The fairy wasn't eating.

All his beak and wings could carry were berries so he picked the best from the Moor trees and flew each sprig down to the twisted nest that she had made for herself in a cliff tree. He set the coloured orbs around her hands and picked up the old ones that had withered, tossing them off the cliff. Maleficent was still refusing to change his form so he made do, pecking gently at her hands until she stirred.

That damn bird was back, fluttering around with too much vigour for her black mood. "Stop that..." she hissed at the raven, flicking him away. The bird ignored her, dipped his head and picked up the berries. He hopped them all the way onto her chest and dropped them again, stamping his feet. "Why do you bother?"

Diaval had been out, flying the Moor every day before venturing bravely into the dangerous world of men. He had much to tell her of his journeys but this form was dumb to the complex human words he needed. He was certain that she didn't want to hear of anything beyond this cliff. That's why he still had wings.

He hopped his way gently up onto her shoulder and then settled in that warm crook between her hair, horns and cheek. The bird tucked his beak into his feathers and did exactly as his mistress wished – remained silent. Diaval couldn't help but notice that winter held on longer this year. Was the world waiting for her magic to nudge it into spring or was it her magic that begged the ice to stay?

"It's a bit.." Diaval lingered under a heavy torment of knotted vines. Their thorns were bent inwards toward its aching limbs on this side of the wall but they were no less sinister to look at. His mistress was preparing to attend the celebration of the new princess in the kingdom of men and he couldn't help but notice that her gown now matched her mood.

"What?" She replied, straightening the long, black swathes of material that dragged across the brittle swamp grass. It made her look tall and thin like an angry stick of charcoal pulled from the fire.

"...dark..." he shrugged, hoping the reply didn't incite a fit or rage.

"Says the raven to the fairy," was all Maleficent offered in response.

Well that, Diaval had to admit, was a fair point.

There was nothing for his claws to dig into on the green jewel wedged atop of her walking staff. He slipped and flapped his wings until he steadied on his uncomfortable perch. He didn't like this. They shouldn't even be here. Sure, there were windows high in the rafters that he could slip and fly to freedom but his mistress had no wings to flee on. She walked the ground like a common human, stumbling over ill-placed stones and up endless stairwells leaning heavily on her staff. Her balance had never recovered the loss of her wings and he was starting to worry that it never would.

Finally they came before the king. The courtiers hushed, some of them even recognised the black bird that haunted the passages, watching – never crowing. The king was there, seated on his throne and adorned with all form of worldly gem and fur to give the illusion of godly-magnificence. It only made more stark the truth – that he was merely a man. There was no army in this kingdom that could bring fear to his eyes like the appearance of the fairy to the foot of his throne.

Fairy – or demon? It was hard to believe that the creature below was the same soul that lived in the Moor, delighting in the world. She had no wings but the memory of them flared in her eyes whenever she looked at him.

Diaval noticed something else while watching the king fumble for words. This human had loved as rashly as his mistress. Greed won the hour he chose to be king but the price the man paid was his sanity. He was so afraid to look on what he'd done that he couldn't stand the thought of the fairy let alone the sight of her, as dark and evil in her gown as his heart had become. She was the manifestation of his fears and he begged them, begged her to stop.

Maleficent laughed at the dreary hall and all its fearful kin. So this was the world that he'd longed for? The desire that was greater than their friendship? If he'd wanted jewels and castles she would have built him one herself more grand than this despairing ruin. What a strange, strange thing to look on.

She did feel pity for the woman at his side but not enough to stop.

Following the three fairies was embarrassingly easy. Eventually Diaval grew tired of soaring overhead and swooped right down to sit on the roof of the carriage as it trundled along the forest paths. The child was asleep, rocked by the motion of the heavy wheels.

In truth, the bird was happy to be away from his mistress. Her mood had set permanent storms over the Moor that lashed at its grand mountains. Another rumble on the air caused him to hop around, beady brown eyes catching an unseasonal flare of light through the clouds far beyond the realm of men. Even a bird had the good sense to be afraid.

"They have absolutely no idea what to do with a child," Diaval complained, washing his face in the cool water. He'd been spending more time than usual as a bird, watching over the tiny version of the king into which his mistress had channelled her hatred. "It won't live out the week if you don't do something."

Maleficent was still wearing black and it pleased her to sit on a throne fashioned from dormant cherry blossom branches. It might have been beautiful except her mood was preventing the buds from opening.

Diaval flicked his head back and shook the water from his hair. It ran off as though it were from his feathers instead of the curled dark locks she'd given him. He could have sworn his own clothes were darker each time she turned him. Even his feathers had gone from coal to the vast void between stars.

He retrieved his shirt from the bank and carried it over one arm as he made his way toward the ghostly throne and the Moor's dark queen.

"Mistress, if you wish to exact your revenge on the king – the child must live."

"Clever little bird." Maleficent knew exactly what he was up to.