These are several interconnected twisted tales based on either the original or Disney versions.

Save Rose

I have a plan. The newborn need not suffer, and I will let her live as long as possible. I do not wish to curse her at all, but I have little choice. Death is preferable over the fate that awaits her if she lives.

I stall outside the palace. The king and queen did not invite me, which is incredibly rude, but I am the fairy who will not be offended, who forgives everyone. They are right, but they are going to think that I am cruel after today.

I flick my wrist and the massive oak doors fly open. All music, chatter, and laughter stop. Daeva is posed over the basket dramatically, her wand nearly tapping the child's nose. She backs away in fear.

I flutter up to the young princess Rose and look at her sadly. Her beautiful little face is framed by curls, and she peeks open her green eyes to look at me. Sweet child. She does not deserve fate. I bow over her and feel the weight of thousands of eyes upon me. The queen whimpers as I tug out my wand.

“Dear child. I bless you with sixteen years of life.” It seems that everyone lets out a breath. The queen might as well scream the message of relief is so clear in her eyes.

But then, I continue. “On your sixteenth birthday, you will prick your finger and die.”

“NO!” The queen leaps to her feet and snatches up the child.

“But” I say, softer, “those sixteen years you will be blessed beyond measure.”

My words are drowned out by screaming and sobs. As I turn to go, Daeva skips back up. The one who, against her will, planned the child's demise. I do not wait to see what she will say. She cannot harm the child now, whether she wants to or not.

But I am wrong. So, so wrong. “The child shall not die but sleep for a hundred years!” Daeva calls out so loudly that I, nearly outside of the palace by now, can hear her. I bow my head. If that had not worked, then I have failed. The child Rose will become wicked.

***

The child's sixteenth birthday arrives quickly. I watch her always, to see if I might have a chance to change fate. But no possibility comes. On Rose's birthday, she skips about joyfully. I have to warn her. No one has told her of her century long nap, but maybe, if I tell her of the fate that awaits afterwards, she herself can stop it. The child has a strong enough will.

As Rose begins to climb the tallest turret to watch the sunrise, as she does every morning, I flutter inside to wait. But Daeva is already there.

“Think you can stop me?” She speaks teasingly in a voice that is not hers.

“Perhaps.” I say, now determined to do something.

At this point, I am desperate to keep Rose from harm, so I begin to chant a simple song in the ancient language of the fairies.

“What are you doing?” Daeva askes.

I pause briefly. “Saving Rose.”

Daeva frowns, and her pretty face wrinkles. “You cannot.”

“Yes, I can.” As I chant, the tower begins to glow. Suddenly, little tendrils of green pop out of the floor. Daeva's eyes grow wide.

“Roses.” She whispered. “I am such a fool.” She then begins her own chant, this one of death, to rid the castle of the roses that are now dripping down from the ceiling in thorny vines and white buds.

Rose steps into the doorway and promptly pricks herself on a thorn. Her eyes grow wide and she collapses onto the floor. I cannot stop. If I do, the roses, with their pure magic, will die. I chant for what feels like hours. Daeva is growing weaker. The roses are sucking the malicious magic out of her. As the roses unfurl, black wisps of smoke begin to flutter away from her and into white blooms, tainting the petals. Daeva's eyes are squeezed shut in pain, but the darkness is leaving her, and soon she will be mortified of her wicked plans for Rose.

Daeva collapses to the ground, a puddle of ebony forming around her. Her wings are soaked in the gunk even as the roses absorb the wicked magic.

I chant until my voice grows hoarse, and I can no longer make a sound. The roses cover every inch of the ground, and vines are creeping over Rose. I limp over to her and scoop her up. The roses fall away, revealing a malevolent smile on her lips. The blackness is creeping away from her, oozing out of her pores like blood. How does she have so much darkness in her? This is not evil magic she was born with, nor a silly fairy's spell. It is something much, much worse.

I drift out the window and to Rose's bedroom. She leaves an ebony river drifting on the air behind us. I place her in her bed with a sigh. I don't know what to do. The darkness is not hers, but if she lives, she will be a terror.

In the end, I decide to put a charm on her. She will only wake by a kiss. Surely a husband will be good for her. Love is its own kind of magic, after all.

But once again, I am wrong. Oh, so wrong.

And I won’t even live to save Rose.