A/N: Welcome to the sequel of the Peccatum in Carne! I'm going to give the prologue a day or two on FF and AO3 for people to play catch up with this fic's prequel or do re-reads before posting chapter one. As always: reviews, commentary, suggestions, etc. are very appreciated. Enjoy!

Chapter Soundtrack:

"Savages," by Marina and the Diamonds

Prologue: Non Potentia Adversam Praeteritam (Powerless Against the Past)

The drive from their home at 2763 P Street NW to George Washington University Hospital ought to only take the previously-timed nine minutes at most, but that didn't account for rush hour traffic stretching it to almost fifteen minutes in gridlock. It also didn't take into consideration Aurora's less than stellar driving capabilities, especially in the American-style SUV purchased a few short weeks ago.

Tara could count on one hand the times that her older sister had driven the thing, if she had one available. At the moment, both of her hands were being squeezed painfully by Maleficent, but Tara didn't let on that the grip hurt. She was too focused on her sister's wife, and the way that her blood colored nearly every surface of the back seat. Why was there always so much blood?

While worrying a lip with her teeth, the answer came unbidden to Tara's mind just as quickly as the question had. Amused by her aversion to blood, Aurora had always been quick to assure Tara that the smallest cuts could bleed like mad whenever she would patch up one of many skinned knees or kitchen accidents.

Maleficent let out another pained groan, and it drew her attention back to the present with crystal clarity. She sounded more like a wounded animal by the moment, and Tara swallowed the lump forming in her throat before managing to find her voice.

It shook, like her hands within the clammy confines of Maleficent's grasp. "Can't you hurry up, 'Rora? Find another way?"

Aurora glared over a shoulder, and nearly growled her answer. "This is the only way that I know, Tara."

Gripping the steering-wheel in frustration at yet another stop light, her sister took the opportunity to turn and glance longingly at Maleficent. Witnessing Aurora's face pale to the same shade as her knuckles, Tara fought the urge to shrink back against the back seat – not so much in fear of Aurora, but in fear of the prospect of what Aurora might do –

– just as Tara herself had been capable of, only a short while ago. How many minutes had it been? She shook her head and frowned, focusing back on Maleficent's hands in hers. Between pants and huffs of pain, she was whispering things repetitively. The words were odd, and Tara leaned forward in an attempt to decipher the soft pleading.

Watching the interaction through the rear view mirror, Aurora started to plead her own case. "Mal? Maleficent, talk to me darling. Please..."

When Maleficent did not open her eyes, or stop murmuring under her breath, Aurora audibly grit her teeth, and whipped back around. One hand controlling the car and the other pointing directly at Tara, she finally came unhinged.

"God damn it Tara Ann Rose, this is all your fault! She told you to stop! We could have..." Aurora stammered, eyes swirling a murky shade of violet as they welled with tears. "We would have handled it!"

Fault. That's what their lives revolved around, and the truth of it struck Tara's heart like ice, cruel and bitter. She had always felt at fault in some way since coming into Aurora and Maleficent's lives. At first, Tara had felt out of place, and at odds with everything she had ever been told about her sister's then-girlfriend.

As time wore on, she suspected that her idyllic life wasn't all it seemed – the way that Maleficent and Aurora treated Tara like spun glass, and loved her more than her mother, father, and nannies ever had combined, or how they would tip-toe a strange dance around her, only to whisper hushed mysteries at night behind their bedroom door. Tara knew that she wasn't supposed to hear, but never really understood about how this person's fault, or that person's actions kept her home-schooled while in England, or Maleficent from going back to teaching.

Tara hadn't understood a great many things until moving to Washington, D.C.

After five months of blissful calm here, her world had been turned on end when she finally learned all of her family's deepest, darkest secrets – from small minded, jealous classmates of all people. In turn, it had nearly shattered every ounce of trust between herself and Maleficent. She remembered being livid at not being told by the very person she had confided in, for almost every morning of the past four years.

She remembered acting out in other awful ways too, but it wasn't ever her shouting or coming home well after school had ended that seemed to cut Maleficent to the bone. It was the day that Tara had hurled the very same accusation of fault at her.

"It's all your fault!" she had cried, beating at Maleficent's chest with her fists, even as strong arms sought to cradle her closer. How foolish she had been. Tara hadn't known how it would cause Maleficent's eyes – once so full of love – to flare in agony before deadening to acceptance.

Those same eyes opened to stare deeply at her now, burning with fiery determination. As Maleficent clutched at Tara's hands for dear life, she appeared to be gathering every ounce of her strength left. The exchange stretched on, second by harrowing second, until her face contorted in anguish from forcing her rapid and shallow inhalations into one drawn out breath.

"Don't listen to the darkness. Don't let go, cara. Don't let go," Maleficent commanded, the strength of her gaze drawing Tara's attention away from the weaker way that the words spilled forth.

Her lower lip trembling with fear – of losing her best friend, of not being able to apologize, and of Aurora rightfully blaming her for this whole mess – Tara nodded slowly.

"I won't," she whispered, head hanging low with shame at the bold faced lie. Truthfully, Tara would have said anything to keep Maleficent holding on just a little bit longer.