( It is beautiful, here. It reminds her of home — of the Moorlands, lush and vibrant, smelling of warmth and life. It presses slightly bittersweet against her heart (she misses home, misses her daughter, and every golden shimmer of sunlight or floral scent wafting through the air feels as though it should be accompanied by Aurora's honeysuckle-sweet laughter), but Maleficent finds an ease in this place, one she does not fight against as she normally might.

Though she still keeps some distance from her fellow Travelers, she does a lot less sulking alone this time around, and can often be found within the Temple. The clothing provided for them isn't quite in the realm of her comfort zone (...black seems to be a nonexistent option here, and there are certainly no raven skulls or leather to work with...a pity), but despite the offensively-bright, airy garments she finds herself in, and the strange shoes slid onto her feet (did someone call them 'sandals'? She finds them as ugly as they are uncomfortable, doubly offensive), Maleficent welcomes a certain freedom in this place. Unlike the sharp, gilded city of the last island, this humble village is dominated by nature. She allows her long hair to stay down and free, lets her wings flutter in the breeze that drifts through any open space. Her body feels younger, spry even.

On a sun-soaked afternoon, one may find her preparing food: an assortment of flowers spread out over the counter, the dark fey sifting through them. She organises them by various ways: scent, colour. Some are flora she's familiar with, and others are not. ​Nearby, a modest amount of fish has also been extracted from the cabinets, though it's thusfar left untouched. Maleficent is hardly a homemaker; she isn't used to preparing meals over a counter, and certainly not with the use of any tools. If she needed to cook or otherwise alter food, it would be done with her magic — of which she is capable here, but she still doesn't trust these circumstances not to suddenly leave her without her powers. If that were to happen, she would be... not helpless, never that, but far less capable. No, she needs to learn how to cook and prepare meals by hand. And if you don't speak up first, expect a sudden, quiet and stern instruction as her back stays turned, not yet knowing who might be standing behind her, simply aware to the feeling of their presence— )

Make yourself useful and start working.

( Maleficent can also be found wandering just outside the temple, quietly studying the painted patterns winding their colours along the wood, or just as quietly tending to the multitude of flowers outside — fingertips brushing the petals of the orchids that cover the temple, or crouched down near the flowers leading up to the temple. On occasion, one might see a soft shimmer of gold dancing from her fingertips to a particular flower she feels the need to baby. In response, it will perk up even more brightly if that were at all possible, seeming to dance beneath her open palm, and one might catch her smiling softly to herself. Her role was Protector back home: of the Moors, of its residents both creature and plant. )

( She quietly sheds her clothing, letting it drop right to the ground, where the bright garments gather at her feet. Stepping out of them, Maleficent eases a leg into the brilliant blue water, carefully. It is warm, and so very welcoming, and even more rich than the natural pools to be found in her home.

The rest of her follows, a soft sigh exhaled from her parted mouth, eyes a pleased, peaceful golden. Carefully, her wings join her, well coated in pollen, eased in on either side of her body, where they gently sift through the water. If you happen across her soon enough, you may find Maleficent cleaning her wings, fingers slowly brushing through the feathers, stroking shimmering pollen from them, and giving them a much-needed, very thorough washing. She may not appreciate company so much, depending on who it is — but of course, this place is not only hers to occupy.

Or perhaps you come across the pools a bit later on, after she has sunken deeper into that enticing water, having let it wash over her hair and horns and then slowly coming back up — to rest with her head against the edge of the pool, her eyes calm, lulled. Perhaps you have slipped in as well, to no protests from the fey who is entirely soothed by this point, body limp and blissfully still. And what she sees, what you will see from her, is borne of one of her most fond, precious memories.

The area shifts into nighttime, the pool expanding outwards into a bog surrounded by bright green grass and moss, illuminated in places by ethereal purple and pink flowers. It looks very reminiscent of something that could be found on this island, though there are strange creatures flittering about: buzzing winged things, glowing beings, small fairies. Knelt by the edge of the water is a girl — flaxen-haired, rosy-cheeked. She lifts her head and smiles brightly, reaching out to gently greet the floating creatures with soft hands.

Maleficent gazes at the scene with a gentle fondness, eyes narrowed softly, dark red mouth held in a calm smile; on the surface, she is very controlled. But her eyes are warm, and filled with love.

You may witness hers for a time, or perhaps a vision of your own may begin to ease in. )

( Maleficent is no hero. She does not act unless there is reason, purpose, unless it suits her or protects those she has deemed worth protecting. Her focus is selective, and she has no general obligation to humans.

But as the mother sobs for her lost child, Maleficent doesn't have to think about it, doesn't have to reason it out. She's off, flying at first, a large creature soaring over the island, sharp eyes on the lookout. But eventually she comes back down, and you might be near her as she lands, perhaps even be caught in the wind of her great wings sweeping downwards as they support her weight to the ground. She needs to be able to search through the trees, and for that she must be on foot; perhaps she makes her way close to your position as she moves, quickly, and inhumanly quiet. Her eyes are now an acerbic green colour that glints through the darkness; she is ready to fight whatever has stolen the child. Ready to kill, if she must. But first she must locate it — and she'll be willing to work with company, provided they can keep up. )

WILDCARD / ETC