A/N: Prompt from an anon, who supplied the first sentence. Thanks! Warning, contains character death.
When Diaval, singed and disheveled, missing several feathers and slickened red with blood, brings Aurora the ring her godmother has always worn on her finger, tarnished and bent, broken, without its owner anywhere nearby, Aurora knows, without a doubt, that part of her heart has been torn from within her chest. Staring down at the mangled trinket, trembling as her fingers curl around it, digging it into her skin, she doesn't let it go as she whirls around, intent on seeing to her injured friend. The raven's breast puffed up as best he can with each panting breath, lying on her bed, wings spread and feet clenching in pain, his eyes roil at her as weak chittering passes his beak.
Gently cradling him into her arm, against her chest, and steadying him with her still closed hand, Aurora sprints through the halls and out into the grounds to the dwelling of the royal falconer. Getting his promise to do his best with her friend, and pressing a kiss to a bloody head, Aurora's already gone before the falconer has time to realize he most likely has a faerie creature in his hands.
Her next stop is the stable. Pulling a cloak from the wall and hurrying to put a saddle onto her favorite horse's back, barely able to wait for the stablehand to wake up enough to help her, Aurora's galloping out into the bailey, shrieking for the portcullis to open. Her throat is burning, but she's out, and not even the falling darkness or clatter of men hurrying to follow her will stop her.
Even with how fast her steed is, it takes too long for the Moors to unfurl in front of her.
It takes too long because, somewhere inside there, in front of her, Aurora's rent heart wails with each rasping gasp torn from her lungs with each thud of her horse's hooves, is Maleficent calling out to be found.
Maleficent's...
Aurora's hand bruises around the ring. Her palm numbs, and sobs heave out of her chest.
Body calling out.