A/N: I never thought I would be writing for a Disney Channel Original Movie, let me tell you that much. But here I am, this story finally fleshed out after having been planned since the first Descendants film aired.

There will be three parts. There will be darker subject matter (such as snippets of abuse and brief moments of sexuality) than in the films. This, I promise you, will not be everybody's cup of tea. I have a feeling lots of you won't like it. But this is for those of who will, whoever you may be.

One thing before we start: This is an AU. Completely AU. The story is set in Auradon, there is an Isle of the Lost, and there are still descendants of Disney characters. However, I have changed just about everything else. You'll understand what when you start reading. Basically, this is how I would have done it if I were in charge.

That being said, NOTHING BELONGS TO ME. I AM DOING THIS FOR FUN. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED.

Enjoy, guys!

Within These Castle Walls | One

Part i: The Tower

She is a modern day Rapunzel, stolen from her mother and stored away in a tower since the day she was born. Except she is no princess, not even secretly. She knows this because each time the Queen—the true Queen, who wears a crown decorated with the finest jewels and is married to the true King—comes to her tower, she is reminded painfully how low on the totem pole she sits. The Queen tells her how worthless she is. Never in so many words, but the way she speaks to her, with a hint of disgust attached to each syllable, conveys the message well enough. She may be the spawn of Maleficent, the most evil woman in Auradon's history, but she is hardly stupid.

Loneliness is all that surrounds her in the tower, which is risen one-hundred feet off of the ground. Over the years, she has grown used to it. She has never seen the bottom of her brick tower, but she likes to think beneath the base is an immovable cloud that keeps her spire levitating. It is the sort of thing the Fairy Godmother, the only person in Auradon aside from herself capable of harnessing power, would do. Place the evil little girl atop a cloud as if it will somehow stop the nastiness of her heritage from reaching her.

Though she isn't little anymore. Tomorrow is her eighteenth birthday.

Tomorrow she will finally be released from her tower.

The thought causes the acidic bile in her stomach to rise into her throat and burn her tongue. For although she is being allowed to leave the room she has known all of her life, she is not really being set free. She is merely being thrust from one prison to another. From the tower straight into the arms of the Prince of Auradon—a boy she has never met; her betrothed.

In the days when evil ran rampant through the streets, before the King decreed that each villain be placed on the island across the sea from Auradon, her mother was the wickedest creature its people had ever faced. After years of tearing through the kingdom and ruining everything good and pure in their wake, each criminal, including her mother, was captured. Stripped of their powers, they were sent across the ocean to the Isle of the Lost, all except Maleficent. The Kingdom of Auradon had never before put a lawbreaker to death, but due to the nature of the crimes her mother committed, the King and Queen were tempted to make a true example of Princess Aurora's tormentor. Until the Fairy Godmother put a stop to it, Maleficent would very well have been the first person to join Auradon's Death Row.

However, the King and Queen knew they could not simply let her mother live out her life peacefully on the Isle of the Lost, and quickly came up with a punishment fit for her evil deeds.

Take her daughter, the Queen had said. Like she took our dear friend's. We will lock her spawn away until she reaches the age of womanhood, and once the moon sets on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, we shall keep her here in Auradon to live among the good. Never will she know her mother. That will be Maleficent's punishment.

It wasn't until Maleficent had screamed in turmoil at the thought of losing her daughter to the virtuous citizens of Auradon that the Queen ordered her daughter also be married to their son. Maleficent, torn from the inside by grief, wailed so loudly at this the Queen became satisfied with her decree and snatched Maleficent's daughter, weeks old at the time, from her arms and carried her over from the island where she was locked in a floating tower away from the people of Auradon.

And now, nearly eighteen years later, her time in this tower is nearing the end. She wishes it weren't. Despite how achingly alone she is, separated from all of humanity, she can be herself up here. Yes, she has no access to her powers—she never will, it is something she has come to accept—but she does not have to pretend to be good when it is only herself. When she is released tomorrow at sunrise she will be forced to wear a mask of honour and nobility. Then, in a week's time on the Prince's eighteenth birthday, she will be forced to marry him, and through that marriage the mask will be locked in place. She will never lose her true nature—it will follow her like a ghost, trail behind her in the form of a shadow—but she will forever be denying evil is a part of her.

Mal sits at her desk by the lone, open window of her tower, dreading sundown. It is springtime now. Warmth seeps through the open space and hits her pale skin. She squints in the sunlight and stares down at the green grass one-hundred-and-twenty feet below her. Her tower is surrounded by trees and the Fairy Godmother has made it so she is invisible to the naked eye, but she can still see everything. A kindness undeserved by her, but one she appreciates nonetheless.

Flowers have started blooming. From where she sits, so far above them, they look nothing more than pink and white and blue dots. She knows how silly it is, but she wants so badly to sit among the field of blossoms. Their scent drifts to her nostrils and she breathes in their sweet perfume, wishing she could bottle the fragrance and lather it over her skin. She has a lavatory up here, of course, but the soaps provided by the Queen dry her skin and are foul-smelling. Perhaps when she is finally on the ground she will be able to access a new array of scents. As trivial as it sounds to her own mind, that is something she looks forward to.

Above the noise of the birds, which, when the warmth returned to Auradon, began waking her before the sun and who do not cease their racket until late into the dusk, Mal hears the sound of two people running through the forest. She recognises their footfalls immediately, and pokes her head out of the window to spy the boy and the girl bursting into the clearing by her tower. She has been watching them for over a year now. At first, she felt strange witnessing their meetings. Clearly they are meant to be secret, but she soon became too intrigued and fascinated with their story to mind her own apprehensiveness.

Like the flowers, the boy and the girl appear to be smaller than her hand, but there is something about them that causes her to perceive them as being so much larger. Perhaps it is the amount of love she can sense radiating from them. She has read enough about the emotion from the books the Queen stores in her room to know that it does wild stuff to the body and brain. She knows it can change people's perception of the world, both of those who are in love and those who are witnesses to it.

Today, they hold each other as they lay on the vibrant grass. Sometimes they argue, so loud their voices carry and Mal is able to decipher what they are saying. It is the same quarrel each time.

I can't do anything about it! he will shout. I have no power over my life. There is nothing I can do!

I understand, she will respond. I know you've no control over the things that are going to happen, but we can always rewrite history. We can always change the story.

We can't, he will say, a mixture of sadness and anger engulfing him.

We can run away, she will say half-heartedly. Run off into the sunset like we always talked about.

Mal can never hear what comes next. They close in on each other after the girl says that.

Those days end in apologies and long embraces.

Other times they are already locked together when she notices them, their clothes strewn about the field. They are dressed now, though, and Mal notices a twinge of melancholy in their closeness. It suddenly is so powerful, she must turn from the window to catch her breath. Perhaps, she wonders as she forces herself to keep her eyes averted from the open space, she will meet them when she enters the Kingdom as its Princess in the coming days.

The urge to spy on them once more overpowers Mal, and she peeks through the window. Laying in the grass, the flowers bent and crushed beneath their bodies, they are wrapped in each other's arms. She hears the girl crying, her head pressed against the boy's chest. He soothes a hand down her back over and over. Mal watches the girl shake, not at all comforted by the boy's touch.

Something has happened. Something has changed. The boy kisses the girl's head. His eyes are closed, and Mal sees his face bunch as if he is fighting off sobs of his own.

True love. This is the sort of thing her mother fought against. Despite everything—her heritage, her understanding that the people of Auradon are to blame for her eternal suffering—this is the sort of thing Mal desires. Love was lost on her in her youth. She has never felt the caring touch of a person who holds her in their heart. The only hand she knows is that of the Queen, and that is a harsh hand that grabs at Mal's chin whenever the Queen enters her tower in a beastly mood.

The boy and girl have stopped crying. They are attached now. Half of their clothes have been stripped from their bodies, and Mal watches as the boy presses his mouth to every inch of the girl's chest. She throws her head back, hands curling in the boy's hair, keeping him pressed against her.

Mal's stomach makes a loud gurgling noise. She has not eaten today. Coming away from the window, Mal walks over to the small pantry filled with bitter food the Queen keeps stocked in the tower. If she does not eat, the Queen will be furious. She has attempted to go on hunger strikes before, but the moment she grows too skinny the Queen will hold her and stuff spoons of porridge in her mouth.

You will eat! the Queen says. I can't have you too small lest your monthly cycle cease. This body must produce an heir.

Rubbing a hand against her flat stomach, a shot of anger spikes Mal's bloodstream. She never asked for this life. Never believed, even as she grew up in this Godforsaken tower, she would one day be forced to bear a child with the descendant of her mother's enemies. If the window in her tower were not protected by a forcefield, Mal would jump from the ledge. She would happily tumble one-hundred-and-twenty-feet to the ground to escape this wretched life.

But there is a forcefield, thanks to the Fairy Godmother. There is no chance for freedom. Tomorrow, she will be taken from this place and hurried inside the King and Queen's castle walls where she will live out her days a prisoner of the royal court.

Mal knows it is fruitless to be so embittered by her situation. Her mother is in part responsible for the way her life has turned out, though she does enjoy solely accusing Auradon. Like the boy hiding in the field with his true love, there is nothing she can do. Her path has been paved for her. But she is the daughter of pure evil, and she will hold on to this rage for as long as the King and Queen allow her to live.

Sucking in a breath, Mal drops her hand and stares at the cupboard of food. Reaching inside, she grabs a packet of oats.

Part ii: Auradon

Before even the birds have started singing the following morning, Mal is rudely awakened by the Queen bursting into her room. Groggily, she sits up and watches the magnificent monarch switch on the main light in the tower, which blinds Mal for a moment.

"Up," the Queen orders, snapping her long, blue-painted fingers. Her dress, yellow in colour, sways as she moves quickly around the tower, gathering things in a bag for Mal's first trek into the Kingdom. Cruel or not, she is the only motherly figure Mal has known, and despite how deeply she hates her, Mal does have to admit the Queen takes care of her, minute though the caring is.

Mal throws her duvet off of her body and swings her legs over the side of her bed. She is no longer sleepy. The realisation that it is her birthday and she is leaving the tower for good has filled her body with powerful adrenaline and she is feeling buzzed with a mixture of excitement and nerves and pure dread. On the door of her lavatory the Queen has hung up a silver dress with a tight-fitting bodice and long skirt. Anybody would look like royalty inside that. Even Mal. She reaches out to touch it. The fabric is softer than she had anticipated. It feels like silk. In spite of what this day will bring, Mal's lips pull outwards in a small, wondrous smile.

"Bathe and change into this. I will be waiting out here for you. Be quick, child—the Kingdom is anxiously awaiting your arrival," the Queen tells her, shoving her back so she trips inside the bathroom.

Once inside, Mal shuts the door and undresses. As she waits for the bath to fill, she stares at herself in the full-length mirror provided. Because she has just been pulled from sleep, her deep purple hair is tangled in wild knots and the skin beneath her green eyes is grey and puffed. Other than these slight impurities, her skin is soft and free of blemishes, and her cheeks are tinted like pale rose petals. Inspecting the rest of her body, she notices how slim she has become in the days leading up to her birthday. Bones that once were hidden are now tightly pressed against her skin. The Queen will not be pleased.

The Prince—perhaps he will not mind her imperfections. Not that his minding will do him any good. Neither of them had a say in their pairing. Mal has no expectations for their arranged marriage. Growing up in a tower forced her at a very young age to realise that she will live a loveless life. She will pay the price for her mother's wickedness, grow large with a baby or two, and die alone while the Prince pretends she does not exist. Auradon will not mourn her passing, for although the Queen says they are waiting to meet her, it is nothing more than morbid curiosity. Like the Prince, they will soon grow tired of being fascinated with her and move on with their carefree lives.

— — —

Despite the Queen's words, there is no crowd of townspeople cheering as she arrives at the castle in the royal carriage. The sun has barley begun to rise above the snowy-tipped mountains beyond Auradon, and Mal assumes the Queen's decision to move her in the early hours of the morning was a purely strategical move. She does not know, but Mal would be unsurprised to learn the Kingdom is aware of her origin. A mob would surely have met them if the people knew the specific time she was to be moved into the castle.

Mal's eyes have been wide with awe since the carriage pulled away from her tower. She has had little time to feel anxious, and with the sights around her growing increasingly captivating, she has forgotten altogether to be frightened. The roads in Auradon are cobblestoned and wide enough to fit both carriages and those wishing to wander on foot. There are cottages every which way and shops of all sorts lining the streets.

The horses pulling their carriage slow to a trot. Mal stares out the opening in the carriage, her throat closing as her eyes catch upon the great castle. It grows larger as they approach, and Mal thinks she has never seen anything so spectacular. There is a large history of Auradon on her bookshelf in the tower. Three full chapters are dedicated to the white-spired castle—from its construction five centuries ago to when the King and Queen took over as rulers of Auradon. There are pictures in the book. She has studied those images for years, sees them when she closes her eyes, and yet they could never have prepared her for this moment. Sunlight hits the pointed tips of the pyramidal structures of each tower. Birds fly over the castle, singing their sweet tune.

"Now," the Queen begins when the carriage comes to a halt. She steps out of the carriage and beckons Mal to follow. The girl does so willingly, smoothing her skirts as she leaps beside her captor. "Once you are inside the walls of this castle, you are not to leave under any circumstances unless accompanied by either the King or myself, my son, or a designated servant. Do you understand?"

Looking up at the Queen, Mal tilts her head and nods. She holds in a snarl. Of course she knows she will not be allowed to leave the castle. The Queen's condescending words fill Mal with droplets of dread. The walls of the castle are a prison just the same as her tower was. No matter its outward beauty, it will be ugly on the inside.

"Answer me with your words, child," the Queen demands.

Biting back a cruel retort, Mal says, "Yes, Queen Belle. I understand."

"Good. The Fairy Godmother has cast numerous spells over the grounds to keep you from escaping. There is a garden at the back of the castle you will be permitted to enter, but only for one hour each day," the Queen says. She walks towards the castle doors and Mal follows close behind, her focus wavering as she takes in more of what will be her new home. "You will occupy the tallest room of the tallest tower, located at the very tip of the West Wing. My husband and myself are in the East Wing, but my son will be nearest yourself. His room is below your own. There is also a library should you wish to occupy your time with reading. As soon as we enter the castle, I will take you to meet the King, the Prince, and the Fairy Godmother."

"To bind my powers?" Mal asks, wishing she had kept her mouth shut as soon as she catches the Queen's venomous expression.

"Yes, child," she hisses. "To bind your filthy powers."

When she was five, not yet old enough to understand the abnormality of her living quarters, the Queen entered Mal's tower to find her lying on her back in the centre of the room, her favourite books dancing above her head. Mal does not know how it happened. She remembers waving her hand over the bookcase, surprise filling her when The Three Little Pigs and the Big Bad Wolf, The Isle of the Lost and its Inhabitants, and The Little Mermaid shot out.

Since that day, the Fairy Godmother has been in charge of binding Mal's powers. She waves her magic wand and Mal feels the mystical energy inside of her shrivelling up. It is painful. Like somebody is reaching inside of her and crushing her soul with their bare hand. But the Queen cannot have her prancing about in possession of her full range of powers. Every year on her birthday, the binding spell must be cast.

The pair reach the castle doors. From a pouch hanging off her wrist, the Queen produces a golden key. She inserts it into the door's lock and turns. Mal hears a clanging noise and without having to push against the wooden planks, the doors open by themselves. The Queen grabs ahold of Mal's wrist and pulls her inside the castle.

Again, Mal realises how poor of a representation those pictures inside the book of Auradon's history were. This castle is magnificent if she can look past what it represents. A marvellous chandelier hangs above the large staircase. Three people stand below the bottom step, the burning lights from the chandelier acting as a spotlight. Mal does not look at them yet—she is too busy taking in the sights. There are doors to her left and right, but both are closed off. She smells food from the right, however, and, as her stomach makes a small whining noise, she can deduce that one of those doors hides the kitchen.

"Ahem."

Mal startles. The Queen's rough, phlegmy voice hits her ears.

"Pay attention, child," she says, squeezing Mal's wrist tighter. She drags the purple-haired girl closer to the staircase.

Worried she may trip, Mal treads carefully, keeping her eyes downturned in order to watch where she is stepping. The marble that acts as the castle floor is slippery in certain places. She stops moving when the Queen does and she slowly lifts her gaze, landing first on the King.

"My husband," the Queen announces, as if Mal did not already know. The older man bows his head, and Mal reluctantly holds her skirt with her free hand and curtseys for him. "And this," the Queen says as Mal's heart creeps up her throat, strangling her with fear, "is my son, Benjamin."

She does not want to, but Mal moves her eyes from the ageing King to her betrothed. Eyes swelling, Mal's heart takes one final leap on top of her tongue. She tastes blood. Her jaw springs apart and she feels herself sinking to the floor. If it weren't for the Queen's iron grip on her wrist, she would surely have collapsed.

It can't be him, she reasons. There is no way it is him. Although, the longer she spends staring at the Prince, the more she starts to believe it is him. That boy is all colours to her, and the boy—the almost-man—standing in front of her matches those colours exactly. His hair is the same shade of muted brown with small strips of burnt gold. His skin has the same pink undertones. He wears the same blues and golds.

He offers her nothing in the way of greeting. No matter—she could not respond if she wanted to. Her mind is sizzling. An unfocused mess, trying to piece together a blurry puzzle. Her own name has leaked from her ears.

"Bow to your Prince, child," the Queen orders, again tightening her grip. Awakened, Mal bends her knees. She struggles to right herself, and the Queen is forced to come to her aid. "Benjamin, greet your future bride."

The Prince stares blankly at Mal save for the tiniest glint of ire in his blue eyes. He holds out his hand upon which lies a ring in the shape of a crown on his first finger. Mal lifts her spare arm and takes his hand. It is cold. Dry. He holds her fingers so lightly she can barely feel him. It's as if she is diseased.

She is the first to break contact. Her arm falls limply by her side.

"And you of course know the Fairy Godmother," the Queen says, and Mal finally pulls her eyes away from the Prince. She looks at the plump Fairy Godmother, knowing her powers, which have been growing all year, will soon be sucked from her bones.

"Fairy Godmother," Mal says.

"Mal, my dear. You look well," the Fairy Godmother praises, a genuine spark of pleasure in her voice.

Mal says nothing in response. She does not look well. She looks frightened and half-dead. The dress she wears hangs off her bones.

"I will take Mal into the library," the Queen says. She looks to her husband and son. "Find something to occupy your time until I return."

Prince Benjamin and his father abandon the staircase and go off to the left. Mal watches after them for as long as she can, taking in the sight of a billiards room before the Queen pulls her up the steps. As they reach the top of the main staircase, Mal looks up at the small stain glass window depicting the King and Queen's coronation. Gentle light streams through, and Mal turns her head to see the colours bathe the marble floor.

Heading up the West Staircase, the Queen, followed by Mal and the Fairy Godmother, trek up the stairs until they reach the library. Books surround Mal the moment she enters. Each wall is a shelf that reaches the top of the room, and there is not one gap between the books. Spiralling staircases, boasting glorious patterns made of solid gold, wrap around the entire room. A large window is located opposite the door. Mal sees the yellowing sky stretch out for miles and for a moment it is as if she never left her tower.

It is a truly beautiful room. If this is her prison, perhaps she will not be so lonely all of the time. Nobody is alone when there are books to be read.

"Stand there." The Queen points to the centre of the room, and the spell is broken.

Mal's insides tighten, but she obeys the Queen. The Fairy Godmother comes to stand two feet in front of her. She gets closer every year. The powers passed down from her mother constantly grow stronger, and this means the spell to keep those pesky powers at bay must also grow stronger. The Fairy Godmother shoots her an apologetic look as she waves her wand a few times in preparation. This spell knocks a lot out of her. Not as much as it does Mal, but for an older woman who isn't able to bounce back as quick, the recovery cannot be easy.

"Are you ready, child?" the Queen asks. Usually, she doesn't. Usually, she gives a nod to the Fairy Godmother and Mal, unprepared, falls to the ground in a heap of agony.

"Yes," Mal responds, though, of course, she is not ready. This isn't right. Stripping her of her powers is unfair. It's a violation. But she has no choice. She never has any choice. "I am ready."

"Stand straight," the Fairy Godmother warns.

Once, when Mal was six, one year after her first experience with power binding, she hunched over when the Fairy Godmother cast the spell out of fear. She remembered how badly it hurt the first time, and her small frame crumbled in on itself for protection.

Mal considers it one of her biggest mistakes. Her body rejected the spell. It tossed around inside of her before shooting out. The Fairy Godmother had to repeat the incantation, and Mal suffered twice that day.

Never again. Mal squares her shoulder and straightens her spine. Her bones creak and ache with malnutrition, but she stares at the Fairy Godmother, a slight flicker of wickedness and defiance, gifts from her mother bursting forth, in her green eyes.

The Fairy Godmother starts speaking in a strange language. Her tongue twists around peculiar sounding words. Sparks fly from the tip of her wand and Mal prepares for the blow. Just beyond the Fairy Godmother, hiding behind a crack in one of the bookshelves, Mal spots a pair of glowing eyes. Her eyebrows sink, moving above her nose. She starts tilting her head to the side, confused, but the spell hits her before she can speak to whoever is spying on her.

Crying out, Mal falls to her knees. She clutches her chest. Excruciating pain sweeps through her, rattling her bones. Wringing her lungs.

She can't breathe. Her eyes fly open. She looks frantically around the room, her brain unable to construct a single coherent thought. The spell, the agony it brings, has wholly clouded her mind.

In the midst of her attack, she searches for that crack in the wall. The glowing eyes are still there. Wider now, staring fearfully at her. Mal shrieks again, another wave of pain hitting her. She feels the spell trickling through her blood. It laces itself around her soul like a snake; it squeezes until the power that had been rising within her for the past twelve months dies out like a snuffed flame.

Steadily, the spell weakens. Mal finds her breath again, and she sucks in air as if she has been floating in the dark vacuum of space for the past eighteen years.

A hand clamps around her arm, dragging her into a standing position. "I will show you to your room. You may rest until suppertime," the Queen says.

Mal does not mind the Queen's harsh grip for the moment. She is far too weak to stand on her own. As she is pulled from the library—which she hopes will not be tarnished by this day's events—she captures those glowing eyes a final time. Focused now, she sees their colour. Blue. The same blue as the Prince.

The same blue as the boy who came to the field.

A/N 2: Mal's apparent voyeurism will be explained, don't you worry.

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Thanks for reading!