They were pale and lithe-limbed and beautiful, as they had always been.
“These three have faced tumultuous times and lived. That is a remarkable sign of bravery: to look tragedy in the eye and overcome it. I could not have picked a more honorable council to gift Amelia.”
Hatred rose up in Malicine’s belly as the crowd showered theirsisters with applause. The faeries simply changed their ailments with magic, and the kingdom revered them for it. Of course. Humans were simple-minded fools who believed adversity was inspirational. That overcoming hardship was how one could be celebrated. But what about those who had no choice but to live with their flaws? What about the ones who were born doomed and could not change?
One by one, the sisters fluttered over to Amelia. Their fingertips glittered as each godmother cast a spell for the newborn.
“Sweet princess, your gift is beauty,” Dahlia cooed. “Your hair will always pour sunshine, and your lips will bloom like roses.”
“Tiny princess, your gift is song,” Iris continued. “Your sweet serenades will bring men to your door.”
Light poured onto the infant’s skin like dew. She wriggled in her satin bed, babbling in ignorance. The crowd clapped in awe. Such shallow gifts for a shallow girl. Malicine wanted to rip the teeth out of their smiles.
The demon could wait no longer. Before Clover granted her final gift, Malicine tore the veil off their face. A boom of thunder rocked the castle. Doors smashed open with howling winds. Yelps erupted in the air, the cold stabbing into mortal skin like a knife. Malicine materialized before them, a tall horned figure in the center of the room with Talon on their shoulder, his croaks a shrill alarm. Their hands pushed forward, sending the circle of people around them flying against the walls. Lightning from an open door blinded everyone’s eyes, making Malicine’s gaze even brighter.
As the cracks in the sky faded, the crowd finally took in the demon. Malicine had grown into a lofty figure at eighteen, towering six feet tall in a midnight cloak. Time treated them as kindly as it would any malformed creature: green skin peppered with blackmoles, half-lidded eyes the color of greened poison, a smile as sharp as a knife. Their horns extended even larger as they grew, two gnarled hooks firmly rooted on their temple. Under the moonlight, their shadow sauntered past the carpet.
“Quite a lovely ceremony, King Victor.” Their tongue flickered over their lips like they were about to taste a fresh meal. “Though I wonder, doesn’t your kingdom tire of the same trivial gifts for your family?”
The godmothers huddled around the infant, covering her like a shield. King Victor stepped forward, his head held high, his back straight. The kind of posture men possessed when they confused foolishness with bravery.
“I’ve heard tales of you, Malicine,” he rasped. “Spawned from the demon realm. Fae only by blood. A menace to humans and faeries alike.”
Talon snapped his beak audibly. Malicine stroked the head of the raven as they entertained the rest of their conversation. “My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail, seeing that you, too, admit that I am Fae.”
“You will never be like us,” Clover snapped, but Malicine needed only to flick their wrist to bend her arm backward. She screeched in pain, collapsing to her knees.
“Neve like you?” Malicine’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “What a tragedy.”
The king nodded to the guards, who unsheathed their swords and charged toward Malicine. The demon whipped their arms once more, sending a wave that knocked the knights against one another. Steel armor collided and restrained the soldiers to the ground. They could no longer move, like insects pinned under glass by a fine needle.
“I come with good intentions. In fact, I shall offer my own giftto the princess.” Malicine waltzed across the carpet. Their arm swiped to send another ripple of air that sliced into people trying to stop them. The faeries’ hands were torn from the cradle, their bodies sent flying to the walls. King Victor lunged forward but hit an invisible wall and knocked back on his heels.
No one could cross the barrier that held together the wicked sorcerer and innocent princess. After all, Malicine needed a closer look at the baby to grant the perfect gift.
Their horns’ shadows streaked across the infant’s body like two jagged lines, ready to pierce into soft flesh. Amelia slept peacefully, cradled in a sea of satin blankets as soft as clouds. From the moment she was born, she was loved and accepted by everyone. Skin as white as pearls, hair as gold as sun. The beauty in her would only flourish greater with time.
These were the girls the world cared about. Girls who would grow up doted, beloved, cherished. Amelia would never understand a fraction of the pain that Malicine felt. She would dance across the gilded halls of her extravagant castle, watch men bow down at her feet, and give her everything she wanted. And when she died, the world would mourn for her and drop roses beside her deathbed.
Humans and faeries yelled around them. Screams muffled behind the barrier, fists pounding against invisible glass. Still, the baby did not stir. Malicine traced a finger across Amelia’s cheek, their nail curled beneath the baby’s chin.
“You just love your sleep, don’t you?”
Malicine was eighteen, and their life was already so different from this girl’s. What about when Amelia turned eighteen? What if she had a taste of how dreadful the real world could be?
“Beauty and song are nothing more than shallow gifts. As her godmothers, you should be ashamed. Fortunately, I’ve thought ofthe perfect gift. The princess will, indeed, grow up beautiful and beloved. But when midnight strikes on her eighteenth birthday...”
Their eyes flickered to a spinning wheel in the corner of the room. They imagined blankets being spun, cradling the princess with comfort and safety normal for a girl like her. Their fangs flashed with a smile as sharp as the spindle they pointed toward.
“She will prick herself on the spindle of a spinning wheel and fall into eternal slumber.”
The godmothers gasped, a tidal wave of shock rolling over each face as they understood the implication. Malicine had turned the crib into a casket, tainting the most sacred job the godmothers had. The faeries would be permanently disgraced by the king for failing to protect the princess. It was not just a curse on the princess, but a curse on her godmothers as well.
Malicine cackled as fire lit their heels. Their laughter recoiled in the thick smoke until it fully engulfed their bodies. The cries around them faded like ash. The world turned black, like a smothering blanket, before they could breathe the autumn air of the woods once more.
Later, when Talon reported that Clover used her final gift to declare true love’s kiss would break the curse, Malicine laughed so hard they wept. They imagined their sisters arguing privately after the ceremony, pointing fingers at the youngest faerie, and blaming her for wasting the last gift on something so stupid. They would have to desperately cling to the idea of true love to save face, or risk being humiliated forever.
An impossible concept, Malicine thought. They could not imagine that level of devotion to someone, the way a person could sacrifice themselves for another.
