Chapter Text
Mal understood power.
She understood that, sometimes, power wasn’t about being known or being respected, it was about control. For Jafar, it was about pure domination, bending others to his will. For the Evil Queen, it was about controlling the beauty the world valued her for. For Maleficent, it was to control the narrative.
She was a victim, betrayed by love. She brought Mal into a world where love was a weakness—something that can be exploited or used against you. Growing up on the Isle of the Lost, she knew that love was dangerous, a tool for manipulation rather than a genuine connection. Despite this, there's a part of Mal that craved love in its purest form, but what that really looked like was beyond her. What would her mother think of all this?
As Mal clutched onto her chest, gasping for air, she thought about that. How much of her life had Maleficent controlled? She gave her a family, someone to protect even when she always taught her that it was a weakness. Did she always know, that Mal would love Evie, Jay and Carlos as if they were parts of her soul? That, when the day came, she would choose to protect them over her?
When Mal was seven and Maleficent gave her a book of spells to learn how to read (something she had admittedly taken longer to get to), did she know she’d be here? With a power so strong clutching to her lungs and begging to be freed. Did she ever suspect Mal wouldn’t sleep for days from the hands scratching her skin, from the tremors and the voices, whispering and wailing.
That’s when it hit her: her spellbook.
Her vision was blurry, a sharp cold around her torso, a vice grip up to her throat. She tried to get up from the bed to stumble into the post, her feet dragging. “Come on…”
But her legs gave out beneath her, sending her crashing to the floor. Pain exploded in her chest, a visceral, guttural agony that felt like her insides were being ripped apart. Her lips parted to scream, yet the howls inside her mind were so overwhelming, she couldn’t tell if any sound escaped. She curled into a ball, her nails digging into her skin as if clawing the pain away.
Every breath was a struggle, each one sharper than the last, her lungs filling with shards of glass. Her muscles spasmed uncontrollably, and finally a scream tore from her throat, raw and primal. Her bones were being twisted, her flesh torn apart from within by a force she couldn’t contain.
Her magic, wild and unbound, surged through her veins, scorching and searing every nerve it touched. Her vision darkened at the edges, her head pounding with the rhythm of her racing heartbeat. The room seemed to spin, a whirlwind of blue and light that made her stomach churn.
She tried to focus, to remember the words of the calming spell (of any spell, please), but her mind was a storm of chaos and pain. Her hands reached out, grasping at the floor, but her fingers were numb, trembling too violently to find purchase. The spellbook seemed miles away, an impossible distance she couldn’t bridge.
Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the sweat that coated her skin. The sharp taste of blood filled her mouth as she bit down on her lip to keep from screaming again. The pain was merciless, driving her to the edge of consciousness.
She was sure her body would give out any second. But then, as if summoned by sheer desperation, the spellbook flew into her hands. She forced the words out, her voice raw and broken. Instantly, the pain faded, as if the very touch of the spellbook had the power to erase it.
Mal thought she understood power, but this was different. This was crude, unbridled energy that refused to be tamed. Power wasn't just something villains forced upon others; it was something that consumed them from within. It was love, so intense and all-consuming it became tainted by betrayal and obsession. It was a beast, clawing and gnashing, desperate to be unleashed.
It was about surviving its onslaught, about not being destroyed by its ferocity. It wasn't about what she could do to others; it was about what it was doing to her. She was a vessel.
Even when everyone else seemed oblivious, Mal knew that the acceptance she had found wasn’t destined to last. It felt like a fragile house of cards, waiting for a breath to collapse it. Her power felt like a living entity of its own, consuming her from within. It thrummed beneath her skin, a constant reminder that it didn’t belong here, in the world of Auradon where everything was meant to be pristine and controlled. When everyone’s eyes were locked on her, waiting for a misstep or a crack in the façade, she felt the pressure build, build and build. It was only a matter of time before her magic—wild, untamed, and volatile—would betray her, revealing the truth she could no longer hide.
Gasping for breath, Mal clung to this realization.
She couldn’t keep up this act for Ben or the others. Jay, Carlos and Evie一 they were happy in Auradon. They deserved better. Gods, Ben deserved so much more than her. Maleficent’s voice echoed in her mind, a relentless reminder that to expose one’s heart was to invite ruin, that love was a perilous weakness in a world where only the unyielding survived. If she couldn’t find a way to embrace something as pure as him, how could she ever hope to embrace anything at all?
She had to leave, not just for her own sanity but to protect them.The Isle was harsh and cold, a stark contrast to the vibrant world she’d tried to make her home. But it was real—a place where the burden of her power felt less like a threat and more like a grim reality. Her mother’s words echoed in her mind: the price to pay for power was steep, and Mal felt she had already paid it.
Mal had no idea when it started raining or even what time it was, as the sky and everything felt suddenly very dark. She couldn’t recall if it had ever rained like this in Auradon. From her place on the floor and sprawled against her bed, breathing finally slowing down, she stared at her mother’s cage on her desk.
The lizard, the Queen of the Moors herself, stared back at her. Mal’s cheeks tinged slightly red in embarrassment as she wondered what her mother must’ve thought of her breakdown.
The door creaked open, and Evie stepped inside, shaking off her umbrella and brushing off the rain from her blue dress. She glanced over at Mal, who was pretending to be absorbed in her spell book, hoping that Evie wouldn’t notice anything amiss.
It was past three in the afternoon, she realized. For the past few weeks, every Monday after class, Evie goes to the boutique with Lonnie and Jane to work on their dresses and probably gush over the cotillion for hours.
Mal leaned against the bed, her posture casual but her mind racing. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the rain against the window. She tried to focus on her breathing, to calm the storm inside her.
"You’re back early," Mal said, forcing a casual tone as she sat up straighter. "How were Lonnie and Jane today?"
Evie looked up, her expression puzzled. "They’re okay… I think. Why do you ask?"
Mal rolled her eyes, as if the answer should have been obvious. "You spend every Monday with them, don’t you?"
Evie froze, her brow furrowing in confusion. She looked at Mal, something dawning on her. "Mal, it’s Friday."
Mal’s gaze snapped up from the floor, meeting Evie’s eyes. Her heart sank as she saw the look of genuine surprise and concern on Evie’s face. She swallowed hard, the weight of the days lost crashing down on her.
Evie took a tentative step closer, her voice softening. "Are you okay, M?"
“Yeah… no.” Mal looked away. She thought about telling Evie everything. How the last few months had been so intense, how much she missed them (her and Evie… and Jay and Carlos, too). How Ben’s touch seemed to repulse her and she wanted to drown every time he smiled sweetly at her. And yet, "I think I’m sick, or something. I don’t know."
Evie studied her for a moment. She didn’t seem convinced and a small part of Mal wished she would see it. But, Mal supposed, she did look like crap. She hadn’t been sleeping or eating much. Add that to her already pale complexion, the disgusting blonde of her hair and the lack of makeup, it wouldn’t’ve been hard to assume she was close to dying.
"Okay.” Evie decided. “Let’s get you to bed.”
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Mal woke up in a sweat, panting.
She usually did. Her heart would be up in her throat, sheets tangled at her feet and clinging to her skin. Her eyes would dart widely across the room, a fire-like burning her chest until her eyes landed on Evie, sound asleep across from her. Mal didn’t expect tonight to be any different, and yet.
Tonight, though, her breathing didn’t slow down when she saw Evie.
She tilted her head upwards as a searing heat clawed its way up her throat and sank like molten lava into her stomach. It felt as though her skin was blistering, burning from the inside out, yet when she glanced down, there was nothing—no charred flesh, no flames, just the same unmarked skin. The night outside their dorm was calm, but Mal couldn’t feel its serenity. The sound that filled her mind—an agonizing, piercing wail—grew louder, drowning out everything else. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her palms hard against her ears, desperate to block out the relentless noise, but it only seemed to grow more intense, reverberating through her skull and deep into her bones.
A touch.
The contact jolted her back to reality, but not in the way she expected. Evie’s scream pierced through the haze, sharper than anything else, as she yanked her hand away, cradling it close to her chest. Mal’s eyes widened in horror as she saw the red, blistering burn forming on Evie’s palm.
“Evie!” she gasped, reaching out instinctively, but the air around her crackled with a sudden, fierce heat. The bed sheets beneath them ignited in a flash, flames leaping up with a life of their own. The fire spread quickly, crawling up the fabric, hungry and relentless. The wailing in Mal’s head grew louder, as if feeding off her panic, drowning out Evie’s cries.
“No, no, no!” Mal whispered desperately, trying to focus, to control it. But the flames only grew more intense, flickering like tongues of a beast she couldn’t tame. Evie was backing away, her eyes wide with fear, but the fire was faster, reaching for her with fiery claws.
Mal’s heart pounded as she watched in helpless terror. The flames wrapped around Evie, her figure disappearing behind a wall of fire. The wailing was now a deafening roar, consuming Mal's thoughts, as she stood frozen, unable to stop the nightmare unfolding before her.
“Mal”
Mal shook her head, desperate to get the voice out, to do anything. She had to save Evie, she had to. If she could just get the fire to stop, she could undo this. She just had to--
“Mal,” this voice was clearer. Mal looked up and, where Evie just stood, surrounded by fire, now stood her mother. Maleficent seemed to be burning too. No, Mal realized, not burning. She was glowing. “Focus.”
“You… what?”
The glow seemed to come from Maleficent herself, spreading all around the room in a bright light. She could’ve been standing in the sun for all she knew. It spread around them and Mal watched in horror as Evie disappeared to the light, a sudden peace overtaking her features. Mal desperately reached forward, trying to hold onto Evie, “No!”
Her mother’s hand gripped her arm, pulling her back. “She’s safe. But she won’t be if you don’t focus, Mal.”
Mal stumbled back, shocked. Her mother’s touch was real, she was here. She didn’t understand what was happening but this much she knew. The majestic horns, cheekbones so sharp they could cut and eyes so green they didn’t need magic to glow.
“Mom,” Mal’s eyes pooled with tears. “I hurt her. I— What did I do?”
“You didn’t hurt her.” Maleficent said. “You need to wake up, my love.”
“Wake up?”
Maleficent touched her slender finger to her daughter’s forehead and Mal woke up in a sweat, again.
Evie was sitting at the edge of her bed, her elegant hand covering her mouth and eyes filled with tears. Mal’s heart soared for a second as she took Evie in, alive. And then dropped all over again from the anguish in those eyes. Evie held onto Mal’s hand, her eyes never leaving hers.
“Are you okay?”
Evie’s voice was so silky and so impossibly soft, Mal could barely make the words out over the thundering of her heart. “You were screaming my name and… calling out for your mom.”
Mal sat up, holding her head with her free arm for a minute. She was sure her brain was pulsing, sending a sharp jolt against the base of her neck with each beat. “It was just a bad dream. I… I didn’t mean to wake you, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
Mal lifted her head to meet Evie’s brown eyes. She could see the questions swimming in them, the fear that maybe this wasn’t just about a bad dream. Mal tried to offer a reassuring smile, but it felt brittle, like it might crack at any second.
“It was just a nightmare,” Mal said again, trying to convince herself as much as Evie. “It’s nothing.”
But Evie didn’t look convinced. She squeezed Mal’s hand tighter, her thumb brushing gently over Mal’s knuckles in a gesture so tender it made Mal want to cry. “It didn’t sound like nothing,” Evie whispered. “You… you sounded so scared.”
Mal bit her lip, forcing herself to hold Evie’s gaze. She wanted to tell her everything, to spill the fear that had taken root inside her, to admit that she was terrified of what she might become, what she might do. But the words caught in her throat, trapped by the same fear that had driven her back to the Isle. The fear that if she opened her mouth, if she let even a sliver of it out, it would consume her entirely.
“I’m fine,” Mal said instead, her voice wavering slightly. “Really, I’m—”
“Mal,” Evie cut her off gently, her eyes searching Mal’s face. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I know something’s wrong. Please, just… talk to me.”
The plea in Evie’s voice was almost enough to break through Mal’s defenses. Almost. But as much as she wanted to, Mal couldn’t do it. She couldn’t put this on Evie. Not after everything they’d been through. Not when Mal was so sure that the darkness inside her would only hurt Evie more.
“I’m tired,” Mal deflected, pulling her hand away gently. “It’s been a long day, and I’m… I’m just tired.”
Evie’s face fell slightly, but she didn’t push. Instead, she nodded, though the worry didn’t leave her eyes. “Okay,” she said softly. “But if you ever want to talk… I’m here. Always.”
“I know,” Mal whispered, her heart aching with the knowledge that she was pushing away the one person who had always been there for her. “Thank you.”
Evie gave her a small, sad smile and stood up. “You should try to get some sleep,” she said, smoothing down the blankets on Mal’s bed.
Mal nodded, lying back down and pulling the covers over herself. She watched as Evie moved back to her own bed, her movements graceful even in the dim light of the room. For a moment, Mal felt a wave of guilt so strong it nearly knocked the breath out of her. How could she even think of leaving this, leaving her? But then the memory of the dream came crashing back—the flames, the wailing, the sight of Evie engulfed in fire—and the guilt was replaced by cold, paralyzing fear.
As she closed her eyes, trying to will herself to sleep, Mal couldn’t shake the feeling that her mother was right. If she didn’t focus, they would get hurt. She had to leave. She had to protect them all from the darkness inside her, no matter how much it hurt to do it. Because if she didn’t, if she stayed and something happened to Evie or the others… Mal didn’t think she could live with herself.
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Note on Fairy Godmother’s desk, next to an Auradon stamp (The One For The Gold Wax!)
Wise One,
I hope this letter finds you well. I write to you with growing concern about Mal. Today, during class, Mal had an outburst. It was brief, but it was unlike anything we’ve encountered here. The room felt as if it was holding its breath, and then, just as quickly, everything returned to normal. But the power... it was palpable.
I fear that Mal is beginning to truly feel her magic. Given her heritage, you and I both know what that could mean if it goes unchecked. She’s a bright, talented young woman, but she’s also the daughter of a god and a fairy. I’m sure I must not remind you of the mightiness of those two.
I don’t mean to alarm you, but I’m not sure how much longer we can keep this under control. The young ones here, her friends— they’ve noticed nothing yet. But I worry that, with time, even they will start to see the cracks.
I wanted to keep you informed, as I know you share my concerns. I’ve done my best to guide her, to help her understand that she doesn’t have to be what her lineage might suggest. But there’s only so much I can do. She needs more than just a teacher; she needs someone who understands the weight of such power.
Please, if you have any thoughts or advice, share them with me. I know we’ve had differing opinions on how best to handle this, but I believe we both want what’s best for her and for Auradon.
With deepest regards,
Fairy Godmother