The baby in the cradle was pink and very chubby. It burbled sweetly when the young Phillip peered down at it.
From above the pink flounce that was the resting place of Princess Aurora, his father laughed jovially with his friend, the King. "Look all you like, my boy!" he roared. He had long since abandoned his wineglass and now took swigs directly from the bottle. "In another fifteen years, she's aaallLLLL YOURS!" and then he and his friend gave in to drunken fits centered on the pronunciation of the word 'fifteen'. The queen, prim and elegant and stately, rolled her eyes and beckoned for little Phillip to come to her. When he did, she helped him to smooth a strand of flyaway brown hair.
"Such a handsome little man," she cooed. He leaned into her cool, gentle hands. He liked the Queen- she reminded him faintly of his own mother, whom he could barely remember.
The next face to peer down at the baby belonged to her very first godmother- the faerie Flora.
She was slender, short, and pixie-like; her skin was as pink as a rosebud and covered with sparkling diamond dust. She wore wreaths made from flowers and ribbons of ivy, and her own glorious red hair. Her elfin face was shining with happiness as she watched little Aurora wiggle.
"Sweet princess, sweet child," she whispered, and her voice was high and light. "Receive unto thee this gift I bring: beauty and sweetness, and skill with all things born of our mother, Nature." She left a dewdrop kiss on the baby's forehead and received a tug on her hair. She extracted the lock from Aurora's sticky little hand (because all babies are perpetually sticky).
Next was Fauna, a sleek leopard-spotted thing with tiger-eyes in her hair. She leaned over the crib and tucked a soft spotted rabbit fur around the baby. It squealed with delight and grabbed handfuls of the fur.
"Aurora, light of the night sky, jewel of your parent's eyes," Fauna said to her, like the purr of a great cat. "Receive unto thee MY gift: wisdom, and grace, gifts from all things wild." She, too, left a kiss, more of a gentle nuzzle. She ran her long, fey fingers over the child's face, lulling it to sleep.
"Soundness, little girl."
The last little face to appear was perhaps the most special: her third and final godmother, the faerie Merriweather. She was a most important creature; smaller and more lissome than even her beautiful sisters, she had skin of deep, cool blue. Pale clouds rolled over her exposed arms and legs, and her brilliant eyes flashed like lightning. She was as volatile and as peaceful as the summer sky. Stars and glass raindrops shimmered in her long white hair.
As she watched the sleeping girl, she said nothing. She could feel tension somewhere, like the electricity she felt before a storm. It was building, building, centering around this tiny, helpless girlchild.
"Caution," she warned her, as she turned her face so slightly toward the center of the conflict she felt-
And, to the astonishment of the King and the Queen and of Phillip and his father, a storm did arise from the spot Merriweather watched. First with heavy dark clouds, bursting from thin air, followed by streaks of white lightning and rolls of deep thunder. The wind blew the flames all to pieces and put them out, gleefully smashing things along the way. As darkness lay upon the gathered courtiers and a terrified hush stole over the ballroom, a queer, sickly yellow light threw sharp relief onto the people ringing the storm. A ball of gaseous flame floated in the air...and beneath it, a figure melted onto the floor. It hardened, smoothed, and solidified, and became a little girl.
Not so little, perhaps. Barely fifteen, with ebony hair and skin the shade of white that comes without sun, eyes like the stormy sea and bloody red lips. She wore a voluminous black gown encrusted with gems and gold, the very decadence of which seemed almost a sin. She was smiling.
"Your majesties...and what's this? A new little addition?"
She cocked her lovely head at the bassinet.
The Queen released Phillip and pulled him behind her. "Maleficent," she gasped, and it was a gasp of fright. "I- we- you are here..." she seemed at a loss for words.
But young Maleficent wasn't. She turned her dazzling, in-control, not-quite-sane smile on Aurora's beautiful mother.
"WHY am I here, your majesty? When I so clearly did NOT receive an invitation?"
The pixies bristled by Aurora's cradle. "And you wonder why?" Merriweather hissed at her.
Flora stiffened her back and watched the dark faerie from beneath a veil of curls. "It's because you aren't wanted." she finished.
Maleficent seemed genuinely startled. "Not wa- " she began. "Oh. I...I see. Because you are...afraid...of me."
"No, no!" the Queen cried, throwing herself in front of Aurora's cradle. "It must have been- a simple oversight, is all- how silly of me- "
"Oh, please, no. I understand eXACtly what happened, have no fear. In fact, to demonstrate to you my goodwill, I will leave your new child a gift as well."
Horror filled the Queen's face. "Please, she is my only child..." she breathed. But Maleficent would not be put off.
"Receive this tribute I so bring, little girl! For it is a very SPECIAL tribute..."
The light flashed and people screamed. The three faeries took up defensive stances about the child, but they were not strong enough...young Phillip brandished his small belt knife at the dark lady who held the attention of the floor.
"On the eve of her sixteenth birthday, your child..."
"Maleficent, NO!" the Queen sobbed.
"Shall prick her finger upon a spinning wheel..."
The fluttering of bird wings echoed in the darkness above the court's head, combined with the flickering green light and the malevolence in the faerie's voice.
"And DIE!"
She began to laugh, then. She laughed at Aurora in her crib, wailing from the pain that her curse had caused; at her mother, crumpled in a little heap before the cradle; at the faeries, watching furiously, helplessly as she faded back into her storm; and at the great irony of it all. Her laughter was the last to leave.
Panic and chaos filled the ballroom, chaos the guards and heralds were hard-pressed to control.
In the midst of the disorder, purity like a cool summer breeze wafted to the cradle, and Aurora's salvation beheld her once more.
"I can save her." Merriweather whispered.
From above the pink flounce that was the resting place of Princess Aurora, his father laughed jovially with his friend, the King. "Look all you like, my boy!" he roared. He had long since abandoned his wineglass and now took swigs directly from the bottle. "In another fifteen years, she's aaallLLLL YOURS!" and then he and his friend gave in to drunken fits centered on the pronunciation of the word 'fifteen'. The queen, prim and elegant and stately, rolled her eyes and beckoned for little Phillip to come to her. When he did, she helped him to smooth a strand of flyaway brown hair.
"Such a handsome little man," she cooed. He leaned into her cool, gentle hands. He liked the Queen- she reminded him faintly of his own mother, whom he could barely remember.
The next face to peer down at the baby belonged to her very first godmother- the faerie Flora.
She was slender, short, and pixie-like; her skin was as pink as a rosebud and covered with sparkling diamond dust. She wore wreaths made from flowers and ribbons of ivy, and her own glorious red hair. Her elfin face was shining with happiness as she watched little Aurora wiggle.
"Sweet princess, sweet child," she whispered, and her voice was high and light. "Receive unto thee this gift I bring: beauty and sweetness, and skill with all things born of our mother, Nature." She left a dewdrop kiss on the baby's forehead and received a tug on her hair. She extracted the lock from Aurora's sticky little hand (because all babies are perpetually sticky).
Next was Fauna, a sleek leopard-spotted thing with tiger-eyes in her hair. She leaned over the crib and tucked a soft spotted rabbit fur around the baby. It squealed with delight and grabbed handfuls of the fur.
"Aurora, light of the night sky, jewel of your parent's eyes," Fauna said to her, like the purr of a great cat. "Receive unto thee MY gift: wisdom, and grace, gifts from all things wild." She, too, left a kiss, more of a gentle nuzzle. She ran her long, fey fingers over the child's face, lulling it to sleep.
"Soundness, little girl."
The last little face to appear was perhaps the most special: her third and final godmother, the faerie Merriweather. She was a most important creature; smaller and more lissome than even her beautiful sisters, she had skin of deep, cool blue. Pale clouds rolled over her exposed arms and legs, and her brilliant eyes flashed like lightning. She was as volatile and as peaceful as the summer sky. Stars and glass raindrops shimmered in her long white hair.
As she watched the sleeping girl, she said nothing. She could feel tension somewhere, like the electricity she felt before a storm. It was building, building, centering around this tiny, helpless girlchild.
"Caution," she warned her, as she turned her face so slightly toward the center of the conflict she felt-
And, to the astonishment of the King and the Queen and of Phillip and his father, a storm did arise from the spot Merriweather watched. First with heavy dark clouds, bursting from thin air, followed by streaks of white lightning and rolls of deep thunder. The wind blew the flames all to pieces and put them out, gleefully smashing things along the way. As darkness lay upon the gathered courtiers and a terrified hush stole over the ballroom, a queer, sickly yellow light threw sharp relief onto the people ringing the storm. A ball of gaseous flame floated in the air...and beneath it, a figure melted onto the floor. It hardened, smoothed, and solidified, and became a little girl.
Not so little, perhaps. Barely fifteen, with ebony hair and skin the shade of white that comes without sun, eyes like the stormy sea and bloody red lips. She wore a voluminous black gown encrusted with gems and gold, the very decadence of which seemed almost a sin. She was smiling.
"Your majesties...and what's this? A new little addition?"
She cocked her lovely head at the bassinet.
The Queen released Phillip and pulled him behind her. "Maleficent," she gasped, and it was a gasp of fright. "I- we- you are here..." she seemed at a loss for words.
But young Maleficent wasn't. She turned her dazzling, in-control, not-quite-sane smile on Aurora's beautiful mother.
"WHY am I here, your majesty? When I so clearly did NOT receive an invitation?"
The pixies bristled by Aurora's cradle. "And you wonder why?" Merriweather hissed at her.
Flora stiffened her back and watched the dark faerie from beneath a veil of curls. "It's because you aren't wanted." she finished.
Maleficent seemed genuinely startled. "Not wa- " she began. "Oh. I...I see. Because you are...afraid...of me."
"No, no!" the Queen cried, throwing herself in front of Aurora's cradle. "It must have been- a simple oversight, is all- how silly of me- "
"Oh, please, no. I understand eXACtly what happened, have no fear. In fact, to demonstrate to you my goodwill, I will leave your new child a gift as well."
Horror filled the Queen's face. "Please, she is my only child..." she breathed. But Maleficent would not be put off.
"Receive this tribute I so bring, little girl! For it is a very SPECIAL tribute..."
The light flashed and people screamed. The three faeries took up defensive stances about the child, but they were not strong enough...young Phillip brandished his small belt knife at the dark lady who held the attention of the floor.
"On the eve of her sixteenth birthday, your child..."
"Maleficent, NO!" the Queen sobbed.
"Shall prick her finger upon a spinning wheel..."
The fluttering of bird wings echoed in the darkness above the court's head, combined with the flickering green light and the malevolence in the faerie's voice.
"And DIE!"
She began to laugh, then. She laughed at Aurora in her crib, wailing from the pain that her curse had caused; at her mother, crumpled in a little heap before the cradle; at the faeries, watching furiously, helplessly as she faded back into her storm; and at the great irony of it all. Her laughter was the last to leave.
Panic and chaos filled the ballroom, chaos the guards and heralds were hard-pressed to control.
In the midst of the disorder, purity like a cool summer breeze wafted to the cradle, and Aurora's salvation beheld her once more.
"I can save her." Merriweather whispered.