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Malignant
Maleficent’s first daughter is born three months early. Stefan's final gift to her, and fittingly worthless.
It is the second worst experience of her life, crouched in the dirt, the wounds of her lost wings still fresh despite Diaval's careful stitches, trying not to scream at the bloody betrayal of her own body. Fay birth are meant to be easy, but the child is half-human and nearly kills her coming out. The only person she allows near her is Diaval who weeps silently as he wraps up the mess and carries it away.
"Did it have wings?" She asks when he returns, grave dirt under his fingernails. He shakes his head wordlessly and she sighs. "Too human, I suppose." It seems she's doomed to be disappointed by Stefan in every way.
"Perfect in every other way though," Diaval says. "I had the hags look at her first and they say she might have lived if - " He stops.
"If it weren't for what he did to me," Maleficent finishes heavily.
"Delayed shock perhaps," he says after a moment. "Or sometimes iron poisoning can take time to set in."
So too human to be a true fay, not human enough to live.
Maleficent closes her eyes and breathes carefully. It seems she feels nothing but pain recently; even as the wounds on her back heal, the very absence of her wings forces her body into new alignments, muscles and bones straining in new pressures and aches. She moves like an old woman, slow and cramped. How many more pieces of her can be ripped out of her and still go on?
"Perhaps it is for the best," she says finally. "That I am no longer weighed down by Stefan's malignant growth. It saves me having to smother it myself."
"Yes, mistress," Diaval says softly, eyes bright with unshed tears. It angers her. What right has he to cry when her own eyes are dry?
But he is the last one, the only one, who has remained steadfast. Even those three traitorous bitches would rather pacify the new human king rather than avenge his crimes upon their guardian. So she checks her tongue and lets his weakness pass without comment.
"I have a job for you," she says at last. "Fly to the castle. I want to know what Stefan is up to."
Malcontent
Her second daughter is born ten years after the first.
It's an easy birth. Not as easy as it should be of course, but there's an inherent magic in shapeshifters that mixes well with fay, so the birth proceeds with a minimum of fuss. Diaval cries when he holds their daughter for the first time, and for once it doesn't anger Maleficent because she can see the small perfect wings. This child, at least, is not tainted by human blood.
As the years go on, the fuzzy down disappears and feathers grow in, glossy black rather than brown. It is a small disappointment, as is her magic, which manifests not in furious emerald fire but purple shadows and sly hidden things. It’s sometimes difficult for Maleficent to see anything of herself in her daughter; she is so much her father’s child, with his dark eyes and clever tongue.
Still, she is happy and fearless, and Maleficent intends to give her everything; the sky and earth and everything in between.
"We need to talk," Diaval says, just after their daughter's fifth birthday.
"About?"
"About the things you've been saying to her. You can't tell a five year old that revenge is the way."
"Isn't it?" Maleficent says, bemused. "What exactly do you think we've been doing with Stefan all these years?"
He's silent for a few seconds. "I don't know," he says finally. "I suppose I loved you so much, I tried not to think about it."
Her eyes narrow. "I told you never to say that word."
"What, love? You can forbid me to say it, that won't change how I feel - "
She slaps him. "Love is a lie. And you are a convenience. One that can be easily replaced." She turns her back to him, adding: "I will raise my daughter how I see fit."
She regrets it, later, once she's had time to cool down. Even true words can be cruel spoken aloud. And Diaval has always been… soft in certain ways. Gentle enough to be kind to a broken woman. Loyal enough to stay at her side all these years. She should not punish him for the very qualities she has, by not discouraging them, tacitly permitted.
Resolved to make amends, she puts together a picnic basket with a bottle of wine and walks up the stairs to his chambers. Though she hasn’t used the word ‘sorry’ since Stefan’s betrayal, Diaval will understand the meaning of the gesture.
“Diaval?” She calls, tapping on the door and easing it open. “I brought you dinner…”
He’s not there. His wedding ring gleams on the bedside table beside a single glossy black feather. When she forces her way into their daughter’s adjoining suite, it stands empty, the breeze ice-cold through the open window.
"It doesn't matter," she says aloud, once she's finished tearing apart both rooms. "I don't need those malcontents." The wine soaks like blood through the bedsheets and she gives it another satisfying rip.
A cringing minion appears at her summons, near grovelling in terror. "How may I serve you, mistress?"
"Find me a new familiar," she says, picking up the wedding ring and eying it dispassionately. "Not a shapeshifter this time. Just an ordinary, ugly raven like any other." She tosses the piece of rubbish from the window.
Malady
Her third daughter is born four years after being brought to the Isle.
It's a difficult birth, almost as difficult as her first. The father is immaterial; chosen for his inability to trigger either affection or hate, and disregarded quickly once his job was done.
He does one thing right though; the child, though lacking wings, is entirely her mother. It is a great weight from Maleficent’s mind. With this one, at least, she can do things right. Trapped beneath the Barrier, she cannot give her the earth or the sky, but she can teach her the dangers of love. She can shape her to be strong and brave and free of the weaknesses that had plagued her sisters.
"And in time," Maleficent croons to the nursing infant. "You will plague our enemies. Would you like that, my little malady?"
Deep in her daughter’s eyes, she thinks she glimpses a flash of emerald fire.
Yes, she thinks. This one would not disappoint.