Legacy Day Untold Chapter One

Carabosse hated hennins. No; “hate” wasn’t the appropriate word. Loathed. Detested. The mere thought of wearing one – again – filled her with dread and irritation that could shake the very ground she tread upon. Legacy Day meant two things: she’d sign away her fate, as expected, and she’d have to wear that god damned nine hundred year old outfit the Original Carabosse wore to Briar Rose’s christening.

Mother treated it like gold. It was on a mannequin in attic, preserved by a barrier spell to keep any dust, mold, or critters from soiling it. No touching it, no breathing on it, no staring at it for more than ten seconds. It was special. “One day you will wear this, my dearest one. You will walk across the stage and strike fear into the hearts of the audience.”

When donning it, “fear” wasn’t the appropriate word. Ever since childhood, it had been a thing of wonder and mystery. As she grew older, Carabosse came to dread it. It was a constant reminder when she went to fetch spell supplies or grab some old tomes, sticking around like stale air.

You will wear me. You will curse and be cursed. Nothing will change. Embrace the fear.

Make them suffer. 

Carabosse had traveled home to grab the Heirloom Dress by way of Mirror Portal. Her home was hidden in a swamp that no soul dared enter in fear of its occupants. Rumors had been spread about spirits, dryads, and all manners of things that would suck you into the muck and never give you back. The seventh Bad Fairy came up with a tree spirit that would snap you from the path and absorb you into its bark, fertilizing itself with your corpse. That cut the tourists and hunters’ numbers back.

Upon Carabosse’s arrival home, the mud squelching under her rain boots, Mother stood at the top of the stairs leading to the front door. While her eyes betrayed sadness over another Malveillant lost to the chains of tradition, another hundreds years of hiding in fear of being assassinated, she held a strong and unbreakable stance that inspired confidence. Pestilentia Malveillant was a woman to be feared and respected. Just looking into her cold, iron eyes made a person tremble with shock and awe.

“It’s time.”

Carabosse sighed, but held her shoulders back and head high. “I know.”

Without another word, Madame Malveillant led her daughter to the attic, a familiar place visited many times in her youth. No dragon tears or newt’s tail to retrieve, but the one thing Carabosse had never been able to touch.

As expected, the dust, which coated everything else in the cramped attic, had left the dress alone. Spiders knew their place. Moths steered clear of it. With a flick of the wrist, the garment and its accessories were in Carabosse’s room, ready to be worn. 

Mother said nothing, only pausing to ask if it was too tight in some places or if she stuck her child with a pin. The swamp was silent. Carabosse was heavily aware of how loud her breathing was. The hennin – that stupid fucking hennin – was pinned to her head after her hair had been loosely styled and the train trailed down her cape. She couldn’t look in the mirror. No. Absolutely not. But the house was full of reflective surfaces. The glass door at the edge of the house that led to the spell room gave her one split second of her reflection, and that second was all it took to feel all the dread in the world.

One last look from her mother. They nodded to each other in silent agreement.

Mother’s eyes said, “Give them hell.”

Carabosse’s eyes said, “I’ll do my best.

The dorm room she shared with Diantha was as clean as before she left. She’d been gone barely an hour and her friend was dressed, makeup applied, and reading a book. Diantha wore a green houppelande, similar to what she wore every day. The only differences were the fabric and the detail, embroidered rampion flowers lining the inside of her slashed sleeves and real ones adorning every part of her body.

“You’re already done?”

Diantha scoffed. “I wear these things every day. Getting the flowers in place, though, that took the better part of the hour.”

“How about your makeup?” Carabosse asked, adjusting her dress and cape. That stupid hennin was so heavy, Jesus H.

“Please. I didn’t even have to open my mouth to put the mascara on.”

Carabosse smirked. “Well if that isn’t talent, I don’t know what is.”

For the first time since her return to her room, Diantha looked her friend over. The Heirloom Dress fit like a glove, but Carabosse looked both stunning and alien. That wasn’t her friend. It may have been Carabosse Malveillant, the next Bad Fairy of Sleeping Beauty, but it sure as hell wasn’t Cara, the sarcastic and magical best friend of Diantha Gothel and Wrathire Bandersnatch. 

Changing the subject, the enchantress asked if Carabosse knew where Wrathire even was. Ever since the portals closed, she’d been a bit of a nervous wreck. Having been in her father’s estate in Ever After at the time of the poisoning, she couldn’t see her mother in times of trouble anymore.

No trips to Wonderland for pep talks or time with her extended family. No place to go to be herself. A bandersnatch’s rage cannot be contained; one day Wrath would snap. Legacy Day seemed like the perfect storm to unravel that cocoon and let out her inner monster.

“Last I heard, she was still with her dad,” Carabosse replied. “She said she’ll hext me when she gets back. Since she’s only the third bandersnatch to attend school, there really isn’t an Heirloom Dress for her, so they’re cobbling something together.”

Diantha eyed the fairy messing with the train of her hennin. “You two have barely spoken in two years. How do you even know?”