A/N: These dream scenes won't have an particular order. I'm just going to write them as they come to me. Each scene will be a different dream experienced by one of characters, and just the dream. No comfort or cuddling after, no further context. Just the unadulterated terror of a mind prison they can't escape.

Ya'know, just some fluffy, light reading for a Sunday afternoon.

I eagerly await the cried of anguish that will be directed towards me in upcoming reviews. lol.

Enjoy.

The palace was filled with the sounds of celebration, the hum of music and guests reverberating through the halls. Garlands dripped from the walls and railings, bouquets placed upon every available surface. The dining hall had been set with a veritable feast — enough food to feed the hungry beggars of Agrabah several times over. In the streets, the uninvited held their own festivities, singing and dancing, reveling in the knowledge that their kingdom would be secure for another generation.

Someone should be happy, she supposed. After all, it was her wedding day.

Perhaps she could have shared in their joy if she had been given any say in the selection of the groom. If this so-called celebration didn't feel more akin to the execution of her freedom. Instead, she stared blankly into the mirror as Dalia placed the veil atop her head, pinning it in place. Setting her hands upon the Princess' shoulders, Dalia looked at her backwards through the mirror, and their eyes met as a single tear descended Jasmine's cheek.

"It's time," Dalia whispered.

The double doors to the Grand Hall opened, and the crowd all turned to gaze at the Princess as she entered the courtyard. Beyond the center fountain, on the opposite side next to the Imam, the groom stood on the steps with his back to her.

She knew all the parts of the dream, this recurring nightmare, following the steps like a well practiced dance. But, this is the part that always changes. She's suffered through so many times, yet, she never knows whose face she will find when she reaches the steps across the courtyard. Always some useless Prince whose come to claim her as a prize, a pretender to sit on her throne. The faces of all those she had rejected come back to haunt her, one by one, and each time she must endure being forever tethered to a man whose love for extends only as far as the need to produce an heir and secure his dynasty.

Once, it had been Jafar who had turned to face her wearing the wicked smile of a serpent who had lured his prey into a trap. Brandishing his cobra staff, its eyes glowed the same shade of amber as her father's eyes as he placed her hand into Jafar's.

This time, as she stepped up to stand next to the man her father had chosen over her as his heir, it was not a former suitor or the cursed vizier. When her intended turned to face her, it was the only face she ever wanted to see standing next to her on her wedding day. But, the cold, distant look he gave was enough to stop her heart. Raising her veil, Aladdin met her eyes without a hint of affection. Eyes usually so full of warmth and hope, that follow her every move like a devotee gazing upon his goddess, stared back at her like a man who had subdued his enemy.

The outfit was all wrong. Aladdin had worn turquoise and copper at their wedding. The man standing next to her wore ivory and gold. This is not Aladdin…

This is Prince Ali. The version of the man she had conjured after their first meeting.

Then, she saw the servants along the walls, arms filled with chests full of gold, trays spilling with jewels, crates packed with all those expensive gifts he had lauded in the throne room — a whole legion of servants to carry the fortune with which he intends to purchase her.

The Imam asked Prince Ali if he accepted the Princess' hand, and without a modicum of sentiment, he flatly agreed. Lifting her hand, he slid a ring with a glistening red stone onto her trembling finger. Heat burned her skin as it made contact, the metal on the band glowing as if it had just been taken from atop the coals of a forge. A wave washed over, her tightening her throat to match the pain burning her hand. A pain so intense she cried out, but when she opened her mouth, nothing escaped.

Lips moving, panic rising, she screamed at the top of her lungs, the tissue of her throat tearing from the force. Nothing but silence prevailed. Muzzled by a wedding band, she had finally been rendered speechless.

The Imam turned his attention to her, asking, "Princess Jasmine, do you take Prince Ali of Ababwa as master and husband, to ascend to your throne, to steal your kingdom, to produce his heirs while you do nothing to lessen the suffering of your people?"

Violently, she shook her head in the negative, her denial dying silently on her tongue. The ring winked in the light, the glow fading as it seared into her ring finger.

"She accepts," Prince Ali supplied arrogantly. "She doesn't have a choice. Besides, Agrabah already belongs to me." Seizing both her wrists tight enough to cut off circulation, he yanked her against his chest, trapping her in his hold. Loveless eyes level with hers as his mouth twisted into a sneer. "And now, so does she."

Forcing the kiss on her, Jasmine writhed, clawing at him to release her. Tears streaming down her cheeks, the Imam announced the marriage complete. The audience applauded as the music rose up. Still gripping her by one of her wrists, Ali dragged the struggling Jasmine behind him, a glorious smile brightening his face as he waved to the guests with his other hand. Unmoved by her plight, they disappeared through the doors into the dining hall to feast upon the splendid meal that awaited them. Glasses clinking together, laughter erupted just beyond the walls. The last thing she saw before Prince Ali pulled her stumbling through the doors into the palace, was Baba counting his newly acquired fortune.

Throwing open the doors to their bedroom with his free hand, he jerked her by the arm, pushing her through the door. Already wavering on her feet, she fell to her knees before him on the floor. Looming, Ali glowered at her, yanking her to stand once more. Tearing at her dress with both hands, the fabric ripped away, and he threw the shreds to the floor in a dramatic thrust. For the first time since she had recognized him, had met those familiar eyes, something swirls in them, but it is the opposite of love.

Desperately swinging at him, she tried to flee, but it was useless against his inhuman strength. Capturing her by the waist, he lifted her up to throw her on the bed. Pinning her down with his weight, he trapped her arms down into the mattress on either side of her body. Flailing and kicking, her efforts proved as futile as her attempted, silent screams. She is stunned by the strike of his hand against her face.

Gaze locked with the monster wearing Aladdin's face, she felt something deep inside her cleft, followed by a profound sense of emptiness, of despair.

"There it is," he smiled proudly, leaning back on his heels, still positioned above her prone form. "Did you feel that Princess? Could you feel your spirit break?" Dragging a hand roughly down her face, gripped it in one palm, fingers digging into her cheeks. "Now, everything you are belongs to me."

Then he sprang to permanently claim what was rightfully his.