Fanfiction: Her Grace (Maleficent)
Title: "Her Grace"
Status: Complete
Fandom: Maleficent
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Diaval, Maleficent
Disclaimer: Copyright @ Disney. No infringement intended.
Rating: K
Genre: character introspection, gen, friendship
Warning: none
Summary: It was the way she moved...
Her Grace
His new mistress moved with the grace of birds.
Each of her steps was measured, the hem of her dress pooling around and trailing behind her, the sound of fabric like leaves rustled by a gentle breeze. She was clad in black from head to toe, wore it even wrapped around the tips of her curved horns.
The dark shade fractured the light, hid a gleam of blue and green, like the finest of Diaval's own feathers. Her reflection caught in his beady eyes, he found it hard to avert his gaze, enthralled like a magpie with a pretty gem.
Her focus on all living things was sharp, lay in the tilt of her head, the rise of a single eyebrow, and her body would follow. Inevitably, like the ebb and flow of vast oceans, a force of nature, just as the magic she commanded.
"Come," she whispered, her voice like a knife parting flesh, "be my wings."
Diaval obeyed and pondered on that tinge of resentment in her tone, how her presence was welcomed by the Moors even as it darkened them. He observed, tasting sorrow in the air, too wise to simply ask for its cause.
Soon after, his need to inquire vanished, as truth revealed itself, as it was wont to do: in bits and pieces of rumors, hushed whispers and wagging tongues. Fairies too liked to bicker, and gossip.
Her wings have been stolen, they said, together with her heart. A human betrayed her, they sighed, with poisonous lies and the illusion of true love.
Diaval saw them for himself in time, the stumps of once powerful wings, burned and mutilated by cold iron, as Maleficent took a bath in a crystal clear stream. He watched, hidden from sight, as muscles and tendons strained and skin pulled taut.
His mistress closed her eyes, their shade tinged dark with pain, and her lips thinned, until the warmth seeped in like a balm that brought relief.
Diaval thought of the staff she carried, how she moved, each gesture deliberate, like sinful pride and arrogance. His claws dug into soft bark and his heart began to flutter, like a fledgeling afraid to fall.
The End
Status: Complete
Fandom: Maleficent
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Diaval, Maleficent
Disclaimer: Copyright @ Disney. No infringement intended.
Rating: K
Genre: character introspection, gen, friendship
Warning: none
Summary: It was the way she moved...
Her Grace
His new mistress moved with the grace of birds.
Each of her steps was measured, the hem of her dress pooling around and trailing behind her, the sound of fabric like leaves rustled by a gentle breeze. She was clad in black from head to toe, wore it even wrapped around the tips of her curved horns.
The dark shade fractured the light, hid a gleam of blue and green, like the finest of Diaval's own feathers. Her reflection caught in his beady eyes, he found it hard to avert his gaze, enthralled like a magpie with a pretty gem.
Her focus on all living things was sharp, lay in the tilt of her head, the rise of a single eyebrow, and her body would follow. Inevitably, like the ebb and flow of vast oceans, a force of nature, just as the magic she commanded.
"Come," she whispered, her voice like a knife parting flesh, "be my wings."
Diaval obeyed and pondered on that tinge of resentment in her tone, how her presence was welcomed by the Moors even as it darkened them. He observed, tasting sorrow in the air, too wise to simply ask for its cause.
Soon after, his need to inquire vanished, as truth revealed itself, as it was wont to do: in bits and pieces of rumors, hushed whispers and wagging tongues. Fairies too liked to bicker, and gossip.
Her wings have been stolen, they said, together with her heart. A human betrayed her, they sighed, with poisonous lies and the illusion of true love.
Diaval saw them for himself in time, the stumps of once powerful wings, burned and mutilated by cold iron, as Maleficent took a bath in a crystal clear stream. He watched, hidden from sight, as muscles and tendons strained and skin pulled taut.
His mistress closed her eyes, their shade tinged dark with pain, and her lips thinned, until the warmth seeped in like a balm that brought relief.
Diaval thought of the staff she carried, how she moved, each gesture deliberate, like sinful pride and arrogance. His claws dug into soft bark and his heart began to flutter, like a fledgeling afraid to fall.
The End