The Once Upon a Time Virtual Series
presents
Virtual Season 3
Episode 20
"The Descent"

Executive Producer: Silverbluemoon
Story By: RebelByrdie and Silverbluemoon
Written By: Rebelbyrdie
Illustrated By: TheCecilz and Fox
Edited By: Silverbluemoon

Advisors and Consultants:
Characterization: Rushemiiaah
Continuity and Consistency: Asraiaysoph
Research and Development Assistant: Archaeomedic

This series is Rated M for language, violence, drug references, and adult situations.
It is not intended for all audiences. Please use discretion.

Publication Date: July 4, 2016

Aurora walked through the mirrors feeling an ominous weight upon her. It was quiet, and even her footsteps on the flagstones seemed muted. The flickering light provided by waist-high oil aquifers made everything seem otherworldly. The entire room was warm and she could smell sandalwood, clove and lavender—faint smells that were only smeared over the dry and dusty scent of death and bone.

Each mirror gleamed as if it had been freshly cleaned by industrious servants. She saw herself reflected over and over again. It was her own personal hell, brought back from her horrifying memories of her time under the sleeping curse. The mirrors, the fire room, and now the dream walking—that thrice damned curse had all but ruined her life.

Then she looked again. No, she realized, they were not all images of herself, or at least not the her that she was. Not at all. They were her, sure, but different. Some, like the slightly-younger girl watching out of a tower window, did not look different at all. Others were very, very different.

She stopped at one, amazed at what she saw, heard—all but feeling the scene transpiring before her. She appeared to be looking through a large plate glass window with The Briar & Rose painted across the top in gold leaf. Inside was a room that Aurora had trouble understanding, it was so unusual. There were pictures, drawings and mirrors and odd chairs, and then there was her—or a woman whose face greatly resembled her own.

The mirror-woman's body was the same, albeit scantily clothed. She wore a small shirt with only half-sleeves, more than Emma Swan's "tank top" but less than the clothing Aurora was used to seeing on herself. She was also wearing blue trousers, much like Emma Swan's. "Jeans", Emma had called them. In this scene, this other Aurora was wearing jeans and a small white shirt with a small pink horse painted on it. Her hair was light blonde and many shades lighter than she'd ever been. There were also purple streaks in it. There was some sort of device in her hand that drew lines on the skin of a long-legged lanky brunette, draped across one of the chairs.

"Seriously, Dawnie," The woman crooned, looking over her shoulder at Mirror-Aurora, and grinning madly, "You are the best!"

The other her lightly smacked the brunette's shoulder and matched her grin.

"Flattery will not get you a discount, Ruby. Now stop moving and let me finish."

The other her drew—tattooed, she realized—a pastry on the woman's rear and then put the words "Eat Me" over it in script.

Aurora blinked and realized that she had been taking in this scene for some time— how long she did not know. Too long. Suddenly it hit her: Storybrooke. That had to have been Storybrooke, the realm where the Dark Curse had taken so many for so long. Would her name have been Dawnie? Dawn? It was close enough in meaning to her name to be likely. Cursed or not, it hadn't looked so bad. Strange, yes, but her Storybrooke-self had seemed happy.

She moved on then, remembering her quest, shaking the images from her head. She had to find the cord. To save Philip. The crypt's magic, however—for it had to be magic—seemed to steal her thoughts from her, though, because in the next mirror, she saw not her own image, but a full-size image of Philip. He was just as she remembered him: smiling and sweet and dressed in shining armor. The image pulled back and more of the scene came into focus. Philip raised his arm, held out a hand out to his side, and then another her came into view, effortlessly flowing towards him, as all princesses are taught to do. This Mirror-Aurora wore a heavy white cloak meant for luxury, not traveling, and laid her hand ever-so-elegantly across his, as she practically floated into his arms. He wrapped himself around her pregnant belly.

Aurora turned away, because there was pain there. And because she realized that, once again, the mirror was trying to distract her from actually finding the cord to save him.

Laughter—her own—echoed through the maze and she turned around and round looking for the source, disoriented. Had the mirrors shifted?

She turned to her left to continue but another mirror and the image upon in were thrust at her from nowhere. This time, she most definitely recognized the room her other-self was in. It was Maleficent's sitting room. There was only one large luxurious chair in front of a roaring fire place. Mirror-Aurora was draped across it, dressed in a delicate lilac night dress, gauzy and see-through. It was the sort of thing that a good girl wouldn't ever wear. More importantly, she was not the only one in the chair. She was cuddled on a lap. Gold curls and a smirk that she had known and feared for far too long held the other Aurora close. Maleficent. The dragon-sorceress caressed her other self's face, and then Mirror-Aurora leaned forward and met her lips—

Aurora turned away abruptly from the image, inexplicably filled with shame and embarrassment, clutching uncomfortably at her dress, horrified. That was not her. She could never—would never—not with that vile evil woman. Never with Maleficent. She ran then, arms out in front of her, all but hysterical, trying to block the echoing sound of her name pouring from the sorceress's mouth so delectably.

She ran until a welcome visage met her from the ethereal darkness and twinkling firelight: dark hair over flashing dark eyes, a jaw set and firm, the form strong and valiant. Waves of relief crashed over her.

"Mulan!" she cried out and reached for the warrior as her fingers brushed glass and she realized this was just another mirror.

After a moment, it became more obvious that this was not her Mulan. The woman before her wore fine plate armor that glinted and gleaned in the daylight and she carried a shield Aurora had never seen before—a very regal looking shield—with the symbol of the sun on it—her symbol. Mulan's cloak glittered and waved around her form in multiple colors—shimmering in metallic flare like her armor. The scene pulled away and she saw her mirror-self approach—dressed in a gown that matched the cloak of shiny metallic thread; it looked like an actual sunrise." They were in a courtyard—the one she had spent so many hours playing, reading and dreaming in throughout her lifetime.

"My Queen," Mulan breathed out in that full, sure voice that always made Aurora feel safe and protected and a little weak in the knees, and then she turned toward the mirror-her to reveal a scarred cheek. It did nothing to mar her beauty, though, Aurora thought, instead accentuating her experience and strength.

Queen Aurora smiled.

Aurora noted that this mirror version of herself was older than she was currently, the youthful chub gone from her cheeks.

"My Champion," Mirror-Aurora replied, beaming as she looked adoringly into the warrior's eyes.

Aurora's breath caught in her chest. A Queen's Champion was one of the most powerful people in the Kingdom, as powerful as the Queen, second only to the King. The position was rare, and for a woman to fulfill it, practically unheard of.

In the mirror world, Mulan and Aurora seemed close. Mulan took the queen's hand and kissed it and the real Aurora felt a longing tug in her stomach. She had been thinking she could stay and watch these two forever, just as the image abruptly cut out and the mirrors all around her exploded into a cacophony of images and sound.

More of herself everywhere, in every direction: all sorts of possible pasts, presents, and futures—alternative worlds, realms, perhaps. She was overwhelmed and thrust her hands over her ears and closed her eyes, and ran for all she was worth, desperately seeking an exit, an escape from this madness.

There were mirrors everywhere, though, and each held its own unique scene, many of which she couldn't avoid seeing:

A thin Aurora, dressed in all black, screaming and swearing vengeance at some unseen person, locked in a cage that looked far too much like the cave prison that had once held the Dark One.

A happy version of Aurora eating in a place that she knew belonged in Storybrooke, Philip at her side, spooning food to a chubby baby boy.

A leather-clad Aurora with a large bow in her hands and a quiver on her back. Her hair was cut boy-short and her face was dirty. She was in the trees of some forest waiting to ambush somebody—or something.

A wedding-day Aurora, dressed in all white-standing across from a man old enough to be her grandfather, saying her vows as tears overrun her eyes.

A battlefield strewn with bodies (like one of Mulan's nightmares) and a ragged Aurora glaring up at an armor clad and victorious Queen Regina.

"Your parent's kingdom is mine now, Aurora. The only reason you're still alive is because my dear Maleficent favored you, Princess. Lucky You."

Beside Regina, on the makeshift dais on a hill that overlooked the battlefield, Cora stood smiling at her.

"Don't let your past with that dragon sway you, Regina. Love is weakness. This Princess's head will look nice beside Snow's on the castle wall."

Aurora choked back a scream and turned away, running again. This was too much. This was not happening. None of these magic mirrors held anything true. They were taunting her.

The mirrors blurred as she ran, her tears and the firelight making it all clash and ebb together. She heard laughter, screams, moans, commands, begging, whispers—all her own. Not her, though. They weren't her. They weren't!

She tripped—over her own feet, or her cloak or a crack in the endless crypt's floor—she wasn't sure which. She only knew that she was running and then she was falling fast. She landed hard, her knees cracking and palms scraping against the rough, cold stone. Her teeth slammed together with a hard click over her bottom lip, bringing blood, as she hit the floor. Tears sprang to her eyes, and for a moment she stayed on the ground. Her chest was heaving and she hurt and everything was just wrong. She wanted Mulan to come find her and make it better. Her tears fell harder as she felt disgust with herself, feeling like she should have known she couldn't handle this alone. Then something hardened in her, and her fingers scraped the stone as she pulled them into fists. Mulan was busy! Aurora had abandoned her warrior to fight Mordred all on her own. So this—whatever this was—was Aurora's quest, her part to deal with. She couldn't wait for a knight in shining armor to rescue her this time. They couldn't wait. People were counting on her. People she loved! She looked up from the floor and saw flickering firelight reflected off of a single, floor-length gilded mirror in the middle of the chamber. All the other mirrors, and the images that they held, had silenced, disappearing into blackness. There was now only the one, and an otherworldly light was focused there.

She pushed herself to her feet, and told herself she was ready for anything.

. . . Thank you for reading! You can now receive update alerts by following/favoriting this story here on ff.n (or subscribing on ao3), as a portion of each new episode will be uploaded in both locations as soon as we publish on our main site. Please find the rest of this episode *AND* its amazing illustrations at ouatvs *dot* com.