Of the line Ratcliffe
Coward's Market was silent as the grave. Every stall was empty, bereft of goods and owners alike (there are very few people on the Isle of the Lost who are dumb enough to leave sellable goods out in the open). A child ran across the square, its dirty, bare feet hitting the cobblestones hard as it ran for cover, dragging a headless ragdoll behind it. The first, hard raindrops of an oncoming storm hit the pavement, but the clouds did not immediately burst after that. Rather, the few drops dried up and left a still-empty market, everyone afraid of the damage that came from a few short minutes in the rain.
A high-pitched giggle echoed from a corner of the market, bouncing of corrugated iron stalls and polyester roofs. The few stalls that were made of brick and wood and cement seemed to curl in on themselves, seemed to try and take up less fountain in the square's centre, which had stopped running when Neverland was renamed the Isle of the Lost, and which had been cracked since King Beast had proclaimed that the Isle would receive no help from Auradon, seemed to crack further, new lines running down Tiger Lily's ear and cheek.
A girl with purple hair falling over her shoulders and curling behind her ear strolled into the square, green eyes flashing with hatred and excitement alike. She glared around the empty market, daring anyone brave enough to come out, to challenge her.
No one stirred.
The girl's name was Mal Morgana le Fay, and she was a truthseeker, with the sharp ears and teeth of the fae creatures that flitted through Coward's Market on a good day.
Another girl, with a thin, rattish face and pale hair and eyes followed the first's movements. 'Scum,' the voices hissed, angry and clanging in her head, 'Filth. Inhuman.' She continued to watch the fae girl with unpassionate human eyes. She couldn't feel close to the level of emotion that burned through the fae girl, bright and hot. In fact, she couldn't feel much at all.
Her name was Gianna Ratcliffe, and she was racist. She had been raised on the Isle of the Lost, and her daddy hated savages.
What happened next happened so fast one wouldn't have seen it if one wasn't supernatural in some aspect, although Gianna only thought about it much later (under the brunt of her daddy's fists and hard lessons). Mal dashed towards the hiding spot of the child, grabbing the ragdoll it had been dragging around earlier and smashing her cigarette butt into its clothing until they caught alight, then tossed it behind her, leaving it in a smouldering heap. She brought the cigarette up to her lips and took a long drag, cool and collected, as if nothing had happened (and to the child, nothing had. They'd had their doll, and now they didn't. It was that simple). The voices came again, louder and more persistent, 'Arrogant bitch. Obnoxious harlot. Fascist cunt.'
They grew louder and louder, hissing and clamouring in her skull, sending vibrations through her body, making her shiver and drawing the eyes of Mal le Fay, fifteen and vicious. The fae girl raised an eyebrow, critically examining her challenger before going back to her cigarette, eyes roving the market, looking for a gift to bring home to her queen.
The fury that built up in Gianna at being ignored by this insignificant fairy was more than any human could possibly take. She leapt out from her 'hiding' spot, flying into an attack, golden dagger ready {really, it was tin painted gold, but the greed of the Ratcliffes would never diminish}. The Queen only looked up from her exercise when the pale girl who was so, so angry barrelled past her, blind in rage (and awful at fighting {she wasn't trained like Lei or Alice or Hayley}). The brawl that followed was fast and painful (for one party). Mal kicked when her opponent was down, Gianna learnt that. She also stepped on one's ribs and broken bones. She left Gianna Ratcliffe in a bloody, dirty mess ('Where you belong,' the voices hissed, 'if you can't beat second-rate pixie').
When Gianna woke up again, Coward's Market was filled as if it had never happened. Children ran across the square, climbing up Tiger Lily's back, played hopscotch on the jagged cobblestones and practised the thievery that would come in so handy later in their lives on the Isle. Every stall was back to how it had been before the storm, almost as if it had never happened (much, much later, Gianna realised that it hadn't. The Market had cleared in the wake of Queen Mal of the Isle of the Lost, terrified of her anger. Following her instructions. Allowing her to teach Gianna a lesson {and Gianna had had far too many lessons from her daddy. She didn't need one from a freak bitch that wasn't even human}).
Gianna's legacy on the Isle of the Lost was crawling a trail of blood through Coward's Market, bright red and angry. Her legacy was the first that Mal punished for insulting the Queen, but certainly not the last. Her legacy was grovelling in front of the Iron Court, fearing for her life and scared out of her wits.
Gianna's legacy was the scars running down her face, directly parallel to the cracks down Tiger Lily's stone cheek, carved into her face by High Queen Mal the Powerful.
Gianna's legacy on the Isle was her own punishment, not the punishment she doled out to others on account of their race.