A/N: A bit outside my usual writing style, but it felt appropriate for the prompt. Inspired by Symphonie Fantastique by Berlioz (which you should listen to and read about cause it's rad as hell)
If you're unsatisfied feel free to direct any and all disgruntled feelings toward menzosarres who convinced me to write and post the thing lol
They ached now. Constantly. More acutely when the weather went sour. Her mood went with the weather more often than not. The pain, a constant reminder of everything she'd almost lost. In contrast, the golden hair beside her served as a constant reminder of what she'd gained from the darkened turmoil.
The moors were back safely under her protection (though now the other faeries knew the extent of her caliginous power), the humans were in check, her wings had been restored to her, and she had risen from the ashes in phoenix-like glory to crush her lover-turned adversary regardless of his iron machinations.
Still, the girl prompted memories of a love, innocent and true, so easily quashed by human greed. She knew she'd never trust another human in the same way. She loved Aurora deeply, but she did not trust her, not implicitly.
When she looked into azure eyes she saw him, and she was transported to a time when butterflies fluttered purposively inside of her; colours were brighter, more vibrant; the moors seemed to sing sharing her anticipation, her passion, her excitement; the flowers bloomed ardently, all perfectly in sync.
So young, so naive to the intrinsic ways of mankind, she allowed herself to be draw in. She felt warmth, safety, exuberance, and hope; never imagining the kind of pain such trust could bring.
Back then she soared high, her wings lofty, she ascended with brilliance and skill and a lightness within. She waited for him with bated breath. He kissed her and promised. Promises he knew he could never keep, she knew it now too.
But then they danced lightly on air, wrapped tightly in the shackled securities they gave to each other. As time wore on, she saw him less often, but childish enthusiasm erroneously ensured that still nothing could go awry.
Until, of course, it did. She sensed that something was off, but she trusted him more than her own instincts. Never again would she make such a grievous error.
The anguish was all consuming. The moment she awoke she knew she had been permanently altered mind, body and soul. Pieces of her crumbled away; the deteriorated walls supplanted by sharp barriers of rage, but this did not heal her wounds. An emptiness remained.
Righteous agony was no replacement for the loss of beauty and truth. Down she tumbled, at a loss, no shimmering feathers to keep her aloft, she descended into the bowels of hell, pulchritude transformed into monstrosity. Judgement had been passed on her, the dye recast.
Excitement took new, vicious, wingless form. Still she soared downward, each crash enlightened her, fear fed her, this became her new destiny. She saw now that destruction in it's most pure configuration was a thing of beauty.
Her return to the skies was not a saccharine one, in the same way her victory did not taste as sweet as she had imagined. Her love had been transmuted and fate had given her a second, golden chance. A shining beacon of hope.
She took her, naturally, and clung to her for life and support. But still she was not saved. Maleficent had come to accept this fact as her new and more sovereign truth. Once you have fallen from grace your flight path becomes irreparably marred.
And yet, Aurora adored her wings. The girl stroked them with a reverence that a true evil such as Maleficent knew she could never deserve. Though her wings felt heavier, sore and more stiff, the air above the clouds still provided a sense of relief the ground never could. And each day her little beastie breathed new life into her slowly healing soul.