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Chapter Text

Joyfully now Aurora and Phillip sat upon their gilded thrones, smiling until their cheeks ached.

The people below cheered, and banners in gold and rose fluttered like sighs across the great hall.

It did not trouble Aurora that she had never once dreamt of being a queen. She had lived most of her life hidden in a quiet cottage among whispering pines, where her education had concerned itself with songbirds and wild berries rather than sceptres and statecraft. Her fairy aunts had meant well. Guardians, yes, but hardly tutors of diplomacy. When she was restored to her parents, she discovered that she had sixteen years of royal etiquette to learn and barely half as much time to learn it in.

And now, at twenty-one, here she sat at her own coronation beside her husband, both crowned monarchs of Ulstead. She had never imagined such splendour, nor such exhaustion.

Had she known King Hubert would die so suddenly, and that she and Phillip would inherit not only crowns but kingdoms, she might have paid better attention to her governess. Yet she comforted herself with one thought: she was not alone. Phillip would always be beside her. King Phillip, who had faced dragons for her sake and kissed her awake from death. Together, surely, they would rule wisely and be loved for it.

Hubert’s death had come only a week ago, gentle as the snuffing of a candle. He had passed with his son’s hand in his own, whispering that he went gladly to rejoin his beloved wife. It was a sad joy, that kind of grief, the sort that leaves behind warmth instead of chill.

And so the young rulers sat on their twin thrones, his crown glinting sharply in the torchlight, hers heavy as guilt upon her golden hair. He looked regal, though unfamiliar to her eyes. Phillip was meant to wear a cap of soft leather, not a circlet of gold. Yet she smiled at him, reached to touch his cheek, and he returned that silent, wordless affection that belonged to those who had once defied death together.

Aurora rose slightly, waving to her subjects. The peasants, the nobles, the foreign dignitaries with their strange silks and guarded eyes. Her smile was as warm as spring sunlight.

“Do you think my gown is too formal?” she asked softly, her voice almost shy.

Phillip laughed quietly under his breath. “Too formal? Aurora, it’s your coronation. If not now, when? Let the whole world see their queen shine.”

She exhaled and gazed across the hall. There, a woman with a mane of noticeable red curls, dancing with a dark-haired prince. Another guest stood out, dressed in unfamiliar silks and a high-collared robe—Eastern, perhaps. The lady caught Aurora staring and coyly hid behind a fan, retreating to the shadows.

Her parents lingered at the edge of the crowd: King Stefan, already drunk, laughing with a minstrel, and Queen Leah practically an accessory hanging off of him.

“Why don’t you speak with them?” Phillip murmured. “Your mother might want to say something.”

Aurora nodded, gathering her courage. She stood, the light from the chandeliers catching her gown, the colours shifting between pink and blue and—was that green?

Startled, she looked down. The colour was gone again, only blush and sky, but when she turned toward Phillip, her breath froze.

He was slumped forward.

The hall tilted around her. She rushed to him, skirts sweeping like waves, and caught his head in her arms. He felt cold. He felt dead.

“Phillip?” she gasped. No response. Panic clawed up her throat. She pressed her ear to his chest and found a pulse, so frantic, so terrified. His heart thundered like a trapped bird. He was alive, but trapped somewhere far from her reach.

The guards stumbled forward, uncertain what to do. Her parents rushed to her side. The red-haired lady and her prince joined, kneeling with concern. Aurora clutched Phillip tighter, tears hot on her cheeks.

Then, as she looked up, a flicker of green light danced against the walls.

The Eastern lady stiffened and it made Aurora turn, dread sinking like ice into her heart. From the shimmer of emerald fire, a familiar figure emerged.

“Did you really believe me dead?!” boomed a voice like thunder cracking through velvet.

Maleficent.

She stepped forth from the flames, tall and terrible, her black horns haloed in sickly light.

Aurora froze. She had never seen the sorceress face to face before, not truly. Only in her dreams, in memories that weren’t hers, of fire and thorns and whispered curses. Phillip was supposed to have killed her long ago.

“It takes more than a prince’s sword to kill the likes of me!” Maleficent roared, her laughter ringing through the great hall. Her staff glowed green, a twisted serpent of light.

“I cursed you once,” she sneered, eyes on Aurora. “Now I curse the one you love. Let’s see if you can bear the weight, knowing that you slept and dreamt of happy feelings, whilst he suffers forever, unable to wake up!”

Aurora’s arms tightened around Phillip. His pulse quickened beneath her fingers, as though he heard the words and recoiled. He was dreaming, but not like she had dreamed. Her slumber had been a fairytale. His would be a torment.

“Stop this!” she pleaded, but Maleficent only smiled.

“There is no waking him now, true loves kiss won’t work this time.” The dark faery cackled. “At least… not here.”

And with that, she vanished into green smoke, leaving the air crackling with her absence. The Eastern woman lunged, sword flashing, but too late. The blade cut only through fading light.

Aurora looked to her parents, desperate for direction. Her mother was pale and trembling; her father, already half-drunk, was staring as though the world had ended.

Aurora turned back to Phillip’s still face. She had no strength, no magic, no plan. Only love, fragile and helpless. What use was that against a curse?

Still, she tried. She clung to him, whispering his name through tears until the hall emptied and only the remnants of their celebration remained. Half-eaten fruit, overturned goblets, the scent of smoke and the fallen banners.

At last, she managed to lift him, though her knees nearly gave way beneath the weight, reminding her that she was not nearly as strong as the Prince who had saved her. The red-haired woman and her prince rushed to help. So did the Eastern stranger. Together they bore him up the spiralling tower. It was now that Aurora noticed how muscular the other Prince was. This was the form of somebody who enjoyed hard labour, and it was an admirable trait for a Leader.

“I’m so sorry, Princess,” the red-haired woman whispered. Her voice was lilting, oceanic. “I can’t imagine your pain.”

“It’s all right,” Aurora lied, her voice breaking. “Forgive me, I never caught your name.”

“I’m Ariel, Princess of Tirulia,” she replied softly. “And this is my husband, Prince Eric.”

Aurora nodded weakly. “You are kind to help us. Thank you.” Her eyes then caught the shine off of the Eastern woman’s sword, and turned to face her.

The Eastern woman inclined her head. “I am Fa Mulan of China,” she said, her accent like a strange new music. “An Ambassador of the Emperor. I was sent for diplomatic purposes, but I can attend to all that later, for I see my help is needed elsewhere.”

“Then tell your Emperor,” Aurora said faintly, “that I send my regards.”

They reached the top of the tower at last. Together they laid Phillip upon the bed, and Aurora pulled up a chair. Aurora took his hand and traced the veins with her trembling fingers.

“We’ll just be downstairs,” Ariel whispered, her voice as fragile as a seashell pressed to the ear. She gave a small, respectful nod before leading the others from the room, their footsteps fading into the hush of the corridor.

Aurora did not turn to watch them go. Her gaze was fixed upon Phillip’s face, upon the faint furrow of his brow and the restless twitch of his lips. He looked so near to waking, but despite his sudden pouts and eye flutters, he did not wake.

“You mustn’t keep me waiting long,” she murmured, her voice breaking with the effort to sound steady. “I think I’d die without you, so you’d better wake soon… or I shall have to follow you into whatever dream you’ve wandered into.”

She drew in a shaking breath, brushing a curl from his forehead. “I would rather spend a lifetime beside your bedside than live a hundred years without you,” she whispered, her throat tightening around the words.

When the silence of the room became too heavy to bear, she folded against him, her crown slipping sideways, her tears soaking into the silks that covered his lap. She wept there, the sobs quiet but endless.

Downstairs, King Stefan drained the last of the wine, as if drink alone could make him forget the green glow still lingering in the corners of the room.

After what felt like an eternity, Queen Aurora descended the grand staircase to face the small gathering below.

The air in the hall had grown still and heavy, as though the castle itself were holding its breath. She might have felt heartened by this alliance, these strangers who had come to her aid, had she not nearly lost the love of her life moments before.

Her steps faltered as she reached the cobblestone floor. With a shaky exhale she turned to her parents, embracing them both tightly, though her mother’s arms hung loose at her sides, her gaze distant and unseeing, and her father… well, he smelled of wine and grief. Aurora felt the sting of loneliness even in their closeness.

“And you—you’ve all not gone home,” she said softly, turning toward the royal couple and the Chinese woman beside them.

Mulan stepped forward first, posture straight, voice even. “In truth, Your Majesty, I was sent on a mission from my Emperor, to investigate rumours of strange magic in these lands. It seems the rumours were true, but now I have seen the source of the evil with my own eyes, and I cannot, in good conscience, return home while Maleficent still breathes. I will stay and fight at your side.”

Aurora blinked, her lips trembling into something almost like a smile. “That’s… kind of you,” she said softly.

“I just couldn’t stand to see someone so heartbroken,” Eric added, his tone steady but kind. “You shouldn’t face this alone. We’ve seen our share of dark magic. We might be of help.”

Aurora’s brow furrowed. “And how could you possibly help me?” she asked, not in cruelty, but in despair.

Ariel stepped closer. “We’ve faced enchantments and the mystical before,” she said gently. “Different from this one, yes—but I believe we can still help. We have to try.” There was a quiet conviction in her voice that made Aurora believe her, despite herself.

Before she could reply, the air shimmered and three familiar lights sparkled into being. Aurora gasped, her hand rising to her chest as Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather materialised before her in a flurry of red, green, and blue.

“Flora! Fauna! Merryweather!” Aurora nearly cried out. “Oh, thank the stars!” She rushed forward, gripping their hands with desperate strength.

“My dear!” Flora exclaimed, her face drawn and pale.

“Please, please tell me you can undo this!” Aurora pleaded. “You saved me once, can’t you do the same for him?”

Fauna shook her head sorrowfully. “We tried, long ago, to undo your curse, but we could not. All we could do was temper it. It was Merryweather who gave you your escape—who made sure you would sleep, not die, and let true loves kiss awaken you.”

“So do it again!” Aurora cried. “Let me wake him! Please!”

“We can’t, Rose,” said Merryweather, her voice trembling. “We meddled once before, and Maleficent did not rest her efforts to find and kill you. She will not allow another interference. You’re not a babe hidden in the woods anymore, she’ll find you if we try, and this time, her wrath would be far worse.”

Aurora’s eyes glistened. “Then it’s over?” she whispered. “He’s not asleep, he’s suffering. Caught somewhere between life and death. I’ll grow old, and I’ll die, and he’ll still be there… Alone. Forever.”

Flora reached out, her magic forming a faint glow around Aurora’s hands. “No, child. Don’t lose hope. There may yet be a way.”

“What could I possibly do?”

“There are others,” Flora said. “In another kingdom. They may know things that could help you. They reside in a Kingdom in France. If you reach them in time, they can help you. Maleficent will follow, of course, but she’ll be further behind. It’s better than just waiting here, dear.”

Merryweather lifted her wand, and a cloud of shimmering mist unfurled above them. Within it, the faint image of a white castle appeared, glistening among rose-covered woods.

Aurora stared up at it, her tears drying into resolve. “Then I’ll go,” she said simply.

“We’ll join you,” Eric said at once, stepping forward. “You shouldn’t go alone.” Ariel nodded, her expression firm, and Mulan’s hand tightened on the hilt of her sword in silent agreement.

Aurora turned to thank her parents, but her mother was already walking away, guiding her staggering husband toward the door. The sight hollowed her.

She climbed the stairs again, her gown whispering behind her like falling petals. In the dim light of the bedchamber, she bent over Phillip’s still form and pressed her lips gently to his. He did not stir unfortunately, but his face softened, as though her touch eased the nightmares he could not escape.

“Love truly is the cruellest curse of all.” She said slowly as she thought about her parents, and about the sleeping beauty below her.

“Please,” she whispered to her aunts, who hovered near the door, solemn and silent. “Watch over him for me.”

They nodded, wordless, and as Aurora left the room, the candlelight flickered across their faces. Three weary guardians who had seen this curse play out once before, but now weren’t so sure of the outcome.

Chapter Text

They departed at dawn. It was a hurried decision, one made in grief and urgency, leaving King Stefan in charge of Ulstead while Queen Leah returned to her own kingdom to recover what remained of her wits.

The carriage rattled across the countryside, bearing its four passengers toward France, where there lived a prince and princess who might know how to undo the curse that now bound Phillip in his endless nightmare.

Inside the carriage, Aurora sat beside Mulan, with Ariel and Eric seated opposite. The gentle sway of the wheels and the rhythmic clatter of hooves should have lulled her into rest, but her body refused to relax.

Ariel’s purple gown shimmered like tidewater, modest but regal, and her husband’s sailor’s tunic and worn boots marked him as a man more comfortable on deck than in a throne room. As they spoke quietly, Aurora took note of the mentions of ships and storms, of sea foam and far-off horizons. It became obvious to Aurora that Tirulia was a seaside Kingdom, with a major economy rooted in fishing.

Beside her, Mulan’s posture remained graceful even in motion. She wore a hanfu of deep green and blue silk, a softer reflection of the armour she carried in her satchel. When Aurora had asked, she had explained, almost shyly, “It’s called a ruqun in my homeland.”

Aurora herself had chosen a fuchsia gown embroidered with climbing roses. Too bright, perhaps, for grief. Too delicate for danger, but she could not bring herself to wear anything too fancy, nor could she arrive before another royal court looking like a lost child from the forest. Phillip would have laughed gently at her indecision. The thought ached.

By the time they reached the castle in France, the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, setting the sky aflame. The great gates opened before them, revealing an estate wrapped in wild roses, their thorns glinting like silver under the fading light.

They were met at the door by a kindly, round-faced woman and a bright-eyed boy who clung to her skirts. A third figure followed, a chubby man with a perpetual look of exasperation and a pocket watch gripped tight in his hand.

“Ah, you must be Queen Aurora. Prince Eric. Princess Ariel and Lady Fa Mulan.” The woman curtsied, smiling kindly. “I’m Mrs. Potts, and this is my son, Chip.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Aurora replied, managing a faint smile though her nerves were frayed.

“I’m Cogsworth,” said the man, straightening his vest. “Time waits for no one, so if you’d all follow me, the master and mistress are expecting you.”

They were led through candlelit corridors and into a vast ballroom that gleamed with golden adornments. There, standing near the far window, were the figures of the prince and princess.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with hair the colour of a lion’s mane and eyes too blue to be entirely human. His wife was smaller with brown hair half-pinned, her yellow gown simple but luminous. Neither wore crowns and it seemed neither of them were like most of the royal people Aurora had ever met.

“Prince Adam and Princess Belle?” Aurora asked, stepping forward.

The pair exchanged a glance, Adam almost flinched at the titles.

“Please, just Belle,” the woman said warmly. “The fairies warned us of your coming, though not of the details. They mentioned… a curse?”

Aurora’s throat tightened. “My husband, Prince Phillip. Maleficent has cursed him, he sleeps unable to wake up. He’s stuck in a perpetual nightmare.”

Belle frowned thoughtfully. “A sleeping curse. Maleficent… Yes, I’ve read of her. There may be something useful in our library.”

She motioned for them to follow, and they moved down a corridor where a great mirror hung shrouded in a dark cloth. Aurora’s eyes lingered on it. Belle noticed, but said nothing.

The library was enormous with shelves that touched the ceilings, staircases spiralling into shadow. As Belle climbed a ladder to search the upper shelves, Adam lingered near Aurora and Mulan, his hands restless at his sides.

“My aunts said you might understand enchantments,” Aurora said quietly.

Adam hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Once, I was cursed myself.” His voice carried a strange roughness, like someone relearning speech. “Turned into a beast until I learned to love and be loved in return.”

Aurora blinked, glancing toward Belle. “And you broke it.”

He nodded again. “She broke it,” he said softly, almost to himself. “For the better. I was vain, selfish… and cruel, but the curse forced me to see what kindness was.” His gaze darkened slightly. “My staff were cursed too and turned into objects. Innocents who paid the price for my folly.”

“You didn’t deserve that,” Aurora murmured.

A sad smile tugged at his lips. “Perhaps not. But without it, I would never have met her.”

Belle returned then, arms full of books, her eyes lighting briefly when she saw them speaking. “I found a few references to curses of sleep, though most are only myths and some are incomplete.”

“She said true love’s kiss wouldn’t work this time,” Aurora said.

“Not here,” Mulan added.

Belle tapped a finger to her lips, thinking. “Then perhaps she meant it literally. That it must be done somewhere else… within his dreams, maybe.”

Aurora frowned. “Inside… his mind?”

“If he’s trapped in a nightmare, then to reach him, you might have to enter it,” Belle said.

Ariel and Eric, who had been perusing nearby shelves, turned back at this. “Can that even be done?” Eric asked.

“I would not know, for I have never done so myself.” Belle admitted.

“I… I just want to see him,” Aurora whispered.

Adam suddenly straightened. “Wait here.” He left and returned moments later, holding a mirror framed in ivory designs that matched the rest of the castle.

“This mirror will show you whatever you wish to see,” he said gently, handing it to her.

Aurora stared into the glass. Her reflection shimmered back at her, and she looked tired. “Show me Phillip.”

Phillip lay upon the bed, pale but alive, the three fairies watching over him faithfully. His hand twitched, his brow furrowed, as though battling unseen horrors.

Her voice broke. “He’s still fighting.”

Belle placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Then we’ll help you reach him.”

Aurora lifted her gaze, tears trembling in her lashes. “How can we?” she asked.

In a distant castle, shadowed by perpetual stormlight and not far from the kingdoms of King Stefan and Queen Leah, a dark fae stood before her mirror. Its silver surface reflecting her cruel smile back at her.

Maleficent had not received her mirror as a gift from some simpering enchantress, she had stolen it from the late queen of a distant land. She remembered that woman well: her vanity, the constant need to prove herself evil. It exhausted her. When word of the queen’s demise reached her, Maleficent wasted no time in returning to the castle to claim all about that Evil Queen that ever interested her. Her magic mirror.

Now the mirror hung in her tower chamber, veiled most days by black silk and silence. She seldom used it, not out of restraint, but because few things in this world were worth her curiosity anymore. The last time she had peered into it had been to seek the whereabouts of Aurora, before crashing her coronation. She smiled at the memory. If only she’d possessed this mirror years prior, she might have spared herself the incompetence of goblins and fools trying to kidnap a baby, when the girl had already grown into a woman.

Her fingers brushed over the mirror’s frame as she gazed into it now, watching Aurora speaking in a library surrounded by other royals and a war hero from China. Such courage, such desperation. It made Maleficent cackle.

“Magic Mirror on the wall,” she purred. “What shall I do to them all?”

The mirror’s face shimmered, revealing its spirit and with a vague, bored voice he spoke. “That depends. What do you want to do?”

Maleficent tapped her staff against the floor, thinking. “Oh, so many choices. I could turn that prince back into a beast, a real one this time, one with no redemption waiting for him.”

Her lips curved darker. “Or perhaps turn that one—” she pointed with her staff toward Ariel, “—back into a mermaid and watch her suffocate upon dry land while her beloved flails for a puddle to save her in.”

Her gaze sharpened as she studied the group closer. The princess in yellow spoke softly, trying her best to comfort the almost hysterical Aurora.“Then we’ll help you reach it…”

Aurora’s anxious voice followed. “How can we?”

Maleficent’s smirk deepened.

“Oh, my dear Aurora,” she whispered, tilting her head. “You wish to enter your prince’s nightmare? Then by all means… let me open the door for you.”

She raised her sceptre high, its gem blazing like wildfire.

It was only a few minutes later that Lumiere entered the library to check on his master, when his heart stopped at the sight of all the guests and Belle and Adam, unconscious on the floor.

In the underworld that sprawled beneath every kingdom and every sea, Hades, the God of Death was bored out of his immortal mind.

He lounged on his obsidian throne, chin in hand, flame hair dimmed to a lazy blue flicker.

“Okay, okay, so let me get this straight,” he groaned, waving a skeletal goblet in the air. “Nothing interesting is happening. Zip. Nada. What’s our old pal Wonder Boy up to these days, huh?”

Pain and Panic exchanged nervous glances.

“Well, uh, Hercules is... probably fighting another giant monster thing,” Panic said. “Saving people. Flexing. You know, the usual.”

Hades rolled his eyes so hard it nearly extinguished his own flame. “Yeah, thrilling. Anything that isn’t about him?”

Pain perked up. “Oh! There’s this enchantress cursing royals again.”

That got Hades’ attention. “Cursing royals, you say? Now we’re talking my language. Who’s the lucky couple?”

Panic nodded eagerly. “Remember that dragon lady? The one who made a princess take a really long nap until somebody kissed her?”

“Vaguely,” Hades said, twirling a spark between his fingers.

“Well,” Panic continued, “She’s back! But this time she flipped it. Cursed the prince instead. He’s stuck in some nightmare coma thing. True love’s kiss? Doesn’t work anymore.”

Pain jumped in, trying to outdo his partner. “And get this, the princess didn’t take it lying down! She teamed up with a bunch of other princes and princesses, and this warrior lady from China, to wake him up. So the enchantress cursed them, too. Now they’re all trapped in his nightmare!”

Hades’ grin grew slow and wicked. “Now that... that’s not bad at all.”

He rose from his throne, flames flaring gold at the tips. Then he began tapping his chin. “You know what? I’m bored. Let’s go pay this enchantress a visit.”

Panic swallowed hard. “Uh, you sure about that, boss? She looks kinda… y’know... terrifying.”

He held up a smoky orb that showed Maleficent lounging in her throne, elegant and cruel, her smile sharp enough to cut glass.

Hades froze mid-step, his grin faltering only for a second before returning, wider. “Terrifying? No, no, no. She’s not terrifying...” He began to grin wider. “She’s divine.”

Pain and Panic exchanged glances again as Hades slicked his fiery hair back, which did absolutely nothing.

“So,” he said with mock seriousness. “How do I look?”

Chapter Text

The group awoke in silence. For a long moment, no one spoke, only the faint sound of wind, soft and hollow, moving through what might have been trees.

Aurora was the first to notice something was wrong. She blinked hard and looked down at herself. Gone were her royal silks. Instead, she wore her old cottage clothes, the faded peasant dress from her years as Briar Rose. Her feet were bare against the cold earth.

Across from her, Ariel stirred beside Eric. The two blinked at each other in confusion before realizing they too had changed. Ariel’s gown was a pale sea-blue with a dark bodice and Eric’s clothes were princely again, though not the ones he’d worn in years: a crisp white military shirt and boots still flecked with sea salt, somehow.

Mulan sat up next, her hair shorter than before, her expression sharp. She wore a teal hanfu threaded with green, crimson, and pink. Her eyes flicked down to her sleeves, her brow tightening.

Belle and Adam were the last to wake. Belle’s blue and white village dress was spotless, her hair tied neatly back as though she had never left home. Adam lay beside her in a white tunic and black trousers, his hair longer, unkempt, and ruggish. When he sat up, his breathing was fast and shallow.

“What happened?” he demanded, clutching his head. His voice cracked with fear, but when he saw the others’ faces, just as lost, just as displaced, his anger faltered into silence.

“It wasn’t us,” Eric said quickly, helping Ariel to her feet.

“Where are we?” Mulan whispered. Her voice echoed, though there were no walls nearby to catch it.

Belle turned in a slow circle, eyes narrowing. “If I had to guess,” she said, “We’ve made it into Phillip’s dream.”

Aurora followed her gaze. The world around them shimmered, inconsistent and wrong. The landscape bled into itself, forest melting into ocean, ocean into fields of thorns. The ground seemed to breathe beneath their feet.

“It must be,” Aurora murmured, staring again at her old dress. “That’s good, isn’t it? If we’re here, then we can find Phillip and wake him.”

“Will that wake us up?” Ariel asked, her hand gripping Eric’s arm.

“I hope so,” Belle said softly.

They turned toward the only exit, a wrought-iron gate tangled with black thorns. Its hinges groaned when pushed, but it opened. Beyond lay a narrow path lined with rose bushes, roses impossibly large, their petals slick like glass, towering over them as if the group had shrunk.

They walked carefully. The air was damp, the light dim but sourceless. Halfway down the path, something metallic caught Mulan’s eye. She knelt and brushed aside the weeds.

Her sword.

It gleamed faintly and she now noticed that her waist was bare. She was thankful then, that the nightmare was nice enough to give her her sword back. Mulan hesitated, then took it in hand.

“I hope I don’t have to use this,” she murmured. Adam gazed down at the blade, went pale but said nothing.

“I think we’re near the end of the path,” Eric said, pointing ahead.

They stepped through another gate and found themselves in a courtyard. The sight of it froze them all.

It was every castle and none of them.
Aurora recognized the banners, but the gargoyles and carved angels above belonged to someone else’s domain. Seashell mosaics glimmered on the walls, and the garden’s vines swayed like seaweed. The architecture bent in impossible ways: roofs too square, pillars too thin, corridors that looped into themselves. From the rafters hung lanterns printed with a single Chinese character: 花.

Belle noticed Mulan staring. “That’s Chinese, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Mulan said quietly. “It means Fa. My family name.”

Eric brushed his hand over a seashell embedded in the wall. “Maybe this place changes to fit us,” he said. Ariel didn’t reply; she was gazing at the oceanic details with something between longing and grief.

“Is there any way out?” Adam asked through his teeth.

“Let’s look around,” Eric said, trying to sound hopeful.

They spread out. Mulan approached a nearby door and tried the handle, it was locked. She pressed her ear against it. Only dripping water.

Something white caught Aurora’s eye, pinned to the stone beside her. She peeled it free. It was a notice, yellowed and curling with age.

This evening at noon, the Christening of Princess Aurora!

Note: Maleficent is not invited.

Mulan frowned. “I wouldn’t invite her either.” Aurora tucked it into her pocket without a word.

Eric pointed toward a drawbridge. “That looks like the only way out.”

The bridge loomed above them, chains vanishing into the dark rafters where no light reached. The stone walls flanking it were sheer and slick, as though daring anyone to try and climb.

“Then we go around,” Belle said quickly, her voice echoing faintly as she gestured toward a narrow doorway half-swallowed by the wall’s shadow.

Aurora gave a small nod and stepped forward first, her bare feet whispering against the cold stone. One by one, the others followed.

Adam lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on the sealed gate as though it might, at any second, open on its own. Yet it never did and it never would, and he joined the others.

The door shut behind them with a low click.

“Are you alright?” Aurora asked Adam, who seemed shaken.

“I’m fine. I’m human now, so I’m fine.” Adam said through a shaky smile.

Aurora didn’t press any further.

They were in a long corridor now, bathed in multicoloured light filtering through stained glass. The colours on the floor danced like water.

The group fell silent, breath held, as they took in the corridor before them.

At first glance, it seemed like any other castle hallway with vaulted ceilings, carved stone, the faint scent of candle wax and old flowers. Yet the longer they stared, the more wrong it felt.

The architecture didn’t make sense. The walls bled into one another at impossible angles, and every few feet, great stained-glass windows glowed from within, each pulsing softly with colour, as though alive.

They stopped at the first window.

Aurora’s breath caught.

It showed her, serene and perfect in her blue gown, asleep as if time had never touched her. But to the left of her slumbering figure, Maleficent towered in her monstrous dragon form, wreathed in emerald fire. The flames curled outward, and caught within them was Phillip. Not triumphant, not victorious, but burning. In the corner, her three fairy aunts hid their faces in grief. The scene was beautiful, and unbearable.

As Aurora stepped closer, the dragon’s eyes seemed to flicker, a trick of the light, or mockery. She turned away quickly.

The next window glimmered, and Belle gasped.

It depicted a weeping woman in a torn gown, it was Belle. She was kneeling beside the Beast’s lifeless body. No miracle, no transformation. The rose at his side had already shed its last petal. The light that filtered through painted Belle’s face in the same desperate sorrow captured forever in glass.

Adam’s hand found her shoulder, grounding her.
He said nothing. In truth, the image was not far from the truth of what might have been, what, perhaps should have been. The memory of dying as a monster, watching the rose fade, flickered behind his eyes. Better to be gone, he thought, than burden her with what he’d been. Belle squeezed his hand, as if she’d read the thought.

The next window burned with ocean light.
A wedding aboard a grand ship, Prince Eric in formal finery, hand-in-hand with a radiant brunette. But it was not Ariel, no, that was Ursula, draped in false beauty. Below, the sea churned, and another figure, who was Ariel, dissolved into sea foam, her red hair scattering like blood through the water.

She pressed a trembling hand to the glass.

“I truly am sorry, Ariel,” Eric said softly. “I didn’t know she wasn’t you.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ariel murmured, though her voice trembled. “You were cursed. None of it was real.”

Still, she couldn’t stop staring at her reflection and at her body breaking apart in bubbles.

To the others, who did not know she used to be a mermaid, the image looked like a drowning. Drowning in sea bubbles. They said nothing.

The final window showed a man in ornate Chinese armour collapsing beneath a flurry of arrows. In the split beside it, a woman, pale, painted and dressed in silk, bowed her head as wedding drums echoed faintly through the air.

Mulan stepped forward, her expression unreadable.

“I took my father’s place,” she said quietly. “It was against the law. He was too old to fight, and I... I couldn’t let him die.”

Aurora glanced at her. “Was that the only reason?”
The question slipped out before she could stop it, and the air grew heavy.

Mulan didn’t answer. Her eyes lingered on the painted bride; porcelain, motionless, obedient.
She didn’t look very happy, none of them did. Only Aurora’s slumbering face seemed at peace, smiling in her endless dream.

She could still remember that dream as vividly as if she’d woken from it only moments ago. In it, she was no longer a princess, no longer promised to a stranger she had never met. She was simply herself, barefoot and free, dancing through the forest beneath a silver sky. The boy from her dreams was there, smiling softly as if they had known each other forever. Around them, her fairy aunts spun in circles of light, their laughter echoing through the trees like wind chimes.

And then, from the shadows, she noticed a figure watching, a tall woman draped in purple and black, eyes sharp and distant. The woman did not speak, did not move, only watched as Aurora twirled and laughed, her happiness uninterrupted.

But the moment the dream began to fade, the woman vanished. One by one, Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather disappeared, and then Phillip was torn away too, leaving her alone in a forest that had grown silent and cold. She remembered the ache of that loneliness as clearly as she remembered the song she’d been dancing to.

When she’d opened her eyes, she had seen him—the same boy from her dream, her betrothed, her prince. For a fleeting moment, everything had aligned and suddenly, being a princess didn’t seem like such a curse.

For as nice as the dream was, eternity spent in one was not what she wanted. She wanted him in the waking world, his real touch, his real warmth, and she had found it, for a time.

Now, the thought of Phillip trapped in his own nightmare twisted something deep inside her. If he had failed to save her, at least she would have dreamed of nothing but happiness for eternity… But if she failed to save him, he would be lost to a place where no dreams existed.

“We should move on,” she said, voice small.

They continued. Each new panel repeated what came before, the same stories, twisted, inverted, replaying with only slight variations. The Beast never learning kindness and Belle fleeing from him. Mulan discovered early in the war. Eric drowned in the battle against Ursula. Ariel reduced to a polyp in the sea witch’s garden. Phillip kissing Aurora only to collapse himself. Each window shimmered, then warped as they passed, until the light itself seemed to chase them down the hall.

By the time they were running, none of them could stand to look anymore.

Somewhere deep within the corridor, Eric stopped.

A sound, faint at first, then rising.

A baby crying.

The wail came from nowhere and everywhere, seeping from the cracks in the walls, echoing beneath the glass. He turned, searching the empty passage.

He caught up with the others in silence, the echo still clinging to him like a shadow.

Maleficent watched them as one watches an elaborate puppet show, not from the gallery but from the marrow.

The crystal of the dream pulsed beneath the throne-room’s skin, and within its fractured light the castle gave them their private horrors. They were hers in conception, she reminded herself: the trap, the locked door, the skeins of thorn and salt. Yet the images the dream spat back were forged from the intruders’ own fear, threaded with their secret names. That, she thought with a small, vicious pleasure, was the cleverest cruelty of all.

The green light along her staff dimmed, then cooled into an unexpected blue. Maleficent turned. Where she had expected a trembling acolyte found the God of the Underworld instead, hair like living flame, a grin that smelled faintly of brimstone and very bad puns.

“Hades,” she said, the word a blade. Her voice held no surprise, only the polite danger of someone who had entertained worse. She had never met the God of Death face to face before, yet she knew of him.

He bowed so little it could have been a twitch. “I saw your handiwork from below,” he said, slipping a hand into his pocket as if to check his reflection. “Thought I’d pop up. It looked fun.”

“You dare call this ‘fun’?” Maleficent’s laugh was a dry wind. “I am making them twist their own memories into nooses. There is nothing fun about feeding people to themselves.”

“Exactly.” Hades brightened, as if she’d read him a favourable review. “That’s precisely the part I found irresistible. The underworld gets dull. Corpses repeat themselves. I need variety and you’ve outdone yourself, my friend.”

She bristled. “I do not perform for you, O Death. Go back to your pits.”

He cocked his head, amused rather than offended. “You enjoy having an audience. Don’t pretend you don’t.” His eyes, glowing and amused, lingered on the curve of her jaw. “Besides, watching you is its own show.”

Maleficent studied him with a predator’s patience. There was no mortal in his gaze to manipulate, no bargain hidden behind it; only an appetite for spectacle and, oddly, a curiosity that felt almost human. She weighed the asset against the nuisance. Company had its uses. So did distraction.

What could she possibly want from the God of Death? Nothing, she realized. She already had everything she desired: her pawns locked neatly within their labyrinth of nightmares, Phillip’s heart and soul dangling by invisible threads, the satisfaction of knowing the others would crumble beneath their own fears. Whether they died or simply went mad was irrelevant, either way, their suffering sang to her. Still, it was always more fun when she had her pet raven by her side to gossip with.

Her patience thinning, she sighed and turned away from him, and tried one last time to get him to leave.

“Leave my loneliness unbroken,” she murmured coldly. “Take thy hand from off my heart, and take thy form from out my room.”

Hades smirked, the blue fire of his hair flaring faintly. “Nevermore,” he drawled, eyes glinting. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Her head snapped toward him. “If you were not a god,” she said, voice loud and venomous, “I would smite you where you stand.”

He only chuckled and sank into the air beside her as though he’d always belonged there. His flame flickered, casting blue across her green.

Though she rolled her eyes, Maleficent said nothing more when he did not leave and he still was sitting. If the God of Death wanted to linger in her darkness, then so be it.

Long ago a sea witch made herself useful to a young princess.

Not out of kindness, no, nothing she ever did was out of kindness. Her so-called gift was merely bait, a shimmering hook meant to catch a bigger fish: King Triton himself. Yet when her plot was dashed, when love and song proved sharper than malice, she met her end not with grandeur but with a ship’s splintered prow through her heart, and that should’ve been the end of Ursula the Sea Witch.

And longer still before that, in a faraway desert where it’s flat and immense and the heat is intense, a Sultan’s vizier once clawed his way toward omnipotence. His ambition scorched hotter than the sun itself, but in his hubris, he found himself shackled: a genie in a lamp, a prisoner of the very wish he sought to master. The lamp was cast away as far from Agrabah as possible and swallowed by the sea, lost among the bones of drowned men and sunken ships.

Until, by some grotesque mercy of fate, it fell into the dark cradle of Ursula’s would-be graveyard.

She was dying when her fingers brushed its cold surface, the lamp, smooth as a pearl and just as deceitful. With the last gasp of her breath she wished to live, and the genie obliged, but before she could utter her next command, the creature inside the brass confinement whispered an offer even temptation itself might envy: a deal. Ursula liked deals, especially when they benefited her.

He allowed her one final wish, and she wished for the power to slip between flesh and fin as easily as breathing. To walk among men or coil beneath the waves at her whim. The djinn’s mouth curved into a knowing smirk as he fulfilled it.

Then came his offer.

One wish remained and if she spent it, he would be bound again, but if she saved it, he would stay free, and together they could unravel the world that had scorned them both. Ursula obliged, and the wicked duo hid themselves away where nobody could find them.

Years passed, or maybe time hadn’t moved at all, and Ursula had still never used her last wish. Still their alliance festered and ripened in equal measure and then one day, through the murky glass of her scrying mirror, Ursula glimpsed the perfect stage for her return. A dream realm stitched together by Maleficent herself. A kingdom of sleeping souls, ripe for the taking. The Mistress of All Evil, ever the patient voyeur, seemed satisfied merely to watch.

Ursula, however, was not.

Seven souls lay waiting. All lost in dreams they could not wake from. Maleficent, content in her cruelty, watched from afar, letting fate gnaw at them as it pleased. Ursula scoffed at her inaction. She would not sit and admire the spectacle. The sea witch saw, with the cold clarity of a thing that has nothing left to lose, a way to carve her grudges into reality. To repay the little mermaid and her lover boy not with words but with ruin. The djinn smiled, a slow, serpentine curl of amusement, as the sea itself seemed to shudder in anticipation.

And so they waited…

Chapter Text

The group found themselves standing in a grand ballroom, or what might once have been one. Now it was little more than a mausoleum of memory, draped in centuries of dust and silence.

 The air hung heavy with the scent of neglect. Like the courtyard before it, the place was familiar and unrecognisable all at once, a grotesque collage of their worlds stitched together by some cruel dream logic.

Overhead, the painted cherubs of a forgotten ceiling smiled eternally, their pastel faces cracking beneath time and ruin. A chandelier hung at the centre like a massive heart, its crystal veins dulled with cobwebs.

Banners lined the walls, Aurora recognized the sigils of her own kingdom, symbols of alliances long past, but they were intertwined with foreign touches. Gold streamers curled among the banners, and between them hung paper lanterns inked with a single Chinese character: 李.

Mulan’s face darkened at the sight.
“Those look like the lanterns from the Imperial City,” she murmured. Her voice was taut, unreadable. She did not translate the name, and no one asked.

Along the edges of the room sat enormous clam shells, open like thrones, each cradling a faded velvet cushion, as if awaiting guests.

Then, faintly, a melody began to play. No orchestra, no instruments, only a warped, underwater distortion echoing from nowhere and everywhere. Yet Aurora knew it instantly. Even without words, the tune curled into her heart like a memory half-forgotten.

And I know it’s true

That visions are seldom all they seem

 But if I know you

I know what you’ll do…

Unthinking, she began to hum along, her voice trembling with a wistful familiarity. The sound startled Mulan from her trance.

“There’s nothing here,” Adam muttered, voice gruff and uneasy. “Let’s just go.”

He strode toward a set of tall doors opposite the entrance. They looked like they might lead to a balcony, though through the crack between them there was only blackness, thick and absolute. Still, it was the only way forward.

Belle reached for Adam’s arm. “It’ll be all right,” she whispered, more for herself than for anyone else.

“Perhaps we should hold hands,” Ariel suggested softly. She took Eric’s hand, and he offered his other to Adam, who hesitated before taking it. Then Belle clasped his, Mulan took hers, and finally Aurora joined them, closing the chain.

Together, they stepped into the dark.

The moment they crossed the threshold, the shadows deepened until they could see nothing, not even the hands they held. The air grew heavy and wet, and the sound of their own breathing seemed to echo from far away. One by one, the grip between them loosened, not torn apart, but fading, as though the darkness itself were swallowing the space between fingers.

When Aurora called out, her voice was devoured before it reached her own ears.

Then, without warning, her path brightened with a sudden flicker of green flame.

The first thing Aurora noticed, once her vision adjusted to the green aura, was how narrow the corridor had become.

No way could six of them have walked through side by side, even hand in hand. They would have been forced into a line, single file, like penitents.

Steadying herself, she reached for the wall, her palm brushing against something rough. Her fingers caught on a scrap of yellowed paper nailed to the stone. In faded ink, someone had written:

The patient worsens by the day. His wife comes still, every morning. She sits by his bed and speaks to him as though he can answer. We’ve told her to say goodbye, but she refuses. She says if she stops talking, he won’t be able to follow her voice home. The flowers she brings him rot faster each day.

Aurora’s breath hitched. She didn’t know why, but the words filled her with a deep, aching sorrow. As she traced the ink, pain bloomed in her hand. She drew back sharply and saw that the walls were no longer stone at all.

Thorns had erupted from them, thick and dark as iron, their points glistening with sap like blood. The corridor had become a tunnel of bramble, forcing her to walk dead-centre to avoid the spikes that scraped the air around her.

Carefully, she moved on. The air was heavy with the scent of soil and something faintly sweet, like decay. The hall stretched endlessly, and just when despair began to sink its claws into her, she noticed it; a single red rose, blooming defiantly among the thorns.

Aurora stopped. She bent toward it, breathing in its perfume. For a fleeting moment, the scent transported her back to sunlight through trees, to laughter, to the days when she was still Briar Rose. Her pulse softened. She began to hum, then to sing, the sound trembling in the close air.

“But if I know you

I know what you’ll do…

You’ll love me at once

The way you did…”

The melody steadied her steps. Yet from somewhere deep within the hall—too far, too near—another voice joined hers.

“…The way you did once upon a dream… ”

She froze. The voice was his. Phillip’s.

Her heart lurched painfully in her chest. It couldn’t be, she couldn’t have found him so soon. Not here. Not like this. Yet, she couldn’t stop herself. She ran.

The corridor seemed to stretch and contract around her, the thorns catching at her dress like grasping fingers. Then, there he was, or something wearing his likeness.

A figure lay slumped on the floor: not flesh, but fabric and straw. A mannequin dressed in Phillip’s hunting clothes, the ones he’d worn that day in the meadow. His “face” was tilted just so, as if asleep.

Aurora fell to her knees beside it. Her hands trembled as she touched the figure’s cheek, cold, hollow, unyielding. She pressed her forehead to its chest, hugging it to her like a widow embracing her grief.

A sigh escaped her, heavy and trembling. When she rose again she began to peer deeper down the hallway, her voice as soft as a lullaby.

“I wonder… I wonder…”

Belle held her own hand tightly, tracing the lines of her palm with trembling fingers, missing the grip Adam had so firmly held.

He had always held on, tight enough to ache, but never to harm. Now, that warmth was gone, vanished into nothingness, and a cold dread settled in her chest. She hoped he was all right, wherever he might be, and forced herself forward, hoping she would eventually find him and the others again.

The dim light returned gradually, faint and pallid, enough to reveal the hall around her. A wide corridor stretched ahead, vast yet utterly empty. It reminded her of home, yet all signs of life were gone. No furniture, no paintings, no windows, no candles, only the hollow echo of her own footsteps. The isolation pressed on her chest like a weight.

After a few more careful steps, she gazed around the hall and almost collided with iron bars. She recoiled, heart pounding, and realized she had entered some kind of prison cell. Behind her, only a wall. The corridor had ceased to exist. She was alone.

Then the voices began. Whispering, laughing, murmuring just beyond the bars:

“We got another one!”

“Classic female hysteria.”

“I’m sorry, Maurice.”

“I tried to save her from her captor, but it was too late—she’d fallen for him!”

“Best we can do is get her the help she needs.”

A sick sensation churned in her stomach as a million cruel voices, none real yet all too vivid, flitted around her mind. She thought she heard Gaston, Monsieur D’Arque… or what they might have sounded like in her memory. It didn’t matter, they weren’t truly there, but it stung just the same. She wished with all her heart for Adam’s presence, for the comfort of his strength and quiet steadiness.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have feelings for him!”

Belle’s frown deepened. The words cut sharper than she expected. She had meant it back then: Gaston was a monster, far more so than Adam had ever been, even as a beast. She swallowed a sob, bitter and bitterly familiar. The voices twisted her devotion into something shameful, suggesting she had been seduced by her captor. It was cruel and false, yet the sting lingered.

She had been his prisoner for no more than a day. After she ran, only to be saved from the wolves, she returned on her own accord, not because he forced her, not out of fear, but because she had made a promise to him, and having owed him her life, she felt it was the least she could do to thank him.

From that moment on, she had never once considered herself captive. Nor had he; if he had, he would have monitored her, constrained her movements. Instead, she wandered freely through the castle, and with each passing day, their lives entwined a little more. She knew, with quiet certainty, that if she asked, he would allow her to leave. She never asked. She could feel his loneliness, even without knowing of the curse, and she had chosen to fill that emptiness, to be there for him, quietly, without claim or question.

Then she remembered his birthday. She had not known it was his birthday, nor that it was the last day for the curse to be broken. It had been one of the happiest days of her life, and she imagined he had felt the same. Then it all came tumbling down as her father laid sick and dying in the snow, and he needed her. She had not begged, barely even requested, yet he let her go. She remembered his words clearly: that she was no longer his prisoner. Yet she had never felt imprisoned, not truly. Perhaps he had said it to ease the weight on his own conscience. By framing her departure as the release of a prisoner, he could pretend it was not intimate, not personal, not even close to love. Belle did not know for certain, for she had never asked, but she felt it, the unspoken anguish tucked beneath his careful words.

But it didn’t matter. Here, now, alone, none of it mattered. The echoes whispered only cruelty: distorted memories, impossible accusations, bitter what-ifs.

“The Beast will make off with your children!”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d married me, Belle.”

Her gaze fell to the floor. A key glinted just beyond the bars. Slowly, deliberately, she reached for it, but as her fingers came close enough to brush against the metal, the key quivered, lifted itself upright, and waddled away, absurd and mocking.

Belle sank to the wall, her back pressed against the cold stone, and let the tears come.

Adam’s heart sank the moment he realized Belle’s hand was gone.

Eric’s grip had vanished too, swallowed by the darkness, or perhaps it was Adam himself who had lost his way. Was Belle searching for him now? It seemed impossible in this suffocating blackness.

He stopped, taking deep, measured breaths, just as Belle had taught him. It had been her suggestion to help him control his temper. He was calmer than he used to be, yes, but sometimes the weight of everything pressed too hard. Yet merely thinking of Belle steadied him, offered a fleeting warmth. And then the thought struck him: she could be lost, all alone, and the weight returned tenfold.

He called out, his voice echoing back, hollow and unfamiliar. Frowning, he pressed onward.

Then, as if by some cruel magic, the hallway blazed to life. A thousand candles lit the space, revealing not a hallway but a room filled with nothing but mirrors. Each reflection held a version of himself, and every version was a beast. His stomach twisted.

Adam’s eyes fell to his hands. Were his nails longer? Sharper? And his hair… was it growing, thickening into the mane he thought he’d shed forever? Panic surged, and he clawed at his arms, at his shirt, at anything, trying to stave off the transformation he feared was inevitable.

The mirrors multiplied the terror. In each one, he was a monster: teeth jagged, claws menacing, eyes wild with rage. The reflection was a mockery, a mirror of his worst fears, and in a surge of helpless fury, he smashed the first mirror to the floor. The crash echoed like a gunshot, adrenaline flooding his veins.

He lashed out at every mirror in turn, shattering each with ferocity, fury, and disgust. Each crack revealed his horror, each shard a reminder of the beast he feared still lingered within. How horrible it was that he was forced to look at himself as he attacked each mirror.

Finally, the last mirror fell, splintering across the floor and revealing behind it not only the exit from the hallway, but Belle, cowered in the corner, eyes wide, terrified.

The sight of her instantly sent him back to himself. He looked down at his hands, at his arms, where there were no claws, no fur. Just him, just like it always had been.

He knelt beside her, breathing heavily, and saw the faint remnants of fear still in her gaze. Shame and guilt washed over him. How could he have allowed her to feel fear of him, ever again? He pressed a trembling hand to hers and her fear subsided.

Ariel felt Eric’s hand slip from hers, vanishing into the darkness, and she reached out desperately. Her fingers met only empty air. She stumbled blindly, heart hammering, disoriented in the pitch-black room.

Then her feet went cold. Something slick and fluid lapped against her toes. She gasped, it was water. Not just a puddle, but a swelling, rising tide that filled the room with alarming speed.

Panic surged. She was human now, lungs incapable of holding underwater. She was a strong swimmer, yes, but this wasn’t the open sea. This was a trap, a room swallowing her whole.

The water climbed to her neck. She clutched at the floor, but the current swept her up, pressing her head against the ceiling. She flailed, her movements frantic, until a faint pull guided her, a current. It had direction. It was a hint, a way forward.

She followed it blindly, swimming through the blackness, lungs screaming for air, until finally her fingers broke the surface. Not a ceiling, not a wall, just open air. Scrambling, she reached out and felt a ledge. With every ounce of strength, she hauled herself onto it, gasping and shivering.

The lights flickered on, weak but steady. She scanned the room, heart still racing. Rounded walls enclosed her in a strange, cramped space. In the centre was a crib, surrounded by scattered toys, soaked and abandoned. A nursery.

Her breath caught. The crib rocked. Slowly, she stepped closer, eyes widening in horror. Inside lay a baby, motionless, skin pale and waterlogged, a deep blue tint to its tiny body.

Ariel staggered back, stomach turning violently, and vomited.

When she lifted her head, Eric was standing there drenched. He looked at her with a small frown, before putting his hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

They stood there for a while before they both felt stable enough to leave.

Mulan felt Aurora’s hand slip from hers and instinctively drew her sword.

It wasn’t that Aurora had been taken, it was as if she had simply dissolved into the air, leaving nothing but emptiness behind. Mulan gripped the hilt so tightly her knuckles ached, stepping carefully into the oppressive darkness. Every footfall echoed unnaturally, bouncing off walls that seemed to shift in the corner of her vision. The hallway stretched longer than it should, impossibly narrow, twisting subtly with each step, as though it were watching her.

At the end of the hall, a single door glimmered dimly under a flickering candle. She approached cautiously, heart hammering. When she pushed it open, she found a room lined with suits of armour.

The first suit was Yao’s, crimson cloth marred with dents and scuffs. Yet as Mulan stared, the armour seemed to twitch slightly, as if remembering blows it had never taken. “YAO – HERO OF CHINA,” the plaque read beneath it read, and she stepped to the next display case.

Chien Po’s armour was pristine and larger than all the rest. His plaque declared: “CHIEN PO – HERO OF CHINA.” She’d always seen him as a Gentle Giant. He only fought when he had to, and when he did, victory came swiftly.

Ling’s set was yellow and filthy, the stains darkened and shifting like they were alive, oozing slowly down the metal. “LING – HERO OF CHINA.”

Then she froze. Shang’s armour loomed above her, larger than life, his red cape shifting unnaturally in a non-existent wind. Scars and dents appeared to crawl across the steel, shifting like memories too painful to bear. “LI SHANG – HERO OF CHINA.” Her chest tightened, and for a moment she could feel his presence, the warmth of his strength and it felt like it was slipping through her fingers.

But it was the final display that shattered her. It wasn’t armour at all. A red hanfu, embroidered with dragons, the mannequin’s head adorned with a fengguan, seemed to stare back at her. Wedding attire. The plaque, glowing faintly, read: “LOVING WIFE AND MOTHER.” The dragons appeared to writhe in the candlelight, twisting toward her like they were alive. Her stomach churned.

Rage, anguish, and despair surged through her. She swung her sword, and the fabric tore with only minimal resistance. Threads unravelled, dragons twisting into grotesque shapes before collapsing to the floor. The fury spilled over, and she lashed out at every suit of armour. Yao’s, Chien Po’s, Ling’s, Shang’s, all shattered into jagged shards and broken memories. The room moaned as the pieces fell, as though the walls themselves were crying with her.

Mulan stood in the wreckage, trembling, her chest tight and her sword slick with dust and silk threads. She glanced at the remnants of Shang’s armour, now a mangled heap, and felt her throat constrict.

“I’m sorry, Shang… I don’t want to get married,” she whispered, her voice small against the oppressive silence.

The shadows seemed to lean closer, curling around her, as if they were listening, judging.

Without looking back, she turned toward the exit and left, leaving the shattered room behind.

Mulan passed a banner in haste, not even bothering to glance at it. It read:

Honour to the family, dishonour to the self.

All at once, they stepped through the door, and found themselves standing side by side, though the hall they had just crossed felt impossibly distant, as if it had never existed at all.

Aurora’s eyes swept over the group, searching for any sign that they had seen what she had. A shared unease clung to them like a shadow. Each avoided her gaze. Ariel’s skin was pale, almost translucent, and she clutched her arms as if to hold herself together. Belle’s hand hovered near Adam’s, but he kept a deliberate distance, a subtle tension Aurora had never imagined possible.

No one spoke. The silence stretched between them like a living thing, each of them taking a moment to catch their breath, to process what they had seen, what they had felt.

Maleficent watched her unwilling players pause to gather themselves, and a slow, serpentine smile curved her lips.

How delightful it was to let mortals do her work for her. Every illusion, every cruel whisper that clawed at their hearts, none of it required her hand. The dream itself did the heavy lifting, drawing on their fears, weaving torment from memory. She merely watched, amused, as their minds betrayed them.

Hades’ flame-tipped finger traced lazily down her arm, leaving a shimmer of heat in its wake. She stilled, her amusement thinning into a glare.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“Just checking,” he said, voice smooth as smoke. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“Of course,” Maleficent purred, turning back to the mirror. “Sweet, foolish Aurora, trapped in her own guilt, reliving her prince’s sacrifice. She suffers because she cannot save him. It’s poetic, really. My kind of poetry.”

“Y’know,” Hades murmured, lips curling, “You burn everything you touch.”

“The fiery pits of Hell make excellent kindling for magic,” she replied with a smirk.

“Believe me, I’ve noticed,” he said. “Good thing I’m hot-headed.” He winked, and before she could retort, he gestured toward the mirror, where Belle and Adam now stood, mid-argument, voices distorted by the dream’s haze.

From the shadows beyond, within a conjured orb slick as oil, two other sets of eyes watched. Ursula’s claws tapped against the glass, her grin widening as Hades leaned his head against Maleficent’s shoulder, and she did not protest.

Jafar folded his arms beside her, a smile cutting across his face like a blade.

“They’re distracted,” he said.

The sea witch’s grin deepened. “Then it’s time,” she breathed.

And in the reflection’s gleam, the orb went dark.

Chapter Text

Belle caught Adam by the wrist and pulled him aside, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“Are you alright?” she asked at last, though her voice sounded fragile, as though afraid of the answer.

“I swore I’d never frighten you again,” Adam said through his teeth. “Yet I see it, the fear in your eyes. That will haunt me longer than any curse.”

Belle hesitated, studying his trembling hands. “Then I must’ve frightened you too. I’m not afraid of you, Adam. I’m afraid I’ll lose you… to yourself.”

Adam looked away. “Every time I see myself, I see claws. Every time you see me, you find hands that can hold you. I wish I had your eyes.” His voice broke slightly. “If I… if I turn back into the beast, you must promise you’ll run. Don’t try to save me.”

“The Enchantress is gone,” Belle said quickly. “You’ll never become a beast again.”

“I wish that were true,” he murmured, his voice shaky. “But please, for the sake of my heart, don’t waste yours once I’m gone.”

Belle didn’t reply. Instead, she pressed her forehead to his chest, listening to the unsteady rhythm of his heart.

Across the room, Eric bent to pick up a scrap of paper lying in a puddle. The ink had bled, but the words still read:

The castle changes when I turn around. The halls move to avoid me. I think it’s ashamed of me.

He folded it and slipped it into his pocket, not daring to ask who wrote it.

Ariel was watching him. When their eyes met, he looked away, but she took his hand anyway.
“Eric,” she whispered, her voice so soft that only he could hear, “Do you think we’re ready to have a child?”

He froze. They had spoken of it before, but now with the weight of the dream pressing on them, it felt harder to talk about then before. It was supposed to be a joy, a symbol of peace between sea and land, but now, even that felt political, monstrous even. As though their love had been turned into a treaty.

He saw her eyes glisten. “I think,” he began carefully, “That you’d make an extraordinary mother.”

“And you,” Ariel said with a trembling smile, “Would make an extraordinary father.”

He reached up to brush her hair from her face. “Then maybe… if it’s what we truly want, we shouldn’t let the world take it from us. Whatever this place is, whatever it wants, we can still hold on to that.”

She smiled, radiant for the first time in what felt like hours. “Oh, Eric.”

He held her tightly, and for a brief, impossible moment, the nightmare felt almost kind.

The group gathered again in the centre of the room, quieter, steadier. In Ariel and Eric’s faces, there was a fragile sort of peace.

“This door looks different,” Mulan said, stepping forward. The great archway before them was carved with roses and thorns, its lock shaped like a heart.

“How do we open it?” Adam asked.

Aurora studied the keyhole for a moment, then placed her hand over her heart. One by one, Belle, Adam, Ariel, Eric, and finally Mulan, followed. The lock shimmered faintly, then dissolved into light, leaving only the echo of their joined hearts.

Six hearts, all stronger together, and anything was possible in a dream.

They shared a look. Fear. Dread. Hope. Then they all stepped through.

Maleficent tapped her sceptre against the stone floor, the sound echoing like a heartbeat through the void.

“You seem to like having him around,” Hades drawled, gesturing lazily toward the mirror.

“Yes,” Maleficent purred. “I think I’ll keep him. Even if they manage to reach him, every breath he takes in that dream feeds me. Every moment he sleeps, I grow stronger.” She tilted her head, lips curling. “I’ll drink from his soul until Aurora finds him… that is, if she finds him.”

Hades arched an eyebrow. “So how deep did you stash him in there?”

“Oh, not far at all,” she replied with a smirk. “He’s closer than she thinks, but the trick isn’t where he is, it’s whether she’ll recognize him when she does.”

Hades let out a low whistle. “You know, for someone who hates romance, you sure put a lot of effort into staging one. Word of advice: don’t underestimate the true love thing. It’s a real pain. Trust me. Still got scorch marks from my last run-in with it.” He rubbed his temple, muttering something about whirlpools and family drama.

Maleficent’s laughter was like silk catching fire. “If she does find him, the real him then I’ll grant you your little ‘I told you so.’ But she won’t. True love or not, she’s too fragile for this. She’s not a hero, she’s just a fragile little damsel.”

She leaned toward the mirror, her reflection rippling into shadow.

“And that’s all she ever will be.”

It was a throne room.

Strikingly similar to her own with two thrones side by side, banners drooping from the vaulted ceiling like weary ghosts. A banquet table stood off to the side, still steaming with untouched food, goblets full of dark wine. She could almost hear her father’s drunken laughter and singing echoing faintly.

Skumps!

The sound shimmered in her head like an echo from another life.

But what truly caught her breath was the figure seated upon the throne. Her throne.

Phillip.

He looked younger, practically identical to the first day they had met. Still, it was him. The sight of him rooted her where she stood, her expression still and hollow before emotion finally broke through. She rushed toward him, calling his name.

He sat slumped in his chair, asleep but peaceful, more so than the last time she saw him. The fear that had shadowed his face before was gone. She reached out to touch his cheek, to feel the warmth of him—

A deep rumble tore through the chamber. Behind her, the floor split open. Vines and thorns burst through the cobblestone, wrapping around her companions. Aurora screamed as she saw Mulan drop her sword before vanishing into the dark earth.

“This isn’t supposed to happen,” she whispered, trembling. “Please, wake up…”

Before she could even lean down to kiss him, his eyes snapped open.

“Aurora?” he gasped, blinking rapidly.

“Yes! Yes, I’m here,” she said, tears stinging her eyes.

“Why are you here?” His tone was sharp, more confusion than joy, more bitterness than relief.

“I came to save you,” she breathed. “Just as you once saved me.”

Phillip frowned. “I heard you. Every time you spoke to me, I could feel myself waking up, your voice was like a hand pulling me through the dark. But then you stopped. You vanished.”

“I didn’t vanish,” she said, desperate. “I came here. I came to bring you back.”

Phillip’s face twisted. He began to weep, shaking his head.

“Then you’re a fool. Maleficent’s hold on me is too strong. Leave while you still can.”

“Don’t say that! I can still save you!”

“You can’t even save your friends,” he snapped, pointing to the holes where the others had disappeared.

Aurora’s voice broke. “You’re not…”

But then, a low laugh, distant and cruel, echoed around her. Someone was watching. Someone was enjoying this.

Aurora’s heart steadied. She looked at the man before her, at the flicker of something wrong behind his eyes, and she understood.

“No,” she whispered, her tone soft but certain. “You’re not him.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he spat.

“You’re not the real Phillip,” she said again, this time with a smile, faint but radiant, the kind that comes from unshaken belief. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. “I will find you, Phillip. Wherever you are.”

The false prince trembled. His voice changed, deepened, split with fury.

“You dare?”

He shoved her away. She fell hard to the ground as he drew his sword. In its reflection, she saw herself. Not the weary traveller she’d become, but how she appeared in reality. Older, and with puffy eyes from crying. She could’ve sworn she saw one of Adam’s servants in the reflection as well.

Phillip’s hand shook. He looked at his own reflection in the blade, saw something only he could see, and his breath hitched.

“I can’t…” he muttered. Then, with a cry, he turned the sword inward and drove it into his heart.

Aurora lunged forward, too late to stop him. The figure collapsed, dissolving into black ink that bled across the floor until only the sword remained.

She stood in the silence that followed. Then, slowly, she picked up the weapon and studied her reflection in its gleaming surface.

“I wonder… I wonder…”

She sang softly, the words trembling out of her like a prayer. The air shimmered, and her dress shifted, conjuring a sheath from the dream itself. The one mercy of being trapped in a dream with no rules was that she could bend reality too. Not as effortlessly as Maleficent, but enough to keep herself from breaking.

Turning back toward the room, she expected to see ruin, and would gaze down the holes looking for any sign of her friends, but instead everything was whole again. Untouched. Silent.

As for where her friends had gone, she didn’t know, but she had no doubt the dream would lead her to them soon enough.

Elsewhere, a weary maître d’ and a trembling housekeeper sat among a room of sleeping men and women, praying they would soon wake.

Somewhere else, three tender and motherly fairies took care of a sleeping prince, who stirred and trembled in his sleep.

And far beyond that quiet room—in a place no words could truly describe—a sea witch and an all-powerful genie prepared to return.

Chapter Text

Maleficent stared at the mirror, ready to smash it to pieces at any second.

“Was that part of your plan?” Hades drawled, watching as Aurora’s gown reshaped itself to include a sheath for her new sword.

“Not quite,” Maleficent sighed, tapping her sceptre. “But she still hasn’t found her prince, has she?”

“Oh, she will,” Hades said with a shrug. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“You dare mock me?” Maleficent snapped, her voice rising. “I let you linger here, and this is how you repay me? I should burn you alive!”

Hades raised a finger, flames flickering along his hairline. “I’m not being rude, just realistic. Aurora’s not leaving until she finds lover boy, and now that she’s figured out she can bend the dream to her will, she’s got an advantage.”

“She still needs to find him first,” Maleficent hissed. “And her little friends.”

Hades smirked. “Yeah that doesn’t seem to bother her.”

Aurora stepped through a small door off to the side of the throne room, emerging into a place that felt both impossibly vast and eerily unreal.

The courtyard she had known before was nowhere in sight. Instead, she faced the entrance to an immense labyrinth that stretched endlessly in every direction, its walls a shifting mosaic of stone and shadow. Twisting pink clouds churned above, casting strange light that made the pathways shimmer like a living thing. In the distance, she caught a glimpse of the drawbridge from before, faintly outlined beyond a high brick wall. She wondered, briefly, whether it had ever been a true exit at all, or if this labyrinth had always been the true test. Yet there was no time for speculation, she had only one path forward. With a deep, steadying breath, she tapped the sword at her side and smiled, feeling the familiar warmth of determination settle in her chest as she stepped into the maze.

The corridors of the labyrinth stretched on endlessly, winding and folding back in impossible angles, yet Aurora moved with purpose. She thought of her friends—Mulan, Ariel, Eric, Belle, and Adam—and drew strength from them. Mulan, the fearless warrior who had defended her country with nothing but courage and skill, had still recognized the need for allies. Aurora reminded herself that bravery did not mean solitude; it meant knowing when to accept help.

Her mind drifted to Ariel, whose love had reshaped her life completely. The mermaid had abandoned the ocean’s freedom to embrace the uncertain life of the land, all for the one she loved. Aurora recognized the same courage in herself, she had sacrificed her freedom to protect what she valued most, and she would not regret it.

Turning a jagged corner, Aurora froze. A dark creature, formed entirely of shifting shadows, skittered across the path ahead. Its limbs moved in unnatural, almost insect-like patterns. She recalled Adam and Belle. Adam, once a beast of primal rage, had earned redemption through love, patience, and restraint. The creature before her mirrored that primality, yet it was heartless. With a precise swing, Aurora’s sword met the shadow, and she moved fluidly, blocking and striking as the monster lunged. The creature dissolved into inky mist, leaving only the echo of its anger behind.

As she advanced, a song rose within her, tentative at first, yet strangely familiar. A sirens call. A voice joined hers, harmonizing in a way that made the walls of the labyrinth feel less oppressive. She turned a corner to find Ariel perched atop a rock in a shallow pool, her teal-green tail shimmering in the surreal light. Aurora smiled knowingly.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Ariel said.

“I knew you were a mermaid,” Aurora replied, stepping closer.

“How? Did Eric tell you?”

“No,” Aurora said with a small grin. “I sensed it. Perhaps your stained glass window gave me a hint.”

Aurora helped Ariel to the ground, her tail shifting into legs, her seashell top transforming into a flowing gown. The two joined hands and continued deeper into the labyrinth. Aurora felt a song swell from her chest, one she hadn’t learned but seemed to know by instinct, and sang, while Ariel looked at her in surprise.

“There’s mermaids out there in the bottomless blue

And it’s hey to the starboard, heave-ho

Watch out for them or you’ll go out into your ruin
In mysterious fathoms below…”

A voice harmonized, low and melodic, telling them they were close.

“Fathoms below… Below…”

Soon they found Eric, blindfolded but calm, tethered to an anchor in the sand. Ariel rushed forward, untangling him, and he nuzzled her hair with a quiet, grateful smile.

“I knew you’d find me.” He smiled, and after embracing for just a little while longer, he reached into his pocket and handed a note to Aurora. A christening invitation addressed to Maleficent.

“I’ve been collecting random notes I’ve found around this place. This one seemed important.” Eric smiled.

“I’m sure it is.” Aurora replied, tucking the note in her pocket.

The labyrinth continued to twist, but together they moved forward, weaving through dead ends and thorned walls, breaking down blockades with the enchanted sword. Aurora’s voice rose again in song, and both Eric and Ariel joined her, their harmony filling the shifting corridors:

“Who is that girl I see
Staring straight back at me?
Why is my reflection someone I don’t know?”

A rustle of leaves and a faint voice replied from deeper within the maze, harmonizing with their song and continuing on without them.

“I won’t pretend that I’m

Someone else for all time

When will my reflection show who I am inside?”

Step by step, they drew closer to Mulan, now fully armoured and resolute.

“Are you alright?” Aurora asked, seeing Mulan was not trapped like Eric or Ariel were. At least not in the same way.

“I believe so.” Mulan said. She then noticed Aurora’s sword and gazed down at her own to notice hers was missing. Aurora smiled and handed hers to Mulan, who accepted it graciously.

Only two remained: Belle and Adam. Aurora’s heart ached at the thought of Adam’s suffering, and she quickened her pace. Soon, Belle’s voice rang through the corridor, without Aurora even needing to encourage it.

“Bitter-sweet and strange

Finding you can change

Learning you were wrong…”

Aurora began to smile, and her voice merged seamlessly with Belle’s as the others joined in as well. All hearts combined, singing with one another.

“Certain as the sun

Rising in the east

Tale as old as time

Song as old as rhyme…”

When Aurora finally saw her, Belle’s yellow gown gleamed with relief and resilience, her smile hesitant but genuine.

“Are you okay?” Mulan asked.

“Yes,” Belle said softly. “I was tied up with thorns and vines, but they let me go, and put me in this dress…”

Panic flooded the group for only a moment as they began to inspect her body for cuts and bruises.

“I’m fine, really.” Belle said, as she hurried them to go look for Adam.

The group pressed on, weaving through the twisting corridors until a new, discordant song rose ahead, filled with the chaotic energy of a mob approaching. It was not Adam singing, nor was it a song he would’ve liked to be hearing.

“Sally forth! Tally ho!

Grab your sword!

Grab your bow!

Praise the lord and here we go!”

Their concern mounted as the volume grew,, as if the mob was right there waiting for them.

Belle began to grip onto Mulan’s arm for comfort, clearly distressed.

“We don’t like what we don’t understand

In fact it scares us

And this monster is mysterious at least.”

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Aurora rounded the corner, and froze. There, on the cold, uneven ground, was Adam, hunched over and writhing frantically, his face twisted in anguish.

“Oh my god, Adam!” Belle cried, rushing forward.

“Get them off me!” he screamed, thrashing as thorns and vines seemed to coil around him, digging into his skin.

“Calm down, please!” Belle insisted, her voice breaking with fear and frustration.

“Can’t! Thorns… all over me!” he growled, tearing at his already shredded shirt in desperation.

“But there’s nothing there!” Belle shouted, leaping forward. The moment her hands touched him, the vines vanished, dissolving as if they had never existed. Adam’s struggles slowed; his ragged breaths began to even out. He ran a hand through Belle’s hair, grounding himself in her presence.

“I… I’m sorry I scared you,” he murmured, voice hoarse. Belle’s relief softened into a warm, reassuring smile.

“It’s alright,” she whispered back. “I believe we’ve made it to the end.”

Aurora’s gaze lifted toward the centre of the labyrinth. Looming above them, bathed in a strange, surreal light, stood a large, unmistakable tower. Every shadow, every line of stone called to her. If Phillip was anywhere within this dream, he would be there.

After a brief, comforting embrace shared between the group, they took their first deliberate steps toward the tower. The air around them vibrated with tension, the dreamscape pulsing and shifting unnaturally.

Just as they neared its looming walls, a thunderous, otherworldly roar shook the ground beneath their feet, a presence larger than life had suddenly erupted into the dream, warping reality itself. The maze trembled, and the heroes paused, hearts hammering in confusion and fear.

Gazing up, Ariel and Eric froze, their hearts clenching with a fear that felt older than memory. The figure before them radiated malice so pure, so tangible, that it made the very air around them tremble. Logic screamed that she should have been long gone, but instinct told them otherwise. This was no trick of the dream, no illusion. This was real. She loomed over them with a dastardly grin and winked.

“The nightmare’s come to claim you, your hope’s been torn apart!
Every dream you cling to shatters, every piece steals your heart!
Your doom has come, my wicked partner plays his roles!
Surrender before the darkness, you-

Poor!

Unfortunate!

Souls!”

Chapter Text

The group froze in collective terror, their eyes fixed upon the colossal sea witch rising from the dream’s depths.

Her form towered above them, tendrils twisting like a storm made flesh. Beside her stood the djinn, fire and shadow incarnate, his smirk curling with godlike cruelty.

This was no longer a nightmare.

This was intrusion.

This was real.

“That’s— that’s Ursula! The Sea Witch!” Ariel gasped, her voice trembling as she pointed up at the monstrous figure.

Adam’s jaw clenched. “And who in God’s name is that?” he demanded, staring at the towering genie beside her.

“What? Never had a friend like me?” the djinn bellowed, clapping his hands with cosmic thunder. The dream convulsed. Colours screamed. Towers melted into kaleidoscopic ruin as the world folded in upon itself, a feverish carnival of impossible light.

The tower that held Phillip sunk, swallowed whole by the undulating landscape. Aurora fell to her knees, clutching her head as fireworks and starlight blurred into a spinning, choking madness.

“Once I take your precious prince’s soul,” Ursula shrieked, “I’ll claim the rest of you! And not even the Mistress of Evil can stop me!”

Her body rippled, her titanic silhouette shrinking into something more human, but no less horrifying. With a flick of her hand, she summoned a raging ocean from the void, and its waters crashed down upon them.

“Belle!” Adam shouted as Ursula’s conjured whirlpool seized her, dragging her under.

“Yes! Yes!” Ursula laughed, the sound bubbling with malice. “See how easily she drowns? See how quickly you’ll lose her! That temper of yours can’t save anybody now!”

Adam’s hands trembled, claws threatening to emerge. For a moment, he almost let them. Almost surrendered himself back into a beast. A steady hand touched his shoulder. Mulan’s. Her sword gleamed as she stepped forward.

“He’s not alone!” she cried.

Her blade met Ursula’s magic with a crash of light. Behind them, Adam plunged into the water, pulling Belle free, both gasping for air. Together, the three regrouped, wounded but unbroken, and Adam leapt in front of the two girls, ready to defend them from anything that came their way.

Then the dream shook.

A voice, vast and thunderous, rolled across the sky.

“YOU DARE?!”

The clouds ignited green. Flames licked the heavens and through that immense fire, Maleficent descended, her eyes furious, her beauty terrible.

“You dare invade my sanctuary of dreams?” She thundered. “Begone, before I unleash the powers of Hell upon you!”

“Oh, Maleficent,” Ursula crooned mockingly, “Finally come to join in, have you? I’m not leaving until I’ve claimed every last soul in this waking grave!”

“And you!” Maleficent snarled, turning to the djinn. “Jafar! You miserable coward of the sands! Leave this place before I turn your infernal lamp to dust!”

Jafar’s laughter echoed, crystalline and cruel. “Why should I, dear fae? You hoard the purest souls! Why not leave some for the rest of us?”

“Because they are mine,” Maleficent hissed. “I got them first.”

While the gods bickered, Aurora stood apart, trembling, unsure. She felt so small against the cosmos. Around her, the others tended to one another, gathering what courage they could. Ariel and Eric huddled together, wide-eyed, broken. Seeing them, once fearless, now so fragile, alarmed Aurora.

She reached into her pocket. The invitation was still there. Creased, faded, a relic of misunderstanding. Addressed to Maleficent.

For the first time, Aurora wondered what it meant to be forgotten. To have once been promised kindness, only to be denied it. Whether or not this note was even real was another thing entirely.

Without thinking, she began to climb the fractured stairs, her heart pounding as each step dissolved beneath her feet.

“Maleficent!” she cried.

The fae turned, her face flickering between rage and astonishment. She held up a clawed hand to silence Ursula and Jafar — “One moment” — before gliding down to the trembling girl below.

“What could you possibly want, child?” Maleficent sneered. “I’ve already promised your death. Must you waste my patience before I deliver it?”

Aurora’s voice was unsteady. “Why do all this? Why drag us through this dream, only to kill us? Why not end it back at the coronation?”

Maleficent’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Because I prefer the slow unravelling. Despair is far sweeter when it ripens.”

She leaned close, her breath cold as smoke. “And your prince will stay mine. His dreams will feed me for eternity.”

Maleficent turned to leave but Aurora’s hand shot out, grasping her wrist. Maleficent froze, startled and dumbfounded.

From behind Maleficent’s silhouette, Aurora watched as Ursula clashed with Ariel and Eric, and Jafar shrank to his mortal form, his laughter echoing as he twisted the world around them into further ruin.

“I’m sorry,” Aurora finally whispered. “For the invitation you never got. For the kindness no one gave you.”

Maleficent’s eyes widened. “You think this is about a party?” She gave a strangled laugh, part fury, part grief. “They did invite me, you silly girl! It was those simpering fairies who destroyed the letter. Your mother sought peace, but those hags were afraid.”

Her expression faltered, softening for just a moment. “I came anyway and when I wasn’t welcomed, I cursed you. It’s funny. They didn’t invite me because they thought I might do something. I guess they were right.”

Aurora swallowed hard. “Then I forgive you.”

Maleficent blinked and then grinned. “You are either braver than your parents ever were... or far more foolish.”

“Maybe both,” Aurora said quietly. “But I don’t hate you. You’re not evil, just... unhappy.”

Maleficent reared back, her pride cracking. “You dare to pity me? I am the Mistress of All Evil!”

Her staff flared, but before she could strike, a cool blue glow shimmered beside her.

“Well,” a voice drawled, “If this isn’t the most awkward therapy session I’ve seen in a millennium.”

Hades materialized, flames dancing lazily from his hair. He met Aurora’s confused gaze and then smirked. “Hey. Hades, God of the Underworld, what can I do for ya?”

He then turned back towards Maleficent. “Hey... If you burn down the dream, what’s left for dessert?”

“Stay out of this, godling!” she spat.

He smirked. “Can’t. I like you too much when you’re mad.” Then, quieter, “And I think you’ve punished them, and yourself long enough.”

She hesitated.

“Why shield them?” she demanded.

“Because it’s not their time,” Hades said simply. “And maybe... it’s not yours, either.”

Maleficent stared at him. She turned to Aurora, who watched her with that maddening, human kindness.

Finally, she exhaled, lowering her staff. “Live or die, it’s no concern of mine.”

But her voice cracked.

“Do whatever you wish,” she finished softly.

Hades offered his hand. For a long moment, she stared at it.

Then took it. Together they vanished in a shimmer of green and blue fire.

When the light faded, Aurora stood alone. The ruins of the dream were quiet.

Then, down the labyrinth, blue torches flickered to life, guiding her onward.

Aurora looked up. “Thank you.”

Many years ago, in a far and fortunate kingdom, there reigned a King and Queen unlike most others.

Their rule was not marked by fear or greed, but by a curious sort of respect, even for the magical and the strange. They treated the fairies, the gnomes, the woodland spirits, with courtesy and chivalry, and so their kingdom prospered in peace.

Among these magical beings lived a fae named Maleficent. She was a troublesome sort, sharp of tongue, sharper of mind, and utterly incapable of leaving well enough alone. She delighted in mischief, though never in murder. Her tricks were cruel, but not lethal; unkind, yet never unforgivable. She might rot a baker’s best loaf, wilt a florist’s most prized bouquet, or trip a merchant in the street from three miles away, all for her own amusement.

No one quite knew why she did such things. Perhaps boredom, perhaps vanity, or perhaps it was simply easier to be feared than forgotten. Whatever her reasons, the people called her a foul creature, and she wore the title like a crown.

Of all those she tormented, none suffered her teasing more than Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather, three sisterly fairies of insufferable cheer. Maleficent adored mocking their goodness. They, in turn, pitied her. It was an arrangement that satisfied no one.

Eventually, Queen Leah requested a private audience with the infamous fae. Out of a strange sense of curiosity, or perhaps pride, Maleficent accepted. She arrived at the palace expecting a reprimand, but the Queen surprised her. Leah spoke not as a monarch, but as a woman, calm, earnest, and without condescension. Over wine and laughter, with a drunken minstrel playing nearby, they discussed a truce.

It was then that Maleficent noticed what others might have missed: the Queen was with child. Something softened in her, briefly. Leah’s kindness intrigued her. When the Queen promised they would continue their conversation after the birth, at the child’s christening, Maleficent found herself almost looking forward to it. For once, she thought, she might perform a good deed.

When the princess Aurora was born, the kingdom rejoiced. The christening was to be the grandest affair of the year, an event for royalty, nobility, and the gentry alike. Surely she would be invited. After all, the Queen herself had said as much.

But the invitation never came.

Her raven brought the news: the ceremony had already begun, and every guest, including those three do-gooders, was in attendance. None had thought to summon her. Rage unlike any she had ever known filled her chest. She appeared in the castle hall in a flash of green flame.

She did not come to curse, not at first. She came to demand an apology for this disrespect.

Her presence stilled the room. The King and Queen flinched, yet seemed ready to make amends. To rise and bow and beg forgiveness, as any sane person would do. Yet before they could speak, Merryweather, ever bold in her blue, declared that Maleficent was unwelcome.

“Not wel-" Maleficent murmured, her voice trembling with mocking false pity. “Oh. What an awkward situation indeed.”

She had once considered bringing a gift… Power, perhaps. Beauty and song were useless rewards, already promised by the other fairies. But power? That would have been something worthy. A child who could rule her own fate, without the need for a man’s crown beside hers.

But insult breeds impulse and in that moment she cursed the infant princess instead.

Years later, when she confronted the King and Queen again, they confessed their truth. She had been invited. It was Merryweather, in her petty self-righteousness, who had destroyed the invitation.

Too late for apologies. Too late for redemption. The story had already been written, and Maleficent, however unwillingly, had become its villain.

So she embraced the role. She cursed, she schemed, she laughed, and though the years turned cold and long, one vow she never broke:
When Princess Aurora pricked her finger and fell into sleep, Maleficent herself would be there to watch.

Chapter Text

The dream itself seemed to exhale, a trembling calm settling over the shifting landscape now that Maleficent and her influence was gone.

Yet the reprieve was fragile. The battle was far from over, and two nightmares still remained.

Jafar had descended upon Adam, Mulan, and Belle, while Ursula, already bored of them, had turned her cruel attention toward her true prey: Ariel and Eric.

Mulan stood firm, her armour glinting beneath the dream’s eerie light, sword poised and ready. Adam fought beside her, tension in every breath. Though his instincts screamed for him to give in, to summon the beast once more, he refused. He had made that mistake before. To lose control now might mean losing himself forever.

Jafar’s grin split his face like a scar. “What’s wrong, prince?” he taunted. “Didn’t you used to be something stronger? Something fiercer? I could help you with that.”

Adam’s jaw clenched. He moved Belle behind him, his broad shoulders shielding her from the djinn’s gaze.

“No matter,” Jafar hissed, and with a wave of his hand, shadows spilled forth, a swarm of twisted creatures, all shadows and void, charging toward them.

Mulan was first to strike. Her blade flashed like lightning as she cut through the horde, each swing precise and fearless. Adam stayed close, protecting her flank, eyes flicking constantly toward Belle. To defend her, and not to go on the offensive seemed the best option.

“How noble,” Jafar sneered, his laughter echoing through the dreamscape. “How dull. Protect them all, beast! Let’s see how far that gets you!”

“Don’t listen to him!” Belle shouted.

From where she’d fallen, she watched them fight, Mulan’s movements sharp and measured, Adam’s growing wilder with every swing. His strikes became heavier, more desperate, and for a fleeting moment she saw the same raw ferocity from long ago—when the Beast had saved her from the wolves.

Jafar’s voice rose, hungry and triumphant. “Yes! There it is! Watch yourself vanish into nothing!”

Panic surged in Belle’s chest. She scrambled to her knees, eyes darting for anything she could use, and found a jagged rock near her feet. Without thinking, she hurled it with all her strength.

The stone struck Jafar squarely on the temple. His head snapped back, and his concentration shattered. The tide of creatures dissolved into dust.

“You dare!?” Jafar roared, fury distorting his form as his body expanded, his skin glowing red-hot. The air rippled with heat. “If you won’t become the beast willingly, then I’ll just have to make you!”

He raised one clawed hand, energy crackling at his fingertips.

But before the spell could strike, Mulan leapt forward, blade flashing in an arc of silver. Her sword caught the bolt mid-air, scattering its magic like shards of light.

“You thought you’d seen the last of me?!” Ursula’s voice boomed, dripping with fury as she rose from the churning waters, her clawed hands aimed directly at the terrified couple.

“Even if you strike me down,” she snarled, her tentacles curling and snapping in the surf, “I will return! Again and again, through storm and shadow. Your bloodline will never know peace!”

Ariel’s eyes darted to the ground, searching desperately for anything to use. A sharp stone glimmered within reach, but before she could grasp it, the floor beneath them began to tremble.

Lightning split the sky. Thunder rolled like a growl.

“And to think,” Ursula hissed, her voice deep and trembling with spite, “I gave you your happy ending, and this is my reward?!”

With a roar of fury, a massive tide erupted from the ground, rising like a living wall and crashing over the battlefield. The wave seized the pair and dragged them under into its swirling depths.

Ariel gasped, realizing her legs were gone as her shimmering tail had returned. For a heartbeat, it almost felt like home… until she saw Eric, thrashing helplessly in the strong current. The water around him churned, his air running out, his eyes wide in panic.

“I will drown your love!” Ursula’s voice echoed through the water, monstrous and echoing, “Your hope, and every breath you dare steal! For every moment with him is a moment you’ve stolen from me!”

Ariel’s mind raced. Somewhere in the haze, she remembered Aurora’s song, the melody that had guided them through the labyrinth and helped find everybody.

So she began to sing.

Softly at first, her voice rose like light through the water, clear, pure, defiant. A siren’s song, beautiful and deadly.

“Sing all you like, darling!” Ursula sneered, circling them like a shark. “Your voice will be his requiem!”

But Ariel kept singing. Her heart glowed with faint golden light, and she saw it. Eric’s body, shimmered in response to her song. She darted forward, cradling his face in her hands.

“Breathe,” she whispered. “Let my song carry you.”

Her lips met his. A flash of light burst between them, and Eric gasped awake, breathing underwater. Not a merman, but alive.

Before they could flee, Ursula’s form descended into the depths, monstrous and immense, her fury darkening the sea itself.

“Ursula, stop!” Eric shouted, his voice echoing like thunder underwater. “It’s over!”

“It’s never over!” she roared, her eyes burning with a wild insanity. “I will haunt you and your children, your father, your sisters! Your entire kingdom will suffer for what you did to me!”

Her claws rose, black magic gathering at her fingertips.

Ariel shoved Eric aside, her mind flashing with sudden, perfect clarity.

This was a dream. A nightmare, yes, but still a dream, and anything could happen in a dream.

Her lips curved into a knowing smile.

From behind her back, she drew forth Triton’s trident, its golden light cutting through the dark waters like dawn.

Ursula froze, eyes widening. “Where—where did you get that?!”

Ariel said nothing, and seized the opportunity of Ursula being dumbfounded and distracted. Together, Ariel and Eric lifted the trident, and hurled it straight through Ursula’s chest.

The sea witch went still. The weapon pulsed once, twice, before turning to glittering sea foam. Ursula’s expression flickered from rage to disbelief.

“That really is… the trident…” she murmured weakly. Then her body broke apart into foam, vanishing into the current.

The storm calmed. The water began to drain away, leaving only shallow puddles rippling across the battlefield. As the sea receded, Ariel’s tail shimmered and split into legs once more, her dress reforming in waves of blue and teal.

She clung to Eric, trembling, alive.

Then something brushed her leg. She looked down. An obsidian lamp lay half-buried in the puddles, crusted with barnacles and algae.

Her eyes widened. Eric’s did too.

They turned toward the distance, where Mulan stood before the others, blade raised against a colossal and furious genie, as she deflected a surge of energy away from Belle and Adam.

“Belle!”

Belle turned. So did Adam and Mulan. They froze as Ariel emerged from the fading mist, clutching something dark and gleaming in her hands.

A lamp.

A cold understanding rippled through Belle like lightning.

Jafar, a djinn. Ursula, his master. Of course. He had never been freed. She must have saved her final wish for this very reason. To keep him bound, powerful, obedient. And now, with Ursula gone…

He was nobody’s master but his own.

“Catch!” Ariel cried, tossing the lamp through the air. Belle caught it instinctively, feeling the weight of it pulse in her palms like a living heart.

For a moment, no one spoke and Jafar began to wind up another attack. Then, without hesitation, Belle rubbed the lamp.

The battlefield went still. The swirling magic froze mid-air and Jafar smirked, arms folded, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

He leaned in close, voice low and mocking. “Before you waste a wish, allow me to save you the trouble. I cannot wake Phillip, nor can I free you from this dream.”

“That’s alright,” Belle murmured, lowering her eyes.

Jafar tilted his head. “Three wishes, my dear. No more, no less.” His tone was softer now, almost polite. Too polite. That was how Jafar worked. Manipulative and charming. Had this been how he’d worked out a deal with Ursula?

“Three wishes,” Belle repeated, glancing at Adam and Mulan. “And anything I ask, you’ll grant?”

“To a reasonable degree,” Jafar said with a languid shrug. “I can’t raise the dead, no extra wishes and no ending this dream.”

“We don’t want any of your tricks!” Mulan barked, stepping forward, sword raised.

Jafar sneered. “Why fight me, when you could make me your saviour? How very noble. How very stupid.”

Belle met his gaze, steady and unflinching. “Someone like you would only twist my words.”

“Ah, but you still rubbed the lamp,” he said, smiling slyly. “So tell me, beauty, what is it you desire most? Say the word, and I’ll make it so.”

Belle took a deep breath. Then, quietly, with a kind of calm that silenced even the air around them, she said:

“I wish for you to return to your lamp—and remain there until I decide to use my last two wishes.”

For a moment, Jafar’s expression froze in disbelief.
Then the magic took hold.

“No!” he screamed, his body twisting and shrinking as the smoke dragged him down into the lamp’s narrow neck. “No, you dare—! Curse you, Belle!”

His voice was cut off mid-cry as the lamp sealed shut with a hollow clang.

Belle exhaled and, without ceremony, threw the lamp into the distance. It hit the dream’s shifting ground, rolled once, and sank into the haze gone forever.

Silence.

“You could have wished for anything,” Adam said softly. His voice held both admiration and sorrow. “Why didn’t you?”

Belle turned to him and smiled, gentle and certain.

“I already have everything I want,” she said, threading her fingers through his hair.

The tension broke. The five of them, Belle, Adam, Mulan, Ariel and Eric, all pulled into an embrace, a wordless promise of survival.

When they stepped apart, they noticed it: a long corridor stretching before them, lined with flickering blue flames. They knew that this could only lead to two people and together, they walked—toward the quiet, eerie light that waited at the end of the dream.

Chapter Text

Aurora followed the trail of Hades’ blue flames, her steps light, her heart alight with song.

“I wonder… I wonder…”

The hallway stretched endlessly before her, glowing like the path between dreams and waking. Yet as she drew closer to the tower’s end, the flames began to shimmer, flickering from Hades’ deep cobalt blue to the vivid green of the Mistress of Evil.

She smiled. Both of them, still watching over her.

With that thought, she began to climb the winding stairs, each step a memory, each breath a promise. The air grew thinner, brighter, like dawn itself breaking open.

And there he was.

Phillip.

Sitting against the cold stone wall, his wrists bound in chains that glimmered faintly with magic. But he was not asleep. Not here. His eyes were open, alive, and when he looked up, it was as though the world exhaled.

“Aurora?” His voice trembled with disbelief.

“Phillip,” she whispered, her smile breaking into light. “It’s me.”

He gave a soft laugh, full of wonder and relief. “I heard you. I knew you’d come. I knew it was you.”

“I woke once to your kiss,” Aurora said, kneeling beside him, her hands trembling as they brushed against his. “Now it’s my turn to return the favour.”

He smiled faintly, pain and love mingling in his eyes. “If I wake and find you gone, then waking will be my curse.”

“Then you’ll never wake alone,” she promised.

She freed him from the shackles, the iron falling away with a soft clink that echoed through the dream. Then, with tears glistening in her lashes, she leaned forward and kissed him, softly, deeply, truly.

It was not just lips meeting lips, but souls finding each other across lifetimes. It was every promise ever whispered beneath starlight, every dream that refused to die. Two soulmates who had met once upon a dream, and would find themselves in every world, dream or not.

Light bloomed between them, brighter and brighter, Aurora opened her eyes and all that remained of Phillip was the shape of a heart, radiant and glowing, rising from where he stood. It floated upward, glowing with love unchained, before vanishing into the endless sky.

The world began to dissolve around her. The others appeared at the door, frozen in awe as the tower melted into light. They stood together, Belle in her golden gown, Adam in his royal blue, Mulan in elegant armour, Ariel in her sparkly blue gown, Eric beside her in his sailor attire—each one whole again, radiant in their truest selves.

Aurora looked down as her own gown shimmered from blue to pink, then back again, as though the dress itself couldn’t decide.

And then, with one final flash of white, the world faded—

—They awoke together beneath the golden morning light of Adam and Belle’s castle.

One by one, the heroes stirred. Mulan stretching with a soft sigh, Ariel blinking against the sunbeams that streamed through the tall glass windows, and Adam sitting upright as the sound of familiar voices filled the room.

“Are you alright, Master?” Mrs. Potts asked shakily, her face filled with relief.

Adam smiled, the first true smile he had worn in a long while. “I’m more than alright,” he said, reaching for Belle’s hand. She met his gaze with quiet affection, and together they rose, holding each other close as the servants gathered around them in joyful relief.

Nearby, Mulan slipped a red envelope back into her pocket with a small, tight-lipped smile, while Ariel and Eric thanked Lumière for watching over them as they slept. For a few blissful moments, there was only laughter, light, and the sense of homecoming.

Then silence fell.

Aurora was not among them.

Far away, in the Kingdom of Ulstead, dawn broke over the spires and towers of the castle. In a silken bed lay a sleeping prince. Handsome, still, his breath soft against the morning air, and beside him, Aurora stirred awake, her golden hair tumbling around her shoulders like sunlight itself.

Her fairy aunts gasped with joy to see her unharmed, crowding around her with tears of relief, but Aurora barely heard them. Her eyes were fixed on Phillip.

She brushed past them, kneeling beside him with a tender smile. Then she leaned in and kissed him. Gentle, loving, true.

Phillip’s eyes fluttered open, and for a heartbeat they simply looked at each other, as though rediscovering the world all over again. Then he pulled her into his arms, holding her as if afraid to ever let go. Aurora laughed softly and hugged him back.

Later, hand in hand, the two stepped from their chambers, sunlight pouring over them in rivers of gold. As they passed her fairy aunts, Aurora turned, her eyes kind but knowing.

“I think we’ll have something to talk about later, Merryweather,” she said with a faint smile, before continuing on toward the throne room.

Her father embraced her the moment she entered, tears glistening in his eyes. She held him tightly, heart swelling with gratitude, before turning to Phillip, who now looked every bit the King she had remembered him as.

“We should invite them to the next royal ball,” Phillip said warmly. “Mulan, Adam, Belle, Ariel, and Eric. They deserve a celebration.”

Aurora tilted her head, smiling. “I’m surprised you remember them.”

“Well,” he said with a wink, “They helped save me. It’s the least I can do.”

“You weren’t there,” she teased.

“Who says I wasn’t?” Phillip replied with a grin.

And as music swelled through the grand ballroom, the couple took each other into their arms and began to dance. After a wave of the three fairies wands, the others began to join them from far away.

Belle and Adam joined first, moving gracefully across the floor; Ariel and Eric spun with laughter and delight; Mulan swayed gently with Lumière, Cogsworth, and Mrs. Potts at her side. The chandeliers glimmered like starlight, and the room shimmered with magic and joy.

High above, where shadows and stars meet, two unseen figures watched with amusement: a mischievous fae with horns of night, and a god with blue fire for hair.

“I still say the cape looks better in blue,” Hades muttered, pointing a finger at Phillip’s threads.

“Make it purple,” Maleficent countered, waving her fingers and turning them into a violet shade.

Their laughter echoed softly over the ballroom, unseen but ever-present.

And below, surrounded by friends, love, and light, the heroes sang, voices twining together in harmony. It was not a song of battle, or loss, or dreams.

It was a song of peace.

Of Happily ever after, after all.

“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

Yet I know it’s true that visions are seldom all they seem

But if I know you, I know what you’ll do

You’ll love me at once the way you did once upon a dream…”