Once Upon a Dream by Liz Braswell Page B

resolute, Aurora moved more quickly downward.
    Then thorns grew much faster than they were supposed to, erupting wide and thick and unseemly in the way they pushed through the skin of the vines and each other. They pierced Aurora’s flesh, sharp as needles. Everywhere she tried to place her hands, they sprung up. Very quickly, she was covered in cuts and punctures and rivulets of blood.
    Also, they screamed.
    They screamed as they forced their way through their own stalks and into one another; they screamed in delight when they pricked her.
    They grew strange faces, long and lined like old men’s. But when they managed to speak, they sounded like Maleficent.
    “Go back….”
    “There is nothing for you out here….”
    “Return to the castle….”
    Aurora bit her lip and tried not to sob. She couldn’t move for the sharp thorns everywhere.
    “GO AWAY!”
she shouted in rage and bitterness. “I wish you would just
disappear
!”
    The thorns receded, melting like lumps of sugar in hot tea.
    Aurora blinked. She wanted to think about what had just happened.
    But she had to move quickly, before Maleficent attacked again. Throwing herself with almost careless abandon, she plummeted down, bouncing from branch to branch like a pebble tossed down a deep well.
    She hit the dark ground with a sickening hardness. Her head was snapped back and jarred so badly that everything went blurry. It didn’t help that the air was thick and dusty and in a permanent twilight.
    But there, some distance away from the castle, just barely visible through the interlaced vines, she could see a faint flicker of yellow light.
    Golden and bloody, Aurora straightened her shoulders and walked toward sunshine.

A CASTLE LAY ASLEEP. A kingdom lay asleep. The people, horses, mice, and even fountains and gnats lay asleep. A hush lay over everything, and all seemed sweet and peaceful at first. Beautiful, ancient-looking brambles protected the sleepers within and occasionally bloomed pink honey-scented roses.
    There were only two groups of things that didn’t sleep. One was the dead.
    The other was a trio of concerned-looking fairies who flitted around the castle and watched over the sleepers—especially the royal princess.
    Aurora lay perfectly, beautifully, hands clasped below her ribs like she was in constant prayer. Her lips were parted. Her eyes rolled. Something was happening in what was supposed to be a dreamless, swift sleep.
    Collapsed in an ungainly heap on the floor next to her was Prince Phillip. The one who was supposed to wake her up and end the whole thing.
    Instead, the silly boy had
fallen asleep himself
…the first hint the fairies had that something was terribly amiss.
    And then the people had started dying.
    Flora, the fairy watching over Aurora, had a worried, weary hand to her head. Her strange, flowing vestments of red drifted sadly around her like mist rather than cloth. Her face appeared mostly human except up close. There was a strange serenity behind all her normal-seeming emotions.
    Her companions, a plump little pixie in blue and a hamadryad in green, floated in from their rounds.
    “All’s quiet,” Merryweather, the one in blue, said. “I mean, they’re all still asleep. So of course they’re quiet.”
    “She’s doing it again.” Flora pointed at Aurora’s face. For a split second, the beautiful princess’s features twisted up in agony or upset. They recomposed themselves almost immediately.
    Fauna, the one in green, moaned in despair. “I cannot
believe
this is happening. We were supposed to
save
the princess and everyone. Not just hand them over to Maleficent. We’re
sure
they’re all in there?”
    “Sadly, yes.”
    “How did she ever plan all this?” Merryweather demanded.
    “I don’t think she
planned
it,” Flora said, sighing. “I think she just took advantage of the situation. I think she always had sort of a…backup plan in case she was ever killed.”
    “If
I’m
ever killed, I want you two to