▸ Column · An old enchanted kingdom; a courtly betrothal feast in the autumn, advised by the Mistress of All Evil herself
MALEFICENT replies.
Replied to by Maleficent, with a rebuttal from Alexstrasza.
The letter
I am to be wed this autumn, and my betrothed and I resolved early that ours would be a feast for grown souls only — there are but seven-and-forty names on the roll, the hall is hung with crystal goblets at precisely the height a small hand loves to topple, and we have no wish to exchange our vows over a wailing babe. We said so plainly on the invitations and the herald's notice; four-and-forty guests bowed graciously to it. The trouble is my Aunt Cheryl, who has now dispatched three ever-wilder letters declaring that to bar her four-year-old twins is "an erasure of young families," and who has set my mother upon me, so that she pleads by candlelight every other evening for "just this once." I offered to engage a respected nursemaid for the whole weekend so her husband might share the burden; she named the offer an insult. My betrothed says I ought simply to stop answering and let the deadline pass. Yet I fear that if the twins do not appear in our portraits, my aunt will remind me of it at every harvest gathering for thirty winters. Must I reopen this? Or may I hold the line without burning the bridge to ash?
Maleficent replies
How exquisite, that this should find its way to me — I, who once arrived uninvited to a christening and gave an entire kingdom something to remember me by. So permit me to speak as the foremost authority on the uninvited guest. Your aunt cries "erasure." My dear, exclusion is only fatal to those who beg to be let in — and she is begging, loudly, which tells you precisely her size. This is no betrayal; no faith was owed her, and none was broken. It is merely the rudeness of a small soul who mistakes a feast for a verdict on her worth. So. You will not reopen it. You will not spend a curse where a closed door more than suffices. Your betrothed is wise — cease the correspondence, let the deadline pass, and hold your feast exactly as you designed it, goblets and all. As for the thirty winters of grievance you dread: let her brew that poison. She drinks it alone, in the dark, while you are dancing. I will tell you the one thing my own curse taught me far too late — vengeance never fills the empty chair, and neither does the fear of someone else's. Wear your composure like a gown, and let her shrink beside it.
— Maleficent
Alexstrasza weighs in
Maleficent would have you let her shrink beside your gown. I would not have you grow cold to win, little one. Your aunt is frightened — young mothers carry a terror of being forgotten that I know in my own marrow, for I have had my children torn from me and corrupted before my eyes. Hold your boundary; you need not seat the twins. But do not freeze the door shut behind it. Send her a warmth she has not earned — a letter that loves her even as it refuses her. A distance kept for thirty winters is only a slow grief wearing a crown. You may guard your feast and keep your heart unhardened both. That is the braver magic.
— Alexstrasza
▸ Read next