"Like this, Merida," she instructs, moving forward and kneeling down so she is eye to eye with the child. "You're thinking too hard. Just let your body relax and feel the energy move."
Blue eyes stare back at Maleficent with more than a small amount of wariness as her self-proclaimed aunt opens her palm and gently strokes the lines she finds there.
"That tickles," the girl mutters, making the older woman smile.
"It's supposed to," Maleficent assures her. "That's how inborn magic feels when it's itching to get out."
Small fingers twitch, the need to release what is building internally close to overtaking the girl, and just when Merida thinks she's going to rocket off the ground, her arm is extended, her hand pointed towards a makeshift mannequin just her size that receives the full impact of her magic. There is no sound, but the child's body shakes against the older woman's legs, and she holds the girl steady, trying to remain focused in the brilliant menagerie of an undisciplined yet powerful gift.
The smoke from her hand is silver, dotted with rose-tinged beads that sparkle within its wisps, more veil of light than plume of smoke. It smells of lavender, Maleficent notices, a scent that matches the girls wild curls that spill haphazardly down her back.
"That's it, Merida," she assures her, laying her hands on the child's trembling shoulders. "Let's see now what you've created."
Small eyes are squeezed shut, afraid of seeing damage or something distorted and ugly, something that will remind her of the birth mother she's never known but feels marked by all the same. As the fog lifts, Maleficent laughs, a brilliant, bubbly sound that makes Merida's eyes pop open in wonder.
"What?" the girl questions, looking up to her aunt for answers.
"Just look," Maleficent instructs, pointing in the direction of the mannequin, no longer bare but clothed in an outfit that shimmers in the sunlight streaming in from the nearby windows.
"A Dragon? I made a dragon?"
They walk towards the costume together, hand in hand, both extending their opposite arms towards a body suit scaled in gray, pewter and pink with horns that look as if they've been carved from opal atop a hood just the right size for a girl of nearly five.
"You made a dragon, little one," Maleficent beams, feeling the unworldly lightness of what should be heavy material, gazing back at the child in amazement as the costume sparkles in her clasp. "And a very complicated and detailed dragon costume, at that. You never told me you wanted to be a dragon for Halloween."
The girl bites her lower lip, a lopsided grin unleashing deep dimples inherited from her father.
"I thought about it," she confesses. "Just like I thought about being a football player for trick-or-treating, but Mommy didn't like that idea too much."
"Well, I highly doubt your mother will disapprove of this costume," Maleficent states with more than a bit of awe in her voice. "This is magnificent, Merida."
The girl is bouncing on her heels, wide-eyed and eager yet stunned all the same.
"I don't know how I did it, Auntie Mal."
"You don't have to know," Maleficent assures her, taking a small hand within her own. The feel of it makes her heart ache, the tug of lost years and experiences with her own daughter blurring into the present with this child she has come to love as family. "Sometimes, it's best to let the magic move you. Sometimes, it knows what is needed before you do."
Merida bites her lower lip, scrunching her freckled nose in the process.
"Isn't it dangerous to let it do that?"
There's so much doubt in the girl, fear she recognizes, fear bred from being born a magical being among people who tend to demonize what they themselves don't possess, the fear of being inherently evil because of the choices made by the woman who carried this precious girl in her body while unleashing unholy hell on everyone else around her.
"Not necessarily," Maleficent assures her. "You mind always controls your magic, Merida. If you thoughts and heart are in the right place, your magic will be, as well. You only need worry when your thoughts and emotions are completely out of control. That's when your magic can turn on you."
The child nods once, her little face drawn inward in concentration.
"You need to stop being afraid of yourself, my sweet girl," Maleficent continues. "Trust me. If your magic were something to be feared, your mother and I would have found the means to have blocked it for your own safety." Pink lips part at that, forming a soft "O" shape that speaks of realization. "Now, why don't we go and finish our snack before I take you home in time to get ready for trick-or-treating?"
Red curls bound into the kitchen at that, drawn by the heady combined scent of cinnamon, brown sugar and pumpkin.
They walk back to her own house nearly an hour later, Maleficent diligent in making sure that sticky cheeks and fingers are washed and that the dragon costume is beautifully and securely packaged before they leave. Merida carries it proudly, she notes with a measure of relief, and if anyone they pass has any ill thoughts about either of them, they think better of uttering them out loud.
Good. There's no way in hell she's going to let any prejudiced simpleton with a brain the size of a magic bean ruin this little girl's Halloween. Her own fingers twitch as she scans the streets with a scowl.
Merida lets herself in, bounding into her house with excited cries of Mommy. Daddy, look what I made flying from her lips. Maleficent steps in behind her, careful to close the door as she hears Regina make her way down the staircase, the younger woman's belly swollen and hard as the last stages of pregnancy make themselves known. She looks tired, Maleficent notices, a bit paler than usual, and she moves closer to the staircase as Merida dashes towards her mother.
It's then that everything freezes—literally.
Silver smoke wafts over them, the scent of lavender permeating the room as Regina hangs suspended just above the stairs, her foot having slipped in her eagerness to reach her child, her child who now stands with both arms extended and a look of raw panic in her eyes.
"Let her down gently now, sweetheart," she manages, moving forward and touching the child's shoulders as she had back at her house. "You saved your mother from falling. Now just help her down."
Merida trembles all over, her eyes fixed and unblinking, holding on to her mother with a ferocity well beyond her years. This must be the same instinctive magic that protected Regina from Zelena when Merida was still inside that woman's womb, Maleficent reasons, a protective magic she can't help but believe grew from a combination of her father's inherent nature and the magic that runs in the veins of all the Mills women.
Plums of rose water and what resembles starlight set Regina down on the bottom step, the younger woman grasping the rail, open-mouthed and shaken as her free hand moves instinctively around her middle. But her eyes never leave her daughter's, the connection between these two as strong as what could ever exist between a birth mother and child.
"Merida—you saved us."
The child's body remains immobile, as if she's frightened of what will happen if she lowers her arms, so Maleficent presses on them gently, whispering that it's time to let go, that her mother and baby sister are safe thanks to her, thanks to her magic. Small muscles finally give, and the girl nearly collapses as both women rush to her side and keep her upright. They slowly allow themselves to settle to the ground and huddle together on the floor, a cluster of past, present and future—of purple, black and silver, and words slide off of her tongue before she can stop them, words that shimmer and hover over Regina and Merida before disappearing into their skin.
Merida turns then, facing her aunt with a look of wonder.
"You spoke a blessing over us," she mutters, her lips continuing to work independently of her voice.
"You understood that? What I said?"
Auburn locks bounce as she shakes her head.
"No," Merida replies, resting into her mother's chest as Regina's arms engulf her. "I just felt it."
A tear falls down Regina's cheek, and she kisses Merida's forehead, pressing her face into the unruly nest of ringlets.
"You feel so much, don't you, sweetheart?"
Regina's voice is hoarse as the girl wraps herself around her mother as best she can, burying her head into a chest that's grown to accommodate a new baby, one that now comforts the child born to her from another woman's body.
"Too much sometimes, I think," Maleficent states, seeing Regina nod in agreement as she kisses her daughter once again. Merida doesn't speak, only holds on to her mother, and it's beautiful, this scene playing out in front of her, something Maleficent knows Regina never had with Cora, something she herself was denied with Lily—the freedom to love and be loved without judgment from the one whose opinion matters most.
It's then that Regina's mouth falls open with a low, guttural sound followed by a gasp of some sort, one accompanied by rounded eyes and furrowed brows as dark eyes gaze directly into hers.
"What is it?" Maleficent asks, helping her friend to her feet, her question answered wordlessly as she spies a small puddle on the floor where Regina had just been kneeling. Merida sees it, too, and she looks frightened again, placing her hands on her mother's stomach just as the other woman is able to formulate words.
"The baby's coming," Regina states, her eyes finding and locking with those of her husband who has just walked in the front door, both boys gaping open-mouthed by his side. They all stand frozen in time for a moment, that is until Roland tugs off his beanie and crosses his arms in an exaggerated pout.
"Does this mean we don't get to go trick-or-treating?" the boys asks, ducking as both his father and step-brother give him a sound whack on the head.