A/N: Because of Milarion1234 who planted the idea in my brain…and the song. This is for you…and me. Yes, I am beginning to like these two…

Imperfection

Skillet

Bare feet shuffled over earth, pushing through the dying reeds. She who once ruled the skies now walked with slow, wincing steps over the grass.

The black raven circled over the head of his mistress, observing her with curiosity. The faery had changed him into something big, earthbound, and wholly new, but permitted him to regain his old form for a time, and those cold green eyes had shone strangely with mercy upon him.

Diaval had never met anything like this woman. He'd never really met anyone except other birds, though. Humans either chased him off or tried to kill him. But this person had done nothing of the kind, though she had put him through the most uncomfortable, mortifying transformation of his life.

She was not like the humans who chased and trapped him, and the curving horns in her head were the most visible testament to that. But as unusual as she looked, her features held a strange fascination, with their wondrous delicacy, and the large emerald eyes a shadowy testament of pain.

Her regal carriage could not hide the stumbles, or the limp as she walked, and it seemed to grow all the more graceful to make up for it. She walked rather slowly, as if she had trouble balancing. When Diaval asked if she was hurt, Maleficent's face had closed up quite suddenly, and she responded in tones of pure ice,

"No."

Diaval flinched from her reply, and allowed it to rest there. It was none of his business. But he did wonder, why everyone in the Moors, the place Maleficent called her home, had wings, but her. And he wondered why he'd seen her hiding in the ruins, eyes widening with terror at his approach, and why he'd seen her staring off towards the distant castle with a look of longing and bitterness and pure hate.

You're worth so much

It'll never be enough

To see what you have to give

"Why? What's so important in that castle?"

Maleficent's eyes darkened, the warmth vanishing out of them. "I wish you," she responded in measured, emotionless tones, "to find out how…Stephan is faring in my absence." She described the man Diaval was to find and transformed him into a raven. "My wings," she called him. The bird in Diaval's nature would not like to be restrained, but the man found himself feeling rather proud and satisfied in being helpful to Maleficent. So he soared into the night.

It did not take him long to find the man he sought, but Diaval had a little trouble believing his own eyes when he did.

He had been told to expect a peasant, a servant. Instead he found the man enthroned in the hall of the king, about to take a wife.

How beautiful you are

Yet seem so far

From everything you're wanting to be

Tears falling down again…

When Diaval landed, Maleficent's eyes gleamed with frosty light. "Well?" She snapped her fingers.

Diaval felt a sudden curious reluctance to reveal his find, but nothing could have prepared him for the reaction.

"He betrayed me," Maleficent's voice deepened and rose in volume with every word, "so he could become king?"

She threw her head back and yelled, a cry of rage and loss and sheer frustration, shooting skyward faster than the glowing green energy which burst out of her hands. Diaval cowered back, as he couldn't fly. In that moment, he couldn't help wondering how exactly Stephan had betrayed Maleficent. But he was no fool, and as the years turned, he had less and less ability to fathom what could possess a man to turn on someone like her for the common, pretty woman in the throne room.

You're worth so much

So easily crushed…

No one escapes

Every breath we take

Dealing with our own skeletons,

Skeletons

The gnomes bowed and the fairies bobbed and quivered as they paid homage to the black figure who filled the great chair at the center of the Moors. She hid her long hair beneath a wrap and the collar of a black cloak, so that her head and horns rose alone from her body. Diaval would never have dared to say such things out loud, but he privately wished that Maleficent had kept her hair free. She was still beautiful, but it was a more austere kind of beauty, and with her hair out she looked less frightening and yet more wild and free, even younger.

He was her servant, however, only that, and he learned early on how to keep his private opinions and deeper sentiments to himself. It wasn't as if expressing them would earn him anything but a cold look, anyhow, though Diaval even found himself, after he was done apologizing and shaking, remembering the way Maleficent's eyes flashed with a dry mouth and weak knees.

As the years rolled on, he never stopped serving her, helping her. He could never have explained why he never complained, even when he got little enough in return—at most, he would have stated, "she saved my life, and I owe her my services". But he couldn't stop watching her, wanting to help her, be her constant companion. As a raven, he used to be enough for himself. But now she'd trapped him. She'd taken him out of a world of ignorance, and brought him into her life, and now going back would never solve anything…he would remember.

"She'll starve with those three looking after her."

Diaval turned in undeniable surprise. Maleficent hated Stephan, and hated worse his child. He'd been there when she cursed Stephan. But now…she appeared to be concerning herself over Aurora's welfare.

Maleficent turned and saw him. Her tone sharpened. "What?"

Diaval squawked. Translated, it meant, "Nothing."

Maleficent shook her head.

How special you are

Revel in your day

You're fearfully and wonderfully made

Diaval blessed the day those three bumbling fairies had brought Aurora to the cabin. For the first time in years, Aurora actually helped lighten the spirits of her greatest enemy. Lord knew the enemy needed that.

Diaval had seen her on enough bad days to know. He hated it when Maleficent gazed off towards the castle, when she could only think of revenge. And he alone knew that some of the shadows under her eyes formed because Maleficent had stayed awake all night brooding. He hated it because the little glimpses he saw of humor, of brightness, of a softer, less bitter side, made him want more. God knew she deserved better. Maleficent had saved his life, and when she hurt, Diaval hurt.

He never left her. When Maleficent stalked the Moors in a foul mood, Diaval alone possessed nerve enough to come within ten feet of her. And he flew over Aurora's cabin, making sure the baby didn't starve, constantly bringing reports of her to make those perfectly sculpted features soften and lift a little, see the flash of dry humor from those beautiful green eyes. He lived for those little things. It was pathetic, and he knew it. But he couldn't do a thing about it. Maleficent had trapped him into her life, and now he couldn't have left even if he wanted to. And even on the bad days, Diaval didn't want to. He cared for his mistress, and he loved seeing her happy, even when her smile glinted with malice. But she had no idea how much he cared for her, so that Diaval could only keep his thoughts to himself, and watch, and do his duty.

You fall to your knees

You beg, you plead

Can I be somebody else

For all the times I hate myself?

Diaval had come upon her one night, in the early days right after Maleficent had heard of the child's birth, and stopped short to see tears staining the faery's ivory cheeks. He stopped dead, unsure of himself, watching in the shadows in an agony of indecision.

Maleficent stopped, and raised her head. Her hand rested on her shoulders, where her robes had been pushed aside to reveal scar tissue. Diaval knew staring was rude, but he couldn't help himself—the brutal testament of the scars held his eyes inexorably.

Maleficent's voice floated to Diaval, deep and mellifluous, beautiful even though choked with tears.

"What did I do, Diaval? What's wrong with me? Tell me, am I a monster?"

Diaval managed to move his mouth enough to swallow. Crows didn't get lumps in their throats, he thought, but they couldn't speak either. Humans could.

He hardly realized what words came out of his own mouth, but when he recalled it afterwards, Diaval felt fairly certain he'd said what he thought he'd said.

"No, Maleficent. There's nothing wrong with you. You're-," he never figured out what he might have said if some instinct, even then, hadn't restrained him: beautiful, perfect, wonderful; something he'd thought more and more lately but would never dare to say. But at last, he managed, "Stephan is the monster. Not you."

Your failures devour

Your heart in every hour

You're drowning in your imperfection

For once, Maleficent didn't react in anger. Her eyes welled, brimming with melted diamond as she turned her perfect face into the moonlight to look up at Diaval.

He never quite got it clear in his head who made the move, but he definitely remembered the moment after. His Mistress, his queen, the woman who never smiled except in malice, never unbent except to sit, clung to her servant in a crushing embrace. Her body felt surprisingly frail as her back heaved, tears soaking deep into the dark tunic Diaval wore while the once-proud creature, now maimed and scarred, sobbed into his chest.

No other living soul ever saw the incident, and neither ever spoke of it again, but Diaval carried those minutes like a talisman, as he lay down to sleep at night and as he flew through the night by Maleficent's side.

Because that night was the reason he stayed by her side, never tiring of helping her for nothing. That one moment, where Maleficent bared her heart, allowed him to see her as vulnerable, broken, was his true reason to love her, and the reason he took such diligent care of Aurora. Because Diaval, the loyal servant, would stop at nothing to heal his mistress so that she could allow herself to be flawed and vulnerable without fear again. He loved her too much to allow her to hide forever.

Won't you believe, yeah

Won't you believe, yeah

All the things I see in you

You're not the only one

Drowning in imperfection