Chapter 1: Your Worst Nightmare
"Aurora..."
This whisper in her ear. This voice... She knows this voice. Deep, smooth, quiet, scary, and oh so tempting. It rings in her head, her body, in her very soul. No, it's not the first time she hears it, she is sure. But, is this...? Oh God, no.
A hand is touching hers. An icy touch. And still, a wave of warmth goes through her skin and takes possession of her whole body. She freezes, for no matter how good she feels, she cannot help but be afraid. The hand takes her towards a black shape, distant, impenetrable, and yet so close. Another fleeting hand is setting on her waist. Her breath stops. Her fingers are setting, in spite of herself, like drawn by a powerful strength beyond humanity, on a shoulder covered with soft fabric, as dark as death. She should run away, she knows. Before it's too late.
"Who... who are you?" Her voice breaks with the heaviness of her fear and pronounces those words, almost unwillingly. There is a lump deep inside her throat, and her lips are so dry she fears the skin might split to reveal nothing but blood underneath. The ghostly shape drags her into an enchanting waltz. She lets herself go, for it is as if she has no other choice but to comply. As if she never had a choice. She knows she cannot do anything to stop it.
Why did she ask that question, she wonders. Oh, no. She doesn't want to know. No matter what that creature is, she shouldn't be here. Yes, she definitely should not...
"Well, well. You do not recognize me, princess? What a pity! I must say I feel quite distressed. I thought no one could ever forget me that easily." Those words, cynic, honeyed, coming straight from those red lips, rolled up on teeth of a blinding white, in a machiavellian smile, turn her blood to ice in the instant.
"I am sorry, I... I shouldn't be here. I have to— I must not speak to..." She murmurs this unconvincing, rather pathetic excuse, and she is aware of it. She closes her eyes, hoping everything will just stop, hoping that mouth whose breath is now warming her cheeks will move away from her face, that cold and delicate hand will finally deign to release hers. But she doesn't do anything. She simply can't.
"To strangers?" The frightening voice supplies, turning into an sardonic, shrill laugh. "Oh, but in truth, princess, I am no stranger," whispers the red scarlet mouth into the hollow of her ear. She closes her eyes again in order to better let her sensitive ears soak in the hypnotic and languid sound of that voice. She should be thousands miles away. What would her aunties say? Oh! Her aunties can go to Hell! She doesn't want to leave. In any case, she is sure that she can't.
"But then, who... Who are you?" She asks one last time, with a sudden burning desire boiling inside her chest. The mad, guilty desire to know. Who is hiding behind that shadow which is attracting her towards them without she being able to resist? This voice, so mesmerizing it could lead her straight to the open gates of Hell? And those lips that she cannot, for the love of Heaven, stop staring at?
The shadow stops abruptly. The trance she had so carefully built all around and inside her is reduced to naught. The imaginary music that lead her steps until now simply vanished. This damned, haunting dance in the arms of the Devil ends.
Suddenly, the hand around her waist tightens its grip and attracts her even more close towards that indefinable shadow whose darkness frightens her so, and yet fascinates her so much. Her body crushes against that soulless silhouette. She looks up agonizingly slowly. Those red lips get only closer and closer. An icy smile materializes on this scarlet mouth. She cannot breath anymore, it is simply asking tremendous efforts from this body of hers which doesn't have the strength necessary. Her eyes are frozen in their eyelids which must have solidified in the process, for they simply refuse to obey her orders. Those lips hover sluggishly above her face, whereas the hand on her waist is grabbing the tulle of her dress fiercely. That sinful mouth is one inch away from hers, then. If those lips touch her, she would die. She is sure of it. Then they start moving — for the worst, there is no doubt about that — and they half-open...
"I am your worst nightmare." They murmur against her own mouth. She struggles to swallow. No word comes to her mind anyway.
Her soul is empty. Dead, perhaps. That is the most probable issue. This creature must have killed it. Or stolen it, for all she knows.
"Your end will be mine, Princess Aurora. Do be careful. Do be careful, indeed..." The voice says those last words so quietly, in an almost melancholic tone, before gradually fading away into the wind.
Her lips shiver— No. Her entire body is shaking, with both terror and frustration, a dangerous mix that threatens to make her brain explode at any time. Utterly defeated, she closes her eyes. A warm tear rolls down her cheek. Then a light blast of air enters between her lips, catching every breath she might take. She freezes, unable to perform the slightest gesture.
Eventually, she can feel the touch of those damned red lips, hot and cold, smooth and painful. Like a bruising, silk caress.
The tantalizing mouth brushes hers. She leans forward, for she knows she has waited forever for that divine, forbidden touch. She wants to know, she wants more. She wants everything. And yet...
Everything dissolves into black.
Nothingness.
Yes, finally.
She must dead.
Or worse, and in this instance, she would rather be dead.
"Maleficent!" A cry of pure rage and despair escaped from the Queen's mouth as she awoke with a jolt, straightening up abruptly in the large bed she shared with King Phillip for two years already.
The latter, alerted by his wife's scream, opened his eyes to stare at Aurora. That morning, he struggled to recognize the young maid he met two years ago in the woods and whose he fell in love with instantly.
There were dark blue shadows under her purple eyes full of tears which were running down her cheeks shamelessly. Her usual pink skin was now as pale as a ghost's, her sweet and thin hands were grasping the sheets sharply, twisted, contorted by fear or wrath, he couldn't say. When he looked into Aurora's eyes at that very time, Phillip would never admit it, but he was afraid.
"Oh, my love. What happened? Please, calm down. It was nothing but a cruel nightmare." He tried, putting his hand on Aurora's shoulder soothingly. The Queen drove away from his touch, and got off the marital bed.
"No. Don't touch me." She snapped in an icy tone which was unusual and unexpected from her.
"But, Aurora... Tell me! What was that dream about, to upset you so badly?" His husband asked her in a gentle voice that was meant to reassure her. "Every night, it's the same. You wake up in a start, with red eyes, pronouncing... her name, and without even deigning to explain yourself! I don't understand you, Aurora. Please, explain to me, so I can at least try to help you.''
Aurora, who had walked to the terrace of their chambers, was contemplating the moon, this pure and graceful orb, which seemed to be mocking her and her vain fears and doubts, from up there.
The Queen sighed and resigned herself to talk, for the first time in months.
"It's always the same dream. She's here, she's talking to me, she drives me into a dance. I'm dancing with her in the woods and... and she... Oh! I am so afraid! I can't move, I am... I am petrified, and..." Aurora stopped in a sharp intake of breath as she burst into tears.
Phillip followed her and placed a comforting hand on his wife's, all the while brushing her cheek fondly with his free hand.
"Don't worry, my love. This monster is dead, I told you. She won't hurt you anymore. She tried to separate us, that is true, and she almost succeeded. But I bested her, and now I can promise you you're safe with me. Forget about her, forget about everything. It's behind you, now. Now come on, lie down and try to go back to sleep."
Aurora rose her eyes gleaming with unshed tears towards Phillip, and nodded before she got back into bed where she lay near her husband.
While she was looking at the ceiling, lying on her back, one hand behind her head and the other setting on her breast, she heard the peaceful snoring raising from right next to her. She sighed. Then she thought about this dream, so strange, so frightening, and yet so beautiful. She thought about this touch, these hands on her body, this mouth against hers... and she placed one delicate finger on her lips and started to caress them absently. It was burning, like ignited by a flame which should be turned off for years. It was hot and wet, whereas her husband didn't touch it for... what? Two years, maybe? She had stopped counting a long time ago. What was the matter anyway? Marriage of love is an illusion. Love is not meant to last forevermore, is it?
Of course Phillip didn't understand, of course he couldn't understand. He had no idea what she went through, he had no idea what she thought, nor what she wanted, for that matter. He did all of that for her, to marry her and live with her. And above all, to become King. But what about her? Had he ever wondered if it was what she desired? No, of course. A princess always wants to marry a prince, after all. There is not much to ponder.
Yes, but the problem was, she was not born a princess. Somewhere deep inside, she was still that young peasant girl who used to collect berries in the forest and sing along with the birds, and was happy with what she possessed. No prince, no princess. No fairy, no dragon. No curse, no death.
He thought he protected her. He thought he freed her by killing the dragon and giving her a kiss. He thought he did well. In the books, the prince kills the dragon to save the princess. But she was not a character from a romantic novel. In truth, the prince didn't save the princess. What Phillip did not know was that, by killing the dragon, he killed the princess. By killing a dragon, he killed a woman. He killed her. Her.
Maleficent...
Thinking about that name, a tear fell from her swollen eye again. She whispered her name again, and again, as if repeating it over and over again could somehow bring her back to life.
No. This couldn't last anymore. He might think he did well, but he was wrong. Now it was her turn to choose for him and to do what was good for herself.
The Queen stood up slowly, crossed the room as silently as she could and opened the door with caution before she closed it behind her. She walked through the corridors, barefoot, until she arrived in front of big wooden doors with golden moulding. The entry of the royal library. She pushed the door, which creaked slightly, causing her to cringe. She went in as quick as she humanly could. Without thinking, she headed towards the shelf that contained all sorts of magic books. Her aunts, now her counsellors after being her parents', brought all the magic manuscripts and books they possessed at the castle so they could consult it at any time if needed. The young Queen had spent hours leafing through those strange books, just out of curiosity, and perhaps a little driven by nostalgia of...
No. Don't think about her.
Here it was. She had found the book she was looking for: "the Sleeping Curse". She blew on the red leather cover to get rid of the thick layer of dust and opened the manuscript, heart pounding wildly in her chest.
"Side effects." Yes, that will do. "Nightmares." Of course.
I should have guessed, thought Aurora, rolling her eyes to her own naivety before she sat to better read the paragraph devoted to side effects of the sleeping curse.
"The Sleeping Curse, a very powerful and potent spell, mainly leads to bind the victim to her persecutor, thus creating a link between the two souls."
A link?
"However, once the curse broken, the sides effects can last for quite some time. If the victim is not under the influence of the spell anymore, the bond between the victim and the author of the affliction remains. This indestructible link will show itself according to the nature of the curse, namely in the case of the Sleeping Curse, by means of the sleep, which could explain the existence of chronic insomnia or recurring nightmares, for instance."
Then all these nightmares, it was because she... She was bound to her tormentor. Maleficent, by casting this spell on the princess Aurora, didn't know she linked her own soul to her victim's.
Aurora was bound to Maleficent.
Though one question remained unanswered...
"There is nevertheless one unique way of definitely breaking the bond between the victim's soul and her persecutor's: death. Indeed, the tormentor's death shall cancel all the after-effects of the spell, as well as the sleep itself, but also all the side effects caused by it, including the persistent nightmares."
By surprise, Aurora's jaw dropped. She opened her hands, letting the book fall and crash on the wooden floor. Unable to move, on the contrary, her brain was seething.
So, if she dreamt about Maleficent all nights, it was not because she was haunted by her death, like she had first believed, but rather because she was irremediably bound to her, and as a consequence, she was merely haunted by her soul, her very existence...
Something clicked in her brain, and suddenly everything was crystal clear.
Maleficent wasn't dead.
The Queen bent down to pick up the manuscript her aunts forbid her to read, and put it back in its rightful place. She stood still once again, deep in thought. Shock and awe prevented her from moving.
Her aunts prevented her from reading this book, so... Wait. Did that mean...?
Obviously, a little treacherous voice concluded in her mind as she gritted her teeth in pure anger.
They knew Maleficent was still alive. Phillip didn't kill her, and yet that's what he had her believe. Why? Why did he lie to her? He supposedly had no idea what bound her to Maleficent. So then, why did he lie about the fairy's fate?
Aurora clenched her fists.
Impostor. Phillip was an impostor. Not the King, not her husband. Not anymore. Nothing but a wretched impostor.
Her aunts betrayed her as well. They lied to her, once again.
And Maleficent...
Maleficent was alive.
The Queen couldn't help the smile that slowly lightened her tired traits. Tears ran down her cheeks, warming up her heart and her renewed hope in the process. Joy. It's been a very long time since she had experienced that particular feeling.
Now, it was her turn to lie. It was her turn to betray them all. It was finally hers to decide for all of them. For Phillip, for the fairies, her so-called aunts. But mostly, last but not least, for herself. For Maleficent. She would not tell anyone. She won't tell she discovered their precious, dirty little secret. No. They shall understand on their own, abruptly and painfully, when they'll see her empty bed in the first hours of the morning.
Aurora smiled in spite of herself, and this time the curve of her lips almost spoke of cunning and cruelty. Finally, she was going to get her revenge. They will know the feeling of being betrayed, being deprived of the truth, being prisoners of a bunch of lies.
She must discover the truth. She had to get the answers she had been seeking for two long years, unknowingly until now. And for that, there was only one way: finding Maleficent.
Aurora left the library with firm steps, not caring if she was uncovered anymore. She walked down the stairs leading to the ballroom, grabbed her famous purple cloak and some reliable shoes, and she exited the castle by an attached door usually reserved to servants' use. She ran to the stables where she saddled her horse, a beautiful black stallion she had called Diablo.
She smiled to herself as she stroke the strong animal's neckline, as a way of encouragement.
Now she knew why she called him that strange, otherworldly name. It was a reminiscence, a trace of an old, lost life. Life she was going to purchase and take back as hers.
After two whole days of fast ride interrupted by short nights, she turned off to the path filled with thorns that she now knew lead to the Forbidden Mountains, Maleficent's domain.
Suddenly, Aurora noted an intriguing detail about her last nights spent alone in the forest. Not once was she plagued by Maleficent's face in her vicious dreams. Maybe...
Of course. Those dreams... those dreams were no more than a call. For two years, Maleficent had tried to catch her unconscious attention, if she could say that. To make her understand she was still alive, and that she was waiting for her.
Maleficent was calling out to her.
When Aurora looked up, she could make out the fortress of ruined stone in the distance, which had served as housing to the well-known wicked fairy for decades — perhaps centuries — already.
Her lips twisted into a radiant smile, telling herself she never smiled so much in two years as she did tonight.
After all these years, she didn't forget the way to that desolate place where her former enemy was taking refuge. After all these years, she still knew how to find her.
I am coming, Maleficent.