He had lived without the sun's rays kissing his face for so many moons that his skin and fleshless hand were nearly the same shade of chalky white. Life in the Land of the Black Sands had taken that joy from him, along with his physical fitness and what kindness might have still lived in his heart. The price one must pay for power is steep, but the intoxication power provided nearly outweighed the costs. Nearly. In the place of meaningful relationships he was left with the numbing loneliness of being surrounded by mute reanimated corpses. He may as well have tried talking to the air if he wanted some intelligent conversation. Yes, Mozenrath had the company of his familiar, Xerxes, but there's only so much that an eel has to offer intellectually. More often than not he chose to enjoy the silence.
Much to his dismay, no matter how he ached to be some otherworldly creature, he was still human. His sanity was already slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. All the magic in the world couldn't relieve his need for human companionship to stave off the madness; at the rate his mind was deteriorating, he would need to find someone to pass the idle hours with quickly. But the terrible truth of it all was that a child lost in the desert had a better chance of finding an oasis than he did of finding a willing companion to reside with him in his citadel. With his short temper and unsavory reputation, it was no surprise that his entire dominion was filled with the undead rather than warm bodies to entertain. He couldn't remember the last time he spoke to anyone aside from that mangy street rat and the spoiled princess of Agrabah. Infuriating as they were, they never failed to prove themselves worthy adversaries. Especially Jasmine. Despite her dainty gilded slippers and childlike temper, she was strong and clever. Perhaps she was even stronger than that urchin she had shacked up with. She would be very amusing to keep around indeed.
"How will I ever get my hands on her…" he pondered. It was unlikely that she'd come willingly, so he'd need to use a glamour to disguise himself. He was certain there were no lack of forms that would gain her immediate trust. Once she fell for his trap, it would take little time to transport her home with him. She would fight at first, he was certain, but with the gauntlet and his endless cruelty, he would force obedience into her. After all, she need only to be able speak and hear to stave off his madness. His master had said as much to a young Mozenrath when he had been particularly insubordinate.
"Speak out of turn again, boy, and you'll be unable to walk for a week. You don't need your legs for sorcery."
Destane's punishments had seemed harsh to him during his apprenticeship, but now he saw the value of power and control. Only threaten what you can afford to lose. And enact your punishments with no remorse. His back and legs was littered with shiny scars left by years of whippings and canings for bad behavior.
This plan would be fruitful indeed. He'd have the beautiful fiery princess all to himself, to wear down and mold into a suitable conversation partner and perhaps a fine concubine if he wanted his carnal appetites fed. He imagined he would be breaking her in very soon, her being a beautiful woman and him having been without pleasure in so long. It was rarely a good time to step away from the citadel in pursuit of a courtesan, after all.
It was a perfect scheme. Nothing but that meddling street rat could keep him from his goal. The ceaseless heroics on his part were exceptionally bothersome. With his physical strength and wits alone, Aladdin had made a fool of the sorcerer time and time again. Mozenrath needed a suitable distraction to keep him out of the picture. A deal which the hero would be unable to refuse.
The sorcerer stood shrouded in shadows, waiting for the right moment to act. He spotted her poorly-disguised form treading carefully through the marketplace, shrouded in a modest black cloak which barely obscured her familiar features. Foolish of her to think no one would take notice of how uncalloused and clean her hands were, or how she smelled of fine imported perfumes. If she weren't so ungodly selfless, he might have suspected her of simply trying to curry favor with her people by walking among them. It was impossible to believe she didn't hear the murmurs that followed behind her at every turn. This was going to be too easy. With a devious grin, Mozenrath shapeshifted into the form of a little girl so thin you could count the hours of the day on her ribs, with sunken brown eyes and a gap-toothed grin. Assuming the character, he wildly stumbled directly in the path of Jasmine, got caught on her cloak and promptly fell face first. The child let out a dramatic cry, but one not entirely unauthentic. If Mozenrath's true face was bruised as a result of his scheme, there would be hell to pay for the princess.
"Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry little one. Are you alright?" she asked, helping the child to her feet.
"I-I think so. But I need to go. I need to find a doctor for my mother…" she mumbled, trying to worm her way out of Jasmine's grasp. Her grip was surprisingly strong for a woman with such tender, unblemished hands. The little street urchin finally broke free and tore down an alleyway, hoping the princess would follow. The trap was set.
"Wait!" she cried, following the child as quickly as her dainty feet could manage. "If you just let me help you, I can find your mother the finest doctor in all of Agrabah."
"You will? How are you gonna do that, lady?" the little girl piped, cornered by Jasmine's towering figure. She smiled down at the child, taking her into her arms.
"Can you keep a secret? I'm the princess. I like to sneak out here to help my people however I can." Finally, the timing was right. Arms wrapped around her waist, he transformed back to his true form. The look on the princess' face as she felt the tiny hands become the powerful hands of a grown man could have frozen the pits of hell. He pulled her closely to him, and smiled.
"So lovely to see you again, princess. We're going to have such fun together."
Before she could protest, they were enveloped in his magic and transported to the dungeon of his citadel. He threw her body to the ground, sending her scraping across the uneven stone floor. It would surely leave some painful cuts on her exposed stomach and arms, where brilliant crimson was already starting to rise to the surface. She rose to her feet, holding her arms in front of her in an invitation to fight. Quick to anger, quick to be broken. That was her choice, not his.
"Mozenrath, you coward! How dare you try and trick me like that."
"I didn't try, my dear, I succeeded," he cooed, materializing shackles on her hands and feet. The chains only allowed a foot of space between her and the wall. She thrashed against the restraints, forcing the shackles tighter against her wrists and ankles. She would be purple and blue before the night was up at the rate she was going, and that was before the games had truly begun.
"You won't get away with this. When Aladdin finds out what's happened, you'll be sorry."
"That's exactly what I'm hoping for, princess."
Author's Notes: This is my first time writing in this universe, so I hope you find it suitable! Additionally, please check my AO3 account, K_Maestrale for the latest updates to the story. I will be cross-posting here for posterity, as well as the more well-established Mozenrath fandom here, but I'd love for you to join me over on the archive.