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“You didn’t mean what, dear?” Nanny asked.
“To hurt them…” Maleficent cried.
“You didn’t hurt them,” Nanny said reassuringly. “You completed a magnificent travel charm. It’s a difficult spell that’s way beyond your grade level. I’m very impressed!”
“But they were screaming!”
“Oh, yes, well, that’s young fairies for you. Dramatic and high-strung! You’re a smart girl, Maleficent. I’m sure you know this already.” Nanny paused for a moment and then continued. “I couldn’t be more pleased at how different you are from those fools, Maleficent. I truly couldn’t. Had you been an ordinary fairy living in that hollowed-out tree, I think I would have probably passed you by!”
“If I was an ordinary fairy, I wouldn’t have been left in the tree.”
Nanny nodded vigorously. “Too right! That’s one of the main reasons I don’t care for my own ilk. And why I don’t display my wings. Fairies can be a hateful bunch.”
Maleficent smiled, her tears subsiding, as she listened to Nanny. She wanted to hug her. She wanted to tell her she loved her for everything she was saying, but she didn’t want to interrupt her.
“Oh, they don’t realize how hateful they are. They think they’re full of magic and light and all things good! Like sugar and honey comes out of their…Well, you get my point.”
Maleficent laughed.
“Well, isn’t that a rare sight? In the years we’ve been together, I don’t think I have ever seen you laugh.” Nanny paused for a moment, deep in thought. “Hmmm, it all makes sense now.”
“What? What makes sense?” Maleficent asked.
“You’re seven. Seven!”
“What’s so special about being seven?”
“Seven is a very special age for fairies. Especially for fairies who aren’t like the others. Fairies like you and me, who are more like witches than fairies. Fairies who aren’t content with fairy magic and fairy life and understand there are other wonderful forms of magic in this world. Seven is just the start of your adventure. And I think we need to celebrate! Now, tell me all about that travel charm. I want to hear about how you learned it. You’re a fascination to me, Maleficent. You’re further in your schooling than anyone in your class. And if that stack of books of mine you have hidden away is any indication of the style of magic you intend to employ, we have a lot of work to do. I think you’re up to the task. I really do! You know what? I think it might be time to take you out of that school. I can’t have your spirit and potential squelched by those dimwits. Let them fumble with their silly fairy magic. Let them spend their days complimenting each other’s wings. You have real magic to learn. Important magic.”
Important magic. Those words echoed in Maleficent’s ears and filled her with confidence.
That was how it was with Nanny. A flurry of encouraging words and love thrown at Maleficent from every direction. Nanny never missed an opportunity to heap love upon the girl. And if Maleficent sometimes felt overwhelmed by the magnitude of Nanny’s affection, or occasionally grew stiff at Nanny’s touch, it wasn’t because she didn’t like the attention. Maleficent loved Nanny, more deeply than she expected she might.
She just wasn’t used to being loved.
“Well, I’m going to bake you a marvelous cake for dessert,” Nanny said, clapping her hands excitedly. “I want to hear all about this travel charm and how you managed it. I really am impressed!”
Maleficent knew that Nanny was being sincere. She never said anything she didn’t mean like the other fairies. It was hard to tell Nanny was a fairy at all. Maleficent wondered if Nanny had also had a hard time growing up in the Fairylands, being so un-fairylike and having as a sister the famous Fairy Godmother.
“No, dear, that part wasn’t hard at all!” Nanny said, reading her thoughts. “They don’t call me the One of Legends for nothing!”
That was one of the best nights of Maleficent’s childhood—spent eating cake with Nanny and telling her about the travel charm. Describing the warm sensation and seeing the awe reflected in Nanny’s eyes when she explained it in every detail, just as Nanny had wanted.
“You did exactly the right thing, my dear! If someone is treating you poorly or you feel yourself becoming angry and you start to feel that warm sensation, you use that charm. Go straight to your tree house, or straight to me and your crows. You just think of us, and you will find yourself with us before you know it. Promise me, dear, you will do what Nanny tells you.”
“Of course, Nanny.” Maleficent wished she had Nanny’s power to read minds. She often wondered what Nanny was thinking. Was that concern in her eyes? Had something about Maleficent’s story upset her?
“No, my dear. What you see is pride! I couldn’t be prouder of you. You’ve made me very happy today, my darling. Very happy indeed.”
Snow White sat alone in the attic among her mother’s old belongings, remembering how things were long ago, in the time before her stepmother died and became the mother Snow White had always wanted her to be. Snow understood why her mother didn’t want to go up there. Those possessions reminded the old queen of the period when she had sequestered herself years earlier—the time when she had gone mad with grief and plotted to kill her own stepdaughter. Snow tried to compartmentalize her mother into three different women: the mother she had now, the mother who had loved her when she was very young, and the mother who had tried to kill her. Snow knew it wasn’t her mother’s fault. The queen had been tormented by her own father, heartbroken by the loss of her husband, and bewitched by the witch triplets. Snow had made the various versions of her mother over the years into imaginary dolls—dolls she kept locked away in a trunk in this room. Dolls she never wanted to play with or see.
Dolls imbued with pain and covered in dust.
Snow liked the mother she had now. She had no reason to revisit the others. Even the recollection of her sweet mother from her early childhood brought Snow heartache, because she knew all those terrible days that followed her father’s death would come tumbling down like an avalanche, reminding her of how grief had destroyed that mother.
Yes, she liked to focus on the woman she loved dearly and depended on now. But she couldn’t look at her mother’s things without bringing those dolls into the light, taking them into her hands and dusting them off as she replayed the timeline of her life. Those dolls, those mothers marked the passing of beautiful yet terrifying times.
With quiet, tentative steps, Snow went to one of the wooden chests that contained the artifacts of her tortured childhood. It creaked painfully as she opened it, like a warning. The book of fairy tales she was looking for was sitting beneath a small wooden box with a carving of a dagger piercing a heart. Something about the box sent chills into Snow’s own heart. She didn’t want to know what was in it. She didn’t want to see the pain on her mother’s face if she were to ask her about the box, so it would have to remain a mystery. It was enough that she was up there alone, knowing
