and gently landed on a branch. He hopped close to the trunk and nestled himself in.
Like the tree, Diaval was worn and broken. But he wasn't dead, and with time, would continue to grow. He'd be green and flourishing again.
Thanks for reading. Reviews are always appreciated so please let me know what you think :)