This is what I view would eventually happen if Gavin had lived, and if Kendra had stood by him as the demons were released and took over the world.
Please review.
Rapunzel
Demons couldn't love. They could only own. Hadn't someone told that to her, once long ago, before she became property? Yes, she believed that she had been told something along those lines. It hadn't done her any good, now had it? Now she was a prisoner of her own love. It's true that people do stupid things when they're in love, but she had to own the record. Her love brought about the end of the world.
Now she sits in a small room with large windows, looking out at the grounds below, watching the slaves, the servants, the pets, and her children mingle. She holds her youngest now, her head dusted with pale brown hair, her eyes still scrunched tightly closed. She knows what they will look like when they open. She has seen it in her other two.
A man stands in the tower opposite, staring down at the grounds, just as she is doing. He calls to her eldest, a boy of thirteen. He spreads black wings and soars to meet his father. She studies her boy, part of her aching at the years she spent in a sort of limbo, ageless while he grew. She knows that she has until the child in her arms walks, and then she will be led down, and shut up for another few years.
She is his prized gem, after all. He wouldn't want her to die on him, like a normal human would have by now. Her body reflects the age of one in her early twenties, but she feels decades older.
When she stands up and walks the child around the room, her skirts rustle. She is wearing a bright red dress with a full skirt, and elbow length sleeves. Her throat hangs heavy with pearls and sapphires. The room is lavish. There are servants who attend to her every whim, and she is allowed everything she could ever want.
Excepting freedom.
She is not allowed to go even near the door to her chambers. Her middle child plays on the lawn, giggling in the spray from the fountain. The girl is around three, and has pale hair framing her delicate, cherubic face. Her eyes are amber, with black slits for pupils. Those are the only things that hint to her father. She doesn't have wings like her brother, or her younger sister.
The door creaks open behind her, and she meets the eyes of the father of her children. He holds out his hands for his daughter, and she regretfully gives her to him. He holds her gently, rocking her back and forth, humming slightly. She still feels ill at ease. She's seen his true form. She knows he only feels greed when he looks at her daughter.
The tiny child falls asleep, and he lays her in her cradle, looking up to meet her eyes. She holds his gaze coolly, as does he. He holds out a small parcel, and presses it into her hands.
"Put it on," he says. She obliges him, and finds it to be a diadem that seems to be spun of moonlight. It is inlaid with brilliant gems that she cannot name, but are pleasing against her hair. She smiles at him.
"You look gorgeous," he says. But he doesn't say it out of love. He is merely stating a fact. He leaves, shutting the door firmly behind himself. She doesn't allow herself to feel disappointment. It was to be expected, after all. He hasn't taken her onto the grounds for two decades, or perhaps more.
She sits in the window, her knees drawn up to her chin, staring at the freedom and longing for that which is kept from her by just a small, delicately crafted piece of glass, easily shattered and jumped through, though it is a long way down…
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as she imagines the scene that would make, blonde hair and red skirts flying for a moment before the inevitable fall began.
She stands, and gently opens the pane of glass, allowing a breeze to drift in and caress the face of her sleeping child. She kisses its forehead, and stands in the window. The breeze picks up tearing into the bedroom. Faces turn. Someone screams. Another roars.
But she is beyond this. It's far too late for anything else. She closes her eyes, inhaling deeply through her nose. Names flood her mind, names that she has nearly forgotten in the long, long solitude.
Her long dead loved ones welcomed her with open arms, sheltering her from what had happened in her long life, and what a stir she had caused in the lives of those she left behind.
My, my, there really was a ruckus going on down there. A dark dragon blotted out the sun, a child screaming for its mother in a wind ruined room, and a petite figure, the gem of the palace, lying still at the foot of her tower, red blood mingling with her skirt.
And a discarded diadem glinting on the stones several feet away, a prize for anyone brave enough to pick it up.
No one did.