She hated sleeping.
It was a trap.
(Cursed to sleep for a hundred years)
It suffocated.
(Still, like a warm corpse.)
It killed her.
(Picture perfect, beautiful, dead.)
It made her helpless.
(Wait for your true love. If he does not come, you die.)
Worse of all, she knew.
Knew everything that went on around her, but unable to do anything.
Knew that she was cursed by an evil fae out of spite for something she did not do.
Knew that should she wake, she will be another pawn, married to the love she did not even know.
Knew that her entire life, Briar Rose will have to sleep, and the glass, delicate mask that was Aurora will strangle her.
Knew that in the end, little Rose had always meant to be put to sleep.
Knew that all that would be left was sweet, sickening Aurora.
And she knew most of all what she had to do.
It was her life; she had the right to end it.
A small battle won only, but it was all she had left.