Disclaimer: I do not own anything in here but the plot.

Reviews and critisism are loved. That's how I improve. Looking for BETA readers. Check out my other Aladdin story, 'Crushed Sand'.

Prologue:

She could only prolong her death for so long, and the time that she had been holding the evil sorcerer at bay captive by amusing banter was swiftly coming to a close. The smooth, horribly cold gauntlet pressed into the junction of her neck, and she could feel the barest sensation of thin bone covered by the soul stealing leather magical item.

This was it. Fate was making this her time to die. Though most princesses would have been crying, no sobbing in terror and pleading brokenly for this monster to let them go, but she refused to stoop to their level. All princesses had some form of pride that had been embedded into them the second that they were born, but her pride ran along deeper than most did, curling into her stomach and brain and heart, refusing to let her fear show through and stoop so low as to beg.

Princesses, the ones who would grow up to be powerful and astute rulers of their kingdoms, ones who would become Sultanas that would save their kingdoms, did not beg.

And Jasmine was not about to let herself become the one who broke that unspoken law.

Besides, dying by Mozenrath's hand was far better than to be kept alive. Death would become her unwanted savior, as any further delay of the inevitable would be far worse than walking among the living. When you were dead, you didn't have to deal with being tortured and broken, beaten and spit upon, or have to wake up to every new sunrise dealing with a sense of hopelessness and licking the wounds that destroyed your pride. Wounds that were embedded into your being, rather than by physical or mental means of destruction, by someone who you could not bow down to. Someone who had taken away all sense of meaning in your life, until all you knew was that you were living, and that was not something that was sustainable for living.

Wordlessly, she stared up into the lifeless eyes of the man who had set his sight on taking away everything that was dear to her. He was the one being- for he was no human, humans couldn't do the devastating destruction of ones soul like he could- that could force her hand. He could be the one to make her bow to his will, for he had advantage, and she felt as though she had nothing left.

Jasmine even went as far as to wish for Jafar, Selene, anyone but him, for they couldn't have the capability of killing and taking away everything precious in life like he could.

"Well," The voice murmured, the voice of her crazed executioner. "I suppose it would be best to get on with it."

And suddenly, her windpipe was cut off from any oxygen trying to enter her system. Caught by surprise, the princess gaped wordlessly, her feet flailing as her dainty shoes fell off and she was lifted up into the air with a force unlike anything she had ever had the horror of witnessing before. Her eyes began to water, not crying, but because she was suffocating, and hated the idea of how he could interpret her body's reaction.

The logical side of her brain attempted to soothe her, reminding her of the fact that it would soon be over, and all of those days spent screaming for a release from this nightmare would suddenly come to a close. There would be no more fighting, no more crying herself to sleep at night from the wounds on her back or the loss of her loved ones, and no more unpleasant, grueling conversations with this inhuman beast that wore the disguise of a mortal.

Jasmine's eyelashes fluttered as her tanned eyelids moved down to cover her pained almond eyes. A release, she told herself, the word release becoming a mantra to help ease the pain of death. Don't fight it, don't fight your release.

Another side of her brain kicked in, waking her up from the momentary pleasure of forgetting all of her current surroundings and of the loathsome foul hand of death crushing her windpipe in a lethal grip. She became acutely aware of everything even more than she had been before, as if she had unknowingly tapped into a sixth sense. And then the pain came back, clearer than before as well.

The grip of skinless hand from underneath the gauntlet served to send an icy sensation, something so freezing to the point that it was almost unbearably hot, to her neck that it was crushing. Though she could not see it, the skin there was turning purple and blue, and her whole body was beginning to lose her coloring, the skin becoming pale instead of the healthy tan that it normally was.

Now there was no chance for numbness. Even as she lost oxygen, even as she wheezed for sweet breaths, her body refused to let her lose any feeling in her limbs. Snapping her head up to face the monster that was going to end her, with a raging fire in her eyes and a darkness that matched the sand that had consumed her lovely kingdom of Agrabah and all of its people residing in it, Jasmine decided unwillingly that she could not die today. She had to save her kingdom.

Her lips curled back into a snarl, something unfitting on a beautiful face such as hers, as both of her hands groped for a hold onto the gauntlet covered hand. The differences between the two were even more obvious than before, the size of his hand overpowering the effect of her tiny little ones. Even if they were in the citadel alone, even though he had the advantage, she refused to be bested by him.

Jasmine longed to say something, to spit at his face or have the ability to tackle him to the ground and hit him with everything that she had. She didn't have enough air in her to speak. She could taste the acrid taste of blood coming from her crushed windpipe and rotting flesh from the fortresses air. The combined scent made her senses reel in disgust, but she blocked them from her mind to focus on getting out of the citadel alive and in one piece.

After she tried to kick him with her flailing limbs, Mozenrath finally seemed to have realized that she was attempting to fight back.

"I'm surprised you still have some fire left in you," He exclaimed with some sense of surprise, though nothing more than as a passing thought. The sorcerer even allowed her to witness some ounce of emotion on his face, little but enough to show his condescension by curling his lips up into a whisper of a smirk. The evil equivalent of a smile only grew more pronounced as her flailing continued. Oh, how deliciously furious she was. Her anger, her crazed hatred for him burned off of her like fiery flames, and he eagerly consumed the emotions that served to swell his ego.

Leaning down, only causing her to glower at him even more, still gaping like a fish out of water he lowered his head towards her ear, as if he were about to divulge an exciting secret.

"And to think, I had thought that I had beaten all of that out of you." His voice, sleek and smooth swished through the dense air like the wings of a raven, traveling till it reached the hollow of her ear.

With her heightened senses, she could feel everything. Feel the words pound into her head, feel his breath ghost onto the skin of the nape of her neck and into her ear, each puff of air only helping to make her realize what she couldn't do: breathe. Her eyes were beginning to see spots of light. Maybe now a higher being up there was going to let her pass on in peace. It still burned her throat far too much for her liking, and Jasmine screamed a wordless cry, a noise that came out hoarse and scratchy.

Her eyes widened, and she would have whimpered if possible when she heard the sound of something beginning to snap in her neck.

This was it.

Mozenrath's face loomed down into her eyes, locking his dead gaze onto her raging eyes and refusing to lose eye contact.

"Now princess, what have you been sobbing to me in your cell night after night for? I could have sworn it was for a release. This is it. What, not what you were expecting?"

Jasmine ignored his question, her mind growing weary with a loss of oxygen, and was filled with a sense of accomplishment when she realized how her stubbornness had allowed to her live for this long. The prolonged pain of dying was her price to pay for it, but at least she could know that her enemy could never honestly admit that she didn't put up a fight. She realized now that he was far too strong for her tiny and frail body to overpower him. Slowly but surely, she began to give up.

Her head knocked against the wall, and their noses brushed at the lightest of contact, Mozenrath's face calm and composed, hers weary and pained. Their breath mingled together, perfuming the air with the scents of blood and wine.

"Hmm," He began, apparently deep in thought. She could easily imagine the gears turning in his mind as he mulled over ideas in his head.

Ideas of what, she wondered brokenly. How he was going to end her?

"Well," He murmured, and she feared that he would say the same words that he had said before that would reinforce her death sentence.

"You would be far more of an amusing prisoner alive than dead and decaying. Besides, being a mamluck wouldn't suit a cute princess like you, now would it?" His voice was mocking now, taking in her desperate expression with amusement.

He kept his hold on her neck as she took in the sound of her windpipe crushing a moment longer before he released her. She writhed on the floor in relief to get oxygen, greedily gulping in mouthful after mouthful of sweet, precious air that she had no access to only seconds before. She was still in pain, but earlier when she had felt the searing pain of death; those minutes tortured her by having her believe that the time had stretched far too long into infinity

Jasmine was still gripping her mind around the idea that a boned hand covered by a soul stealer no longer had its disgusting grip on her neck and that she could breathe, she could move without protest, when she was grabbed by the back of her sleeveless top.

"Well, back to the darkness then princess. We'll talk again when your dashing street rat in shining armor is one of my guards. Don't be disappointed if there is a limb or two missing, I'll try not to completely decimate him, though I'm making any promises." He followed his disturbing sentiment with a cruel, light laugh.

Jasmine watched the inky blackness take hold of her eyes and lost her train of thought. There was only the suffocating darkness left to take hold of her mind as she blacked out.