She is sitting on a tree branch and dangling her feet, as back then, many years ago, when she was sitting for days on end and waiting.
But there is no one to call anymore.
The crown is laid down, the feud is over, beastie is happy and married to the prince.
Maleficent smiles — her smile is full of bright sadness, but still not without some curve, seeming cunning, that covers up such bitter memories, hidden deep inside.
"Bitter as my life is," she thinks and shuts these thoughts out at once. She breathes with pleasure the air of descending twilight, imbued with the sweet scents of night flowers that start to open their coronas — sweet, as the smell of a dear child that is no longer a child. "I have my beastie."
"Do you or does prince Phillip?"
"His kiss didn't wake Aurora. So, I do."
She stretches her neck, turning her face to the soft wind, that flutters her hair and the edges of her clothes, tickling the feathers on her wings.
"I have my wings."
She jumps off in a flash and flies up to the clouds.
She presses her face against the fancy pattern of the windowpanes. There's peace and quiet of the warm evening beyond the window, crumpled sheets and a golden crown on the prince's shoulder. Maleficent blinks and flies back.
"Did you fly to Aurora again?"
"I don't want to disturb her."
Diaval sits next to her and stares with the long, soft, but penetrating stare that enters the most hidden corners of her heart.
"Are you missing her?"
Maleficent keeps silence and looks into the distance.
"I still have my wings."
Diaval nods slowly and looks towards the castle.
But there is no one to call anymore.