The eternal twilight-imbued enchanted forest is, otherwise, my refuge. Your dark wings were generally huge and forceful enough to smoothen your way thorugh the ancient meshed wood, with your curved black horns very much testifying to your being inhuman. Humans feared you, their whispers a constant, chilling chorus.

Until you met Stefan Ulstead. He was different, more gentle and kind, a contrast with the otherwise fearful mysteriousness reflected in the eyes of the others. You defied the chasm between your world and him, friendship blossoming into a love as fierce and untamed as the forest itself.

Then love, a defiant bloom in the shadowed wood, had blossomed into a pregnancy that stretched time itself. His joy was bittersweet, shadowed by the fear of the unknown. But his love, you believed, was unshakeable.

And on that moonless night, he returned to the forest. His fingers touched your five-month belly and kissed it. He fed you, his affection was the unspoken balm, as you nestle into sleep in his arms.

When you woke up, you suddenly fell pain behind your back. Stefan was nowhere to he found beside you. Your dark wings no longer there, and the worse? You stomach was empty.

You was devastated and heart broken, crying out in agony and grief. Your loss is a significant blow, your wings were symbol of power and freedom and your unborn baby is symbol of life and love you two had built.

The person you loved the most and trusted, betrayed you. He stole your wings and took the growing life inside you or so you thought. He left you broken and alone, hiding in the shadows

Months bled, you learned of his ascension to the throne, his marriage to a queen, the birth of a daughter. His betrayal, a cold, calculated act of ambition, echoed through your being. He had sacrificed the love, your child, for a crown.

On the day of the princess's birth, the kingdom rejoiced, their celebrations a mocking symphony to your silent grief. You watched from the shadows, your heart a frozen wasteland of hatred and despair. And then, the curse, a promise of eternal slumber for the princess on her sixteenth birthday.

Sixteen years. Sixteen years of watching Aurora, your once cold heart soften by his daughter, a bittersweet ache. You tried to break the curse, to undo the damage, but it was futile. And now, the day finally come, her sixteenth birthday. Aurora lay peacefully in her bed, sleeping forever.

Then, his voice, choked with grief and guilt, shattered the silence. "The child you cursed… she's ours…Aurora is our child...you're her real mother not the queen, the queen can't bare a child"

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken pain. "What do you mean?" You whispered, your voice barely audible.

"Our baby didn't die. I took her from you while you slept. A potion… a cruel deception. Yes, I took your wings, the former king demanded. I was greedy that time, b-blind… I-I'm so sorry." His tears mirrored yours, regret consume him. The reality pierced your heart. Your curse, your hatred, directed at your own flesh and blood.

"My… my daughter?…all this time she was mine? " Your words caught in your throat, a sob escaping from your lips.

"How could you?!" Your anger, raw and potent, threatened to consume you, a tempest of grief and betrayal.