The Blackest Rose
Disclaimer: I do not own Sleeping Beauty or any of the characters there within, they are all property of Disney…etc.
Her earliest memory was of her as an orphan; frozen and wet from the sudden, violent storm that had come from the North. The vicious gales shunted the rain nearly horizontal and the leaves of the forest sounded akin to a raging waterfall. The forest, her haven, had turned against her on that cold night—pushed her out into the cold and poised at the edge of a village. She had taken shelter under a briar patch, the shrub had been painted black in the dark of the night. Thorns had torn into her pale skin and made the fresh wounds bleed. She licked a jagged cut across the back of her hand, though the black blossom continued to grow anew despite her efforts. It stung something fierce. But the pain was but a dull ache in the back of her mind. Her attention was caught by the cacophony of noise that assaulted her ears at the square shadow in the stormy gloom. A lonely house stood in the near distance, the wooden shingles struggled to free themselves from the roof and the windows banged open with every other breath. It was fascinating…and terrifying.
Suddenly, the door facing her swung open and light flooded out into the night. Bright and blinding, it illuminated an impossibly tall rectangle of grass that stretched halfway to the forest. A silhouette was moving toward her and she shrank back into the foliage, hesitant to break into the twisting, gnarled branches like a deer running for cover. It carried a box that carried light as well, and a circle of light extended beyond the rectangle as it approached.
"Nero!" the figure called, heading straight toward her. "Nero, you foolish cat, come back inside this…" It trailed off as the light shone across her face. She blinked twice and shrank further back into the protective thorns, uncaring of the warning points of pressure they posed in light of this new threat. There was a startled exclamation and the being almost dropped the light box. "You are not my cat," it said, mopping a sweaty forehead with little effect as the rain continued to pour in sheets. "Are you lost little one?"
She continued to stare at the man; he was getting on in years, the edges of his eyes crinkled as he squinted at her, his graying hair matted to his head. The hand that held the box quivered a little, with no help from the howling wind.
"You will catch your death out here. Come with me, we will keep you safe." The man smiled faintly and held a hand out to the raven-haired girl. She stared into his eyes and suddenly the man was made terribly uncomfortable, but the inviting hand did not retract, his conscious would not allow him to leave a poor child in this storm. A moment passed when neither moved, before the girl finally accepted the hand. Blood streamed from her cut still and stained their linked hands crimson. She winced at both the pain of her hand and the man's startled gasp, for she was bleeding. "Those briar roses did quite a number on you, did they?" the old man asked softly, extracting a particularly long and nasty looking thorn that was firmly lodged onto the tip of her index finger and flicked it to one side. She continued to stare up at him. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Don't worry, we'll get you cleaned up."
The girl silently followed the man into his home and was greeted with a reassuring blast of warmth from the fireplace. She had but a moment to take in the simple surroundings—the wooden chairs, a modest table, a rusted pitchfork leaning against the wall—when a startled cry surprised her into fear once more.
"Who is this child, Marcus, and why is she so pale?"
Another of the beings had entered the small room, a woman, a hand over her chest. "Why, the both of you are soaked through! Shut that door, for goodness sake." The man holding the girl's hand suddenly released her as he hurried to close the door behind them. The girl had a sinking feeling of being trapped, cornered like wolves did their prey.
"I'm not sure who she is—thought she was the cat. She does not look like any of the villagers daughters. I think she's lost and I would not leave her outside in this weather. Would you tend to her?"
"Of course, of course." The woman twittered like an excited hen. "I'll see she's bathed and dressed and fed. Look at those eyes, just like a cat's. I can see why you would confuse her for Nero. Just found her you say? From the forest? Unbelievable. And in this weather." She garbled anxiously to her husband and gently pushed the girl forward. "Go to bed, Marcus, I can see to this myself. Come this way my dear."
A few years after her discovery, the black-haired girl had taken up residence with the kindly old couple and taken on the name of Sera, named after the Evening for which they had found her under the rose bush; though the term "residence" had to be taken loosely. The girl was most fond of the forest and would wander out to it the instant the sun was up and stay out until the sun had set, but she always came home for supper (and seldom ate) and to sleep. At first these unusual habits made the married couple anxious, but she was diligent about her return every evening, muddied with bits of twigs and leaves caught in her hair. Marcus would sigh in relief of her return, with a warm greeting for her and a warm meal from his wife. "Had an eventful day, have we?"
Sera would smile up at him and say nothing; she spoke little as it was, but when she did—oh the words that would spill from her lips! It was like she had been born a royal. Her behavior was perplexing to say the least; a wild child by day, a noble by night, and a mute in public. When Marcus tried to explain this phenomenon to his friends, they would exchange glances and jokingly ask if he had broken into the mead a little early that day.
What surprised the couple more was that she had the look of an eight-year-old girl. She appeared not to have aged a day since Marcus had welcomed her to their home.
It was an enigma neither they, nor the townsfolk, could not understand. Most treated the unnatural child with fear and loathing. Her hair was too black and her skin too pale, with almost a sickly green tint to it. Mother's would hurry their children along when they saw Sera approach; the child surely carried a disease. Was it a pox that ravaged the towns these days? One could never be sure…
The boys of the village had especially taken to torturing Sera when she was not under the watchful eyes of her foster family. They would pull her hair and rip at her clothes, even throw stones as hard as they could at her. These first few assaults were ended with tears and fleeing to the cottage until Sera grew angry and began to retaliate. Their budding masculinity threatened, they would group against her, only to be thrown back by a searing shock that seemed to come out of nowhere. These inexplicable incidents only seemed to occur around the strange farmer's daughter—freak lightening strikes and crippling waves of sound—and the boys soon learned to avoid her.
The townspeople's fear was not without reason, for behind closed doors, the girl could work unexplainable wonders. She could make water curl in on itself to form heavy, round bubbles that floated midair and wilt a flower with a single touch. One of her favorite tricks was turning the fire in the fireplace a brilliant shade of emerald green. Though while she clapped her hands with joy, the married couple would look on in stupefied wonder; what sort of child was this?
Marcus' wife invited Sera to join her to purchase the occasional loaf of bread or stroll through the park. These walks, meant in good order, had grown to become more hostile with the passing months. The woman felt her heart tear for the young girl that a proper social life was not to be established and the walks together slowly ceased. Marcus' wife would watch Sera disappear into the forest with the deepest sympathy. Sera was going to suffer a lonely life when she and Marcus were no longer of the world.
Sera, however, was unaware of these predicaments. She ran about the forest, spying on deer and growing antlers from her head so that she might be accepted by these creatures, if not by her own kind. When the disguise of antlers failed her and the deer ran, Sera played the wolf and chased the frightened animals instead. One fateful morning, Sera spotted a lone wolf looking up into a low branch of a tree, where upon sat a large black bird. The two creatures seemed to only stare at one another, transfixed in the others gaze. Curious of this exchange and thrilled to see if one might attack the other; Sera crept forward only to stop short, her heart leaping into her throat. Both animals had looked sharply in her direction. Now, joined in this staring competition, Sera stood as still as a stone. What was going to happen next?
The wolf began to move toward her, perhaps seeing a juicy morsel in the young girl, but the bird flared it wings and cawed harshly at its counterpart. Its warning said, it shot upward into the leaves, leaving both girl and wolf to watch him depart. The wolf looked once more at Sera and stared for a long moment before it threw back its head and howled the most mournful, grief-stricken cry Sera had ever experienced. The silence that followed after was palpable, even the birds and leaves on the trees were quiet. The wolf lowered its head and trotted away, not once looking back, swallowed by the shadows of the forest. As Sera ran home in the growing darkness, unexplained tears streamed down her face, making it much more difficult to navigate her way through the trees. When her foster parents asked what had happened as she burst through the door crying and sniffling, she had no answer for them.
The acts of violence against the family escalated to a point that a riot had risen against them. Marcus quickly shooed the girl out the back door and told her to run, run as far and fast as she could and not look back. Sera caught one last glimpse of his sad smile, that familiar crinkle around his eyes she had grown to care for that were so tired and weary now, before he shut the door. She did just as he told her as the mob shouted and yelled and banged their weapons against the house. She paused in her flight to look back once more, the cottage she had grown accustomed to, the married couple that had cared for her and taught her all she knew beyond the forest, when three men came around the backside of the house and spotted her.
"There she is! Get her!" one shouted and the three grimly set after her, weapons raised. Terrified, she ran. The forest stretched before her, familiarity rising in her like a storm. A right at this tree and a stream would appear; a left at this stump and a deep grove would lead to a cave. She followed these subconscious commands until she made a terrific leap over a sheer cliff into a river she knew to be deep. Swimming across its breadth and surprised by the current it did not usually show, she dragged herself, panting, onto the opposite shore. She looked behind her as the men shouted and skidded to a stop at the top of the cliff she had just braved.
"That's hobgoblin territory," one said angrily, holding back the other two with his hands. "If we follow her, it means death for us too. If our luck holds, the goblins will find her to be a quick snack."
"Don't you ever come back, witch!"
"Or we'll kill you!"
The men gave up the chase, cursing and spitting, leaving Sera wet and shivering on the grassy bank, her knees hugged to her chest. The woods behind her were unusually dark; eerily silent. It was horribly unnerving. She sat there for hours, unsure of the imminent death that awaited her if she advanced too far in either direction. Nothing came to disturb her unnerved peace.
At last, she worked up enough courage to cross back over the river, slipping and sliding up the steep bank, all the while terrified that a monster would charge out of the undergrowth and swallow her whole. She walked light as a deer and tensed nervously as she pressed forward; listening carefully for the men that had chased her to the goblin woods. She heard nothing but the shy peeps of birds and occasional sigh of the breeze through the trees.
Finally, she reached the field that separated the forests that stood by the cottage and the forest that sprung anew behind the stream. A mass of black birds had gathered at its center and a twisting sensation of foreboding choked Sera's heart. She crept cautiously toward the fluttering, cawing mass; a flock of ravens had found a meal. As her presence drew too close to bear, the flock exploded into the air as a cacophony of angry caws and beating wings. Sera cried out in shock.
There, lying broken and bleeding on the ground were Marcus and his wife. They had been stabbed numerous times and thrown out on the field to rot. Grief swept through the girl like a wave, easily felling her knocking knees. She pressed her hands to her eyes and wept over them for what felt like an eternity—memories of their days together flashed through her mind and sweeping her with guilt at every new image. This would never have happened had they not shown her kindness. This was all her fault.
A croaking caw broke through her thoughts. She glanced up through swollen red eyes to see the blurry image of a single raven that had stayed behind. It stood atop Marcus bloodied chest regally, like a King that had felled his worst enemy. Her eyes met the beady black orbs of the great black bird and she shuddered once.
All your fault.
Sera blinked.
"You…You speak to me?" She stuttered. Surely her mind was playing tricks on her. Surely she was slipping into a madness for the horrid sight that had greeted her eyes.
I do. This is all your fault, fairy. These Mortars show rare act of kindness to fairy and they become feast for Raksas.
Sera stared stupidly at the bird. "I-I'm not a fairy. My name is Sera, and don't speak about them that way."
The bird caw-cawed loudly, giving Sera the impression she was being laughed at.
Foolish fairy does not know who she is. Thinks she's a Mortar. I watched you before fairy, making green fire and antlers grow from your head. These Mortars are compassionate to fairy and wicked fairy ran as they were killed. Maleficent, aren't you?
Sera's head dropped into her hands once more. "I didn't know this would happen!" she sobbed.
Strange fairy you are. I feel pity for fairy but do not know if she will become the one; too strange she is. Soltier was wrong.
The bird began to spread his wings and crouch.
"No, wait! Please!" Sera cried. "Don't leave me here alone."
The raven paused in its preparation for flight to look sharply back at the girl.
There is power in fairy…Great power. Perhaps she will be…The bird paused as though gathering his thoughts. I will help strange fairy with mystical power find new home.
Sera sighed in relief. "Yes, thank you. You will be my friend, won't you?" She held out her hand awkwardly, palm facing up in invitation. The raven hopped onto her forearm, digging his sharp talons into her skin. She bit her lip but did not cry out. A strip of flesh still hung sickeningly from his beak and Sera did her best not to feel ill. The bird ruffled his feathers, looking up at her sharply.
We leave.
"But what about my—"
The raven flared his wings impatiently, beak parting. They matter no more! We leave.
Sera hastened to comply, not wishing to lose the companion she had only just made, yet at a loss of what to do for her interim family. Giving a final, silent farewell to the couple who had cared for her and reached their untimely end by her, she retreated once more into the forest.
Her arm grew tired as she walked and the bird seemed to understand her weariness. Without needing to be asked, he hopped up and settled on her shoulder. She smiled faintly. That was much better.
"Do you have a name?"
The raven made a complicated array of cawing squawks.
That is what other Raksas call me. Sera exhaled a hollow laugh.
"I don't think I can repeat that."
Why do you wish to repeat it?
"Well, I would like to call you something other than Raven."
The raven snapped its beak together.
Strange fairy. He seemed to admonish her.
"I just want to call you by a proper name." Sera explained, not daring to correct him for still calling her "fairy" and feeling a little foolish at being reprimanded by a bird.
Worry not. The raven nibbled gently at her ear. I need no name. I am me. You are you. This we cannot change.
Sera fell silent. She did not wish to argue with the raven, though she would still prefer to give him a name. The minutes rolled by and the waning sunlight filtering through the trees in small patches was beginning to fade. The raven only spoke now to give her direction and the rest of the journey was traveled in silence. Sera was deep in concentration thinking of names for her new companion, when he started on her shoulder.
They come.
In a flutter of wings the raven shot upward into the trees. Shocked and horrified by the sudden abandonment, Sera did not see an ambush spring into the open until the creatures were upon her. Armored beasts of pigs and lizards and birds, masquerading as partly human, advanced on her with spears and swords. Her life threatened, Sera felt the familiar surge of staggering power blasted through her veins. She focused the power to her finger tips and the concentrated energy exploded from her body in a wide arc. The blast efficiently knocked the creatures off their feet and sent them hurling backwards.
A silent moment followed the discharge as Sera realized she had summoned some mystic force to her aid once again. The raven spiraled above her, caw-cawing in what appeared to be delight.
Beasties think twice before not playing nice! The raven sang into the girl's mind. Come this way, maleficent fairy. I know of a place for you. And on the black bird flew through the woods, with Sera sprinting after it. She leapt over stone and log as she followed the raven's twisted flight, until the trees thinned and a path wrought in rock rose before her. Glancing up in wonder, she discovered a castle high on a treacherous, craggy mountain. The raven flew more lazily now as he came back to rest on Sera's shoulder.
"A fine bird you are to talk of desertion." Sera said in annoyance. The bird ruffled his chest feathers and pumped his wings, hitting the side of her face on purpose. And it was then Sera decided a name for the creature, he certainly acted like a devious demon, and what name better to befit a demon than Diablo?
I would be hit by your attack too.
The girl did not argue the logic of this. She looked up again at the castle on the mountain.
"Why have you brought me here?"
This is your home. You belong here.
She turned to look at the bird which stared determinedly at the castle. This dark and dreary place so suited her? The image of Marcus and his wife lying broken and bleeding in the field flashed through her mind once more. Perhaps she did deserve this. The choking grief was replaced by a hideous rage. Perhaps she wanted this. All of the townsfolk had met her with hatred, without a flicker of respect, by fear or otherwise; and the last two faces of humankind that had shown her any measure of compassion were destroyed. She owed nothing more to those people, to anyone.
Come. Soltier die sadly. Make her spirit happy you return.
The raven squeezed at her shoulder with his talons and she pressed forward.
"Return? I've been here before? And who is this…Soltier you've mentioned twice already?"
He appeared not to have heard her as he flew on, leaving Sera to scramble after. She was beginning to grow weary of these riddles.
Braving crumbling rock littered with lichen and climbing vines, and cresting the moaning, chill winds, Sera reached the precipice overlooking the chain gate that stood wide open.
The castle was vast and breathtaking, despite its overall gloom and vacant feel. The raven again lifted from Sera's shoulder and hovered over a spiral staircase, watching her.
This way.
"How do you know your way so well?" she muttered, her hand clasping nervously at her heart, but the bird appeared either not to hear or chose not to answer. The stairwell wound up and up, broke into a hallway with high stone arches and into another spiraling stairwell. This place was dark and dank, altogether creepy; shadows seemed to leap out at her or cringe away in fright and she could swear she kept seeing a hovering red orb appear before her every few steps she took. It was almost as though the spherical specter was leading her on her ascent. Was this place haunted? Sera hurried her steps to keep up with that devious bird as he flew lazily ahead of her.
Finally, when Sera had thought the castle was much too large for her to contemplate; the raven led her into a side room. The room yawned into a large chamber with a window opening to each direction of the cardinal points. Torn cloth of what had once been elegant house colors, hung gloomily from the rafters in faded red and black. A shield hung at the opposite end of the room, missing its mantle of weapons, and below the old decoration was a large, decorative table. It was painstakingly crafted and carved, from the curling design in its edges right down to the clawed feet clutching to polished wooden orbs.
But the table was not what caught Sera's interest.
Diablo, as she chose to now call the raven, perched patiently on top of the table, sitting between what appeared to be an opal shaped ring and a scepter of finest gold. She approached the table, feeling a rising familiarity with each step.
The ring first…
"Then the scepter."
Sera stared numbly at the bird, almost feeling his surprise exude into the air. Swallowing, she pressed the ring onto the ring finger of her trembling right hand, feeling a pulsing energy in tune with the force she had summoned against the mob of goblins creep up her arm. She then inhaled a steadying breath and took up the scepter and, holding it with both hands, gazed into the orb sitting at top and its swirling green depths.
A face appeared out of the haze. Featureless and grotesque, like a masquerade mask of the simplest fashion with almond shaped, cutout eyeholes and an oval for a mouth and beyond these orifices was darkness. The mouth did not move, nor the eyes blink as the mask in the sphere spoke again.
"Finally, the apprentice returns."
Sera found she could not breathe as the memories that were trying to formulate in her mind seemed inevitable to fail time and again.
"I realize that you will not remember who I am, or even who you are. The night you accepted the terms of power destroyed all memory you had of your master and this place. I trust you may remember that stormy night you fled into, I was not very pleased at your choice of action. I searched for you and to my surprise, you had been accepted into the arms of a mortal…and how happy you were. I gave up trying to call you back, you were deaf to my words. The remaining portion of my power and the storm had drained me and so, on word of my beloved Soltier that you would not come back, I committed the last of it into this scepter you now hold. The last of my powers will be yours to command and I will be free in death at last." The face continued. A blast of fleeting images surfaced and shattered in Sera's mind in quick succession, none making any sense. "But still, we have only completed half of the transference, and at last, you have returned to finish it. I regret to say, you will lose your memory once again, but the power will be yours. So I must ask you again, as I did those many years ago: Do you accept these powers I bestow upon you?"
Sera was at a loss of what to say. She could hardly remember this woman or this castle or the life she had lived before the cottage. Even the night of the storm was a vague recollection of images. But the clearest picture in her mind, was of the married couple and their final resting place on the field. If ever she wanted to forget, it would be that horrible memory. She wanted to forget all that had come after the mob, all that had come before Marcus' sad eyes. She wanted to destroy her tormentors with this extraordinary potential of power the woman in the orb promised her. She would make them suffer as they had made her suffer.
And with a final deep breath, Sera clutched more tightly to the scepter.
"I accept."
The face tilted forward, perhaps in agreement, but said no more as heat and shock like the strike of lightening bolts seared through the girl. The excruciating pain was like none Sera had ever known and her screams of agony were drowned out by the swirling tornado of wind that had formed inside the chamber. Images flashed once again through her mind, more clearly and crisp than she had ever remembered. The woman sitting with Sera at tea, lessons of etiquette, lessons of working magic and containing power; the woman had taught Sera to read and write, and speak and move like a royal—and all this was promised to be restored to the girl, while Sera squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself to forget the town and the cottage by the forest as she hatred fill the space of regret and betrayal. Words hovered around her ears, growing and shrinking in volume and tone.
This is how…Return at once…have you finished…Maleficent, aren't you…No, no, speak more clearly…Sera, come home!...Where are you…why have you left…Come back to me…Maleficent fairy…I will not live long…
Maleficent, aren't you? Maleficent fairy…
Her eyes shot opened, she had not realized she had shut them; the pain long forgotten as she felt the power surging through her head, coursing through her bones, enveloping her whole being like a heavy cloak. And now she stared up at stone walls and the cloth hanging from the rafters. The ceiling. Dazed, she felt the last shocks of the power exit her extremities, painfully. Her hands were empty, the scepter had fallen somewhere in the transaction. Suddenly a flutter of fuzzy black swam into her blurred vision.
What is your name?
This voice had asked more clearly than the chorus of voices she had heard a moment ago. She tried to make sense of the black blob hovering above her.
"Diablo?" she groaned, wanting to rub her eyes but her arms were too heavy to lift.
Not my name. Your name. What is your name?
"It's…My name is…" her vision snapped into focus, making her head hurt, though her mind did clear at the action. A smile gracing her blood kissed lips, the pupils of her yellow eyes opened then constricted into cat-like slits dancing merrily across the room, she inhaled sharply at the sudden enlightenment. And within her, a pale little girl named after the fall of the sun, was crushed in a void of dark power; forgotten.
Your name? The voice above her asked again.
Words of grace and power arranged themselves in the fairy's mind and spilled from her mouth in a noble, eloquent fashion.
"I am Maleficent."
Author's Note: Finally, got this posted. Wow it's been awhile since I've posted a 4500+ words story. I would have to thank Eric Blair again for his expert advice in the revision of this story (though he may be in for more than he bargained for...) I will be continuing this story because there are still holes in this one, but not to worry, I have a plan. Ooh, scary. This will most likely be a three chapter story, but that's a rough estimate for the moment (it will be if I keep writing 10 page chapters...) I promise future chapters will be more "Maleficent as we know her" based, though I just love doing those filler backstories. Lordy knows its tough to keep an audience with those, so congrats to all who make it to this author's note at the end (or skipped to it, that works too).
I really wanted Maleficent to parallel Aurora--I think I conquered the wood nymph aspect of it. I even carefully chose her name to be "Sera" which is Italian for "evening", just opposite of "Aurora" which is "dawn". Haha, I didn't come up with the name until I was half-way through the story. I forgot what I named her originally, but I prefer Sera. (More seh-raah than sarah, no offense to any sarah's out there...I just enjoy my uncommon names.) Even the title is in opposition to our Sleeping Beauty, our Rose versus a Black Rose. Awesome. I promise I do most of these symbolic things subconciously...
Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the story and will hunt this down when its updated (hopefully soon). Thanks again for all the help Eric!
Please review--I'd love to hear from you!
Blackfire 18