Chapter One
The rain fell in sheets, hiding everything in a light, silvery veil. Jasmine stared at the deep hole before her with empty eyes. Pain ebbed at her heart and the freezing rain chilled her to the marrow. Her clothing had long since soaked through, and her black gown felt a hundred times heavier than it had when it was dry. But it wasn't nearly as heavy as her aching heart. A single tear slipped from her eye to mingle with the raindrops sliding down her cheeks.
Jasmine continued to stare at the hole as the priest said a prayer for the dead man's soul. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. It felt like those few, infrequent breaths were all that was keeping her from slipping into insanity.
She opened her eyes and watched as Aladdin's casket was lowered into the sand and mud earth. It was all she could bear to keep from breaking down. She kept the words her father had told her so long ago in the front of her mind, "We may feel pain, but as royalty, our people must never know." Jasmine repeated them to herself over and over again as her lover's body-- and all her hopes and dreams--were buried in the desert sand.
The priest raised his hands over the grave and called out one last prayer to the heavens before filling in the large hole. Jasmine's heart ached more with every shovelful of dirt thrown into Aladdin's grave, and she clenched her eyes shut in order to block the sight from her mind. Her hand tightened its grip around a rose she held in her fist. The thorns cut through the princess' tender flesh, and she nearly cried out in pain. She looked down at her hand and saw the blood seeping from the cuts in her palm. Yet the pain was not in her hand, but in her heart.
***
After the funeral Jasmine walked mechanically up the stairs and down seemingly endless corridors to her chambers in Agrabah's royal palace. With every step bits of the dull pain in her heart turned to anger, and by the time the princess reached her room, she was livid.
As she stepped into her chambers she felt the anger rising within her, ready to explode. Anger at Aladdin for leaving her, anger at the Genie for not being able to help her beloved, and anger at herself for being the bait in Mozenrath's trap.
Mozenrath. Jasmine felt a surge of raw emotion at the thought of the sorcerer. The realization struck her suddenly with the force of a hundred knives in her heart. Mozenrath had killed Aladdin; it was he who was to blame. After all those years the evil sorcerer had finally accomplished his most unattainable goal and gotten his worst enemy out of the way.
Suddenly, it was as if a bright light had been turned on in her head. Horror and anger registered in her brain as she realized how - with his arch enemy out of the way - there was nothing to stop Mozenrath from taking over Agrabah.
Jasmine turned her head and studied her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were black and empty with pain, her hair stringy and disheveled, her mouth twisted into a terrible grimace, and tear marks streaked down her cheeks. She looked at herself with hatred building in her heart, hatred for Mozenrath. In an instant she had made up her mind. There was only one person in the world who could save Agrabah from Mozenrath, and that was the one person who knew its former hero best.
Continued.
The rain fell in sheets, hiding everything in a light, silvery veil. Jasmine stared at the deep hole before her with empty eyes. Pain ebbed at her heart and the freezing rain chilled her to the marrow. Her clothing had long since soaked through, and her black gown felt a hundred times heavier than it had when it was dry. But it wasn't nearly as heavy as her aching heart. A single tear slipped from her eye to mingle with the raindrops sliding down her cheeks.
Jasmine continued to stare at the hole as the priest said a prayer for the dead man's soul. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. It felt like those few, infrequent breaths were all that was keeping her from slipping into insanity.
She opened her eyes and watched as Aladdin's casket was lowered into the sand and mud earth. It was all she could bear to keep from breaking down. She kept the words her father had told her so long ago in the front of her mind, "We may feel pain, but as royalty, our people must never know." Jasmine repeated them to herself over and over again as her lover's body-- and all her hopes and dreams--were buried in the desert sand.
The priest raised his hands over the grave and called out one last prayer to the heavens before filling in the large hole. Jasmine's heart ached more with every shovelful of dirt thrown into Aladdin's grave, and she clenched her eyes shut in order to block the sight from her mind. Her hand tightened its grip around a rose she held in her fist. The thorns cut through the princess' tender flesh, and she nearly cried out in pain. She looked down at her hand and saw the blood seeping from the cuts in her palm. Yet the pain was not in her hand, but in her heart.
***
After the funeral Jasmine walked mechanically up the stairs and down seemingly endless corridors to her chambers in Agrabah's royal palace. With every step bits of the dull pain in her heart turned to anger, and by the time the princess reached her room, she was livid.
As she stepped into her chambers she felt the anger rising within her, ready to explode. Anger at Aladdin for leaving her, anger at the Genie for not being able to help her beloved, and anger at herself for being the bait in Mozenrath's trap.
Mozenrath. Jasmine felt a surge of raw emotion at the thought of the sorcerer. The realization struck her suddenly with the force of a hundred knives in her heart. Mozenrath had killed Aladdin; it was he who was to blame. After all those years the evil sorcerer had finally accomplished his most unattainable goal and gotten his worst enemy out of the way.
Suddenly, it was as if a bright light had been turned on in her head. Horror and anger registered in her brain as she realized how - with his arch enemy out of the way - there was nothing to stop Mozenrath from taking over Agrabah.
Jasmine turned her head and studied her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were black and empty with pain, her hair stringy and disheveled, her mouth twisted into a terrible grimace, and tear marks streaked down her cheeks. She looked at herself with hatred building in her heart, hatred for Mozenrath. In an instant she had made up her mind. There was only one person in the world who could save Agrabah from Mozenrath, and that was the one person who knew its former hero best.
Continued.