Authors Note: this is my first attempt at a fanfic. Ive always wanted to write but i never got hold of an idea enough for it to materialize while im busy during college. It is a short one shot right now unless i want to extend it into a bigger story
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Tangled, i just enjoy manipulating/expanding the story :)
Gazing into the night sky, she yearned for the fullness of youth that had all too quickly aged away. Her hands which had turned decrepit and wrinkled were a reminder of why she stood alone on the beach. A hooded cloak concealed her figure within the darkness from possible onlookers, as well as herself. The cold that bit through to her depleted core nearly caused her to double over. The image of her sunken, skeletal face on the water was enough to cause bile to brew in the back of her throat.
The few days without rejuvinance had dwindled her mind into near-insanity. She cursed the kingdom, cursed the sun, and cursed the newborn princess during her rapid deterioration into her current form. Every morning, a new scatter of wrinkles appeared on her deflating face. Black and wavy hair had quickly turned frizzy and grey. Even her voice had lost the lustful chirp that had once existed. She was getting closer and closer to death as the hours ticked by.
Surveying the area, Gothel looked up to the castle with hatred in her eyes. They had stolen her gift from the sun itself! The sun had brought her the fountain of youth that had once only existed in fables. Who was a the King to challenge the mighty Suns intentions? A glorified boy! Among the boys and girls of Corona who have less meaning to be alive than the meat they eat! Gothel scoffed at this thought, and set out to reclaim what wad rightfully her
As she attempted to pull herself up the rocks separating her and the castle, pain shot up her arms. Her bones had turned brittle and her muscles had diminished to nothing as her true age nearly caught up with her. Each movement threatened to tear each tendon from the bone. Yet, the promise of returning to her stolen fountain of youth fed her obsession past the point of caring.
Gothel needed to be young again. She must reclaim her fountain of youth!
She managed to reach the top, her muscles feeling as though they were punctured with endless needles. In one heartful pull, she threw herself over the balcony siding. Barely managing to avoid falling, she knelt on the stone floor and gasped for air as quietly as she could. She attempted to rest enough for her aged body to recover from the climb, but the threat of being caught forced her to move sooner.
She looked up and felt the anticipation overwhelm her. Just past these doors slept her gift! Yet, she could not push away the thoughts that were stuck repeating in her head.
What if i am caught?
What if the baby wakes up?
What if the magic is gone?
Snapping back to the situation she pushed away the thoughts. With a trembling hand, she grasped the knob and eased it open just enough to fit her thin frame through, afraid of startling the body that held her flowers power.
Only the moonlight saved the room from sitting in complete darkness. Or so she thought until she crept closer to the cradle. The only movement within the room aside from her came from underneath the sheets. The dark, which shielded her from the eyes of those who would interfere with her risky mission, was defeated by the occupants distinct feature. The sight before her made her heart race, relieving any uncertainty of the magics complete demise.
Striking blonde hair had stolen her gaze. No, striking couldnt even describe the hair with justice. She had come across thousands of people during her life, none with even close to owning such hair. It seemed to parallel only the suns intensity. Such flowing locks could only be fairly described in one word that she could think of, golden.
Lowering her hand, Gothel lightly petted the babys beautiful locks. She savored how smooth it was, liken to silk. A shudder nearly came over her, as she could already imagine the magic purging her veins once again. Grasping a small lock of hair, Gothel began to sing.
Flower gleam and glow...
The first verse awakened the embedded magic within the babies hair. Her fingers felt the familiar surge of magic beginning to run its course. It flooded her veins, sending relief through her limbs from the ache that age brought.
Let your power shine...
The crackle in her voice diminished, replaced by a youthful voice enriching the harmony of the song. Gothel raised her scissors to the lock, eager to own again what was stolen from her.
Save what has been lost...
Gothel snaps the scissors shut, severing the lock of hair from its host.
The surge through her veins stopped abruptly, causing her to gasp in shock. The needle-like pain returned as her body reverted back to its aged form. The once golden lock turned brown, appearing lifeless and limp to Gothel.
Dropping the scissors, the realization of the situation dawned on Gothel. Had she turned senile? The mere thought of doing what she was about to do would send the entire kingdom into a riot, calling for her head on a spear. She had practically no chance at getting away with this. Yet her obsession, once fueled by the sun-flower, had only one way of being nurtured.
Her prize slept, too caught up in a dream to distinguish between a mothers hold and one of a thief.
