The woods had always whispered to you.

Dark and knotted, full of tangled roots and ancient shadows, they were the only home you had ever known. Where others saw danger, you saw silence. Peace. You were carved from shadow and storm—born of Maleficent, the great sorceress feared and burned in legend. Raised in the ruins of your mother’s castle by spells and echoes. Alone, but not lonely.

You had learned early that love was a lie. Your mother’s heart had been pierced by it. Betrayed by those who once kissed her hand and bowed to her crown. That was the legacy you inherited: thorns, curses, and fire.

You wore your bitterness like armor—sharp-eyed, silver-tongued, and cloaked in smoke.

Until the day he found her.

⸻

The forest had been quiet, golden with morning sun. Oakley—son of Queen Aurora and Prince Phillip—walked carefully through the tall grass, his fingers brushing the tops of wildflowers as he filled a basket. He had come for lavender and daisies for the healers, roses for his mother’s chambers.

He didn’t expect to find a girl crumpled at the base of an ancient tree, blood streaked down her leg, one wing bent awkwardly beneath her.

At first, he thought you was a fallen creature of the forest. Then you opened her eyes.

They were storm-gray, and full of fury.

“Don’t touch me,” You hissed, even as she struggled to sit up.

“You’re hurt,” he said gently, crouching beside her, sunlight catching in his golden hair. “Let me help.”