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Evil Is Erotic
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Literature
Kidnapped
Kidnapped
"CUT!"
"Ow!" A hiss of air passed between his teeth as her heel dug into his foot. She was already fuming mid-whirl and paid him no mind. He didn't try to get in her way.
"What is it this time?" Jasmine demanded as the smoke machine sputtered to a halt in the background.  The gray fog smelled oddly of clown makeup, no doubt aggravating her pissy mood past the Scourge threshold. Mozenrath was usually a patient man, but even he was starting to gravitate toward his TV persona.
"Don't get smart with me," the new director snapped. "We've been over this a dozen times! You have to look terrified. You're getting kidnapped by your worst nightmare and you're totally defenseless!"
Jasmine made a derisive noise, stepping toward the edge of the set. "Okay, look Mary, I know you have your newly minted Masters in Directing and all, but have you read a single page of the base material? Or watched even fifteen minutes of the show? I am not terrified of this guy.
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Literature
Mozenrath25: Drown
Drown
You want to feel the cost of power that badly? Have patience, Princess. You will learn.
It was a little surprising just how effective the ploy with the gauntlet had been. He'd succeeded in upturning a slew of her arrogant preconceptions of him in one conversation, and despite the petty insults she continued to throw at him, he had seen the new respect in her eyes. Soon, fear would no longer be the dominant force driving her to meet his challenge.
He'd checked in on her a few times during her recent stretch of silence. She'd apparently gotten it into her head to negotiate with the sultan of Desrial over some triviality or another, still attempting to carry every burden on her own without letting a hint of her true motives slip to her father or Aladdin. The physical and mental exhaustion she was relentlessly pushing herself into only played in his favor.
Still, it was rather intriguing that she had chosen not to speak with him at all for nearly three days. Perhaps she
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Mature content
Mozenrath25: Pain :iconcantareincminor:CantareinCminor 4 10
Literature
Near Horizon
Near Horizon
She breathed out against the meandering wind, tasting salt and a phantom of rain. The pull of the low, emptying tide was a drain on her strength, leaving her heart to channel its burden alone tonight. The moon was a pale sliver overhead, a half-closed eye adrift in mist.
She spied his thin silhouette on the sand from a windswept distance, curved angles of shoulders leaned forward, arms draped over knees. The dark film of the sea reached for him with indifference, advancing and receding in gentle routine. She stopped and watched him for the span of seven coats of water upon the beach, soft sand caving in a cocoon around her feet.
The line of his gaze traveled toward some point at once far off and inward. A familiar paradigm. Sand flowed from dry ankles as she moved to close the distance.
A nod was the only acknowledgement she received when she sat beside him, at his left. The soles of her feet met cold sand hardened by the spray of the sea, and she drew her knees up
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Literature
Mozenrath25: Gray
Gray
"Alright. So." He glanced at his friend now that they'd finally arrived at their destination. "How exactly do you catch a wraith hawk? With wraith mice?"
Mozenrath hardly spared him a glance as he continued ahead, eyes trained on the looming wall before them. The stone was webbed with cracks and some portions had already crumbled, leaving sizable hills of rubble. Over the fallen slabs of rock they could see the center of the ruins, the once magnificent Archive of Haroul.
"Forget about that for now. We're going inside."
The abrupt change in plans came as no surprise. It was happening more frequently now, where Mozenrath would add his own goals to the assignments he was given and more often than not prioritize the former. Outside of the worry that Destane would notice they were taking longer than usual, Xerxes thought it was all rather fun. There was only so much to do in a silent, gloomy desert with the walking dead for company. Mozenrath wasn't much better than the Mamluks
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Literature
Mozenrath25: Dark
Dark
He drummed his fingers over the faded map, staring at the outline of the city and the alien script surrounding it. The directions were either a lie, or he had lost his linguistic touch. The frown on his face deepened as he finally pushed the parchment away and let it flutter carelessly to the floor. Xerxes floated near with hesitation, wearing a dumb look of sympathy. Mozenrath paid it no mind and started on a late dinner, though he had no appetite. The search for the ancient mukhtar settlement had led him across two deserts over the course of a week, and he had found nothing.
A minute later his dinner was interrupted by a familiar flash from the chandelier overhead. The dark crystal had turned pale blue, its aura pulsating with the unexpected fluctuations of magic content on his land.
A visitor. He rubbed his temple tiredly with gloved fingers. It had been a good while since anyone had dared sneak onto his land, and he did not welcome a break in the pattern. In any case, h
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Literature
Mozenrath25: Spit
Spit
Next time, know who you're up against.
That infernal voice would not fade from his head. Sweet with scorn, annoyingly high-pitched, complete with a self-righteous smirk, delicate wrist settled smugly against the curve of her hip. The scene replayed itself in his mind ad infinitum and he cursed inwardly, unable even to move his lips in the airtight trap of the Crystal.
For the past hour he had focused all his energy in his right hand, trying to break the Crystal's containment spell with the threads of his own power. His gauntlet was glowing feebly, radiating power to melt away the hundred-layered barrier around him with painstaking slowness. Once his right hand was free, he would be able to escape. That moment could not arrive soon enough.
Next time, know who you're up against…
She was a mere slip of a girl with a delicate constitution, a pampered upbringing, and the fashion sense of a whore. A princess who'd been stupid enough to choose a street rat as th
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Literature
Mozenrath25: Introduction
Introduction
He cast a casual glance at his surroundings as he approached the appointed place. It was a pity this little alcove was not a part of his desert. The jagged black formations looming around him were like wind-swept sculptures of black sand, towers he might have drawn up himself if he had the luxury of spare time. They appeared as frozen claws of massive creatures briefly woken from their slumber beneath the earth. Or perhaps a graveyard of their bones. Bared ribcages, coated in dried black blood, curving toward an impartial sky in haphazard warning. The elegance of it was a thing to admire.
He shielded his eyes for a moment from the shafts of sunlight that had managed to survive their descent through the heavy shadows. Almost noon. He had half a day to wait. Plenty of time for some amusement.
He drew the small black orb from his robes, rolling it across his knuckles with detached curiosity. The eel, having ceased its mindless shadow-dodging game, darted close and took
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Literature
Rain
Rain
As he stood in the downpour, he imagined diagonals and perpendicular vectors. He had seen it in a movie once, where rain could fall sideways and even upward from the ground. In hateful spite toward man, rain could defy gravity. The movie had been a comedic, hopeful tragedy. Or perhaps a tragic, hopeful comedy. What was the difference? Did it matter, if hope was the common factor?
It was raining up tonight, droplets hitting hard against his legs, trickling inside his boots. For some reason he kept his umbrella raised over his head.
Rain
The cobblestones reeked of it. Damp moss, he imagined. Though he had never seen moss, it sickened him. He longed to be home, to stop breathing the air. The musk had sunken into his clothing, seeping into his pores. He took quick sharp steps to counter the drag. The water fell lukewarm, dripping with disdain, and slipped like the backwash of verbal clichés over his skin.
Rain
A million symphonies were clashing outside. The chords and cadences of
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Literature
Last Meetings III
Last Meetings III.
Scarecrow

The call came just as she took the potatoes from the oven. He was sorry; he wouldn't be coming to dinner. She smiled even though he wasn't there, because she needed courage to ask. What about tomorrow? The pause told her what she needed to know. Her smile slipped as he said no, and the silence implied more, diminishing her courage.
The baked potatoes sat on the counter as she ate half of the dinner she had prepared, not bothering to sit down. She used a spoon for the bowtie pasta, and drank the soup through a straw once it had cooled enough. After the meal she bent down to wipe the floor of small bits that had fallen, and her eyepatch slipped. It was merely reflex to pull it back into place, but this time she noticed it all too clearly, her heart finally beginning to pound in a stumbling race. She kept completely still for several seconds with her eyes closed, trying to fight back the turmoil as her will diverged into two fifteen-second futures. In t
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Literature
Last Meetings II
Last Meetings
II. The Nail-File Divide

I’m the kind of person who notices small things and stores them. Hoards them, she used to say. Because of her, I grew to hate it. Whatever the things are, they always expire. Expired memories are the worst, because there’s nothing I can do to sweep them away.
I notice the drops of liquid that slosh out of cups and settle in the grooves of plastic lids. It bothers me to think about how fast the droplets grow cold. When I told her, she gave me a strange look and set down her coffee, stopped drinking. By then she had stopped being discreet about finding me annoying. I was the friend she tolerated, who hung around and tried to make herself useful, failed, and kept at it.
The afternoon she left, there was a lot I wanted to say. We were at the train station, and I was contemplating the rows of empty tracks. There must have been a lot of empty coffee cups down there. Plenty of cockroaches too. People passed us, half-seen with their singl
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Literature
Last Meetings I
Last Meetings
I. The Abhorrence of Memi Landorne

The cup of chai was growing cold, its age marked by an idle white swirl on its surface. The current page number on the novel was irksome. 277, past the halfway mark, but not close enough to the end. Her elbow was sore from keeping the impatient even number pages from slipping over to the odds.
She was still waiting for Memi Landorne to die. The optimistic estimate was 312, the start of chapter 24. In her experience, things that came 24th were conclusive in nature.
The time was 4:30, and the price of another chai was a bit less than that. Hopefully by 6, Memi Landorne would be dead.
It was the first time she had read a novel in such a way. At first the style had intrigued her. The mixing of languages and sparse dialogue were agreeable. Though Memi was the main character, she was a distraction more than an initiator and a center of gravity, and she found this intriguing. The spacing of the lines on the page was also somewhat attract
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Literature
Cold
This is my cold. My bitterness, my relief, my frost, my stillness. The face frozen in the ice spoke with a dead smile.
I stared down, chilled hands forgotten. They twitched through the fingerings of a waltz, a frenetically precise heartbeat in triple time. In vain. The cold restricted my repertoire to a funeral march.
Who are you, I whispered, that you claim this all as your own? Death gives you ownership over nothing.
The ice shimmered in the slight turning of the sun. The snow around my feet was compact, forming a crust of false age. My knees ached.
Answer me.
The cold gives me ownership over death, the face said. In the world of the dead, all age is truth.
I sat down heavily on yielding white, an intruder in the encompassing winter, without a right to the cold. I swallowed numbly, dread creeping over rigid limbs.
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Literature
Letters
You shouldn’t write about love if you know nothing of it.
The paper slowly crumpled in her fist like so many dreams forgotten in the gray morning. A dying pen rested in her other hand.
Were all your letters as meaningless as this one?
She looked down at the cursive, the perfect curves now splintered.
Love,
Srana
*
Today I collected flowers for you.
*
Today I picked flowers for you. It was in the afternoon.
*
Today in the afternoon I took the long route home. There was a meadow, and I picked some flowers there.
*
Today in the afternoon I chose to take the long route home. I was thinking of you as I passed through the meadow. The flowers were pale orange, and I picked some of them for you.
*
Today
*
The door closed, and she sat alone staring at the words in her hand. Slowly she unfolded the rest of the paper, imagining the skin of her palm pricked by their edge.
The wastebasket stood in the corner of the room, a grave of the unsent.
*
I am writing this letter to you ev
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Raniye from Antiphony by CantareinCminor Raniye from Antiphony :iconcantareincminor:CantareinCminor 6 14
Literature
Antiphony: Chapter 12
She could breathe. That was her first thought after her entire body passed through the Mirror. It was like swimming through the ocean under Saleen’s breath-enabling spell, though there was not a drop of water in the surrounding sand. It sifted through her fingers easily, caressing her skin as she was pulled along by the force of the quicksand.
What is it that you seek?
The voice seemed to issue forth from some unseen place in front of her, but she kept moving forward without reaching a pocket of air. She wondered if this desert stretched on forever.
“I seek the past of Mozenrath, Lord of the Black Sand,” she said, surprised that the sand parted cleanly before her lips when she spoke. “Beginning with his birth.”
Her heartbeat quickened in rising excitement as the sand grew thinner and lighter in coloring. The horizontal gravity drew her toward a glowing light ahead, and suddenly the sand fell away from her limbs as she was deposited neatly on solid g
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Activity


deviantID

CantareinCminor
not enough hours for dreams
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
Current Residence: US
Favourite genre of music: classical, prog metal
Favourite cartoon character: Mozenrath, Zuko, Toph, Jin (Samurai Champloo)
Personal Quote: Music is enough for a lifetime, but a lifetime is not enough for music. - Rachmaninoff
Interests
Did anyone here use Fanlib during its short-lived run? I know it was hated by a large percentage of fans for its exploitative/corporate-backed nature, but did anyone have a positive experience with it? The case is so interesting as I'm reading about fan culture from a more academic lens.
  • Listening to: Dream Theater - Scenes from a Memory
  • Reading: Lisalu - A Glad Day

Comments


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:iconprettyfuzzy:
prettyfuzzy Featured By Owner Sep 17, 2013  Hobbyist Photographer
Thank you for your fics about Mozenrath! I read them while making Moze doll))) Really helped me not to stop. He is awesome character)))
Reply
:iconmenekah:
Menekah Featured By Owner May 11, 2013  Hobbyist Digital Artist
thank you very much for the fav :)

~ like my facebook page please: [link] :facebook:
Reply
:iconasisko4:
Asisko4 Featured By Owner Apr 4, 2013
I read it! :D :D It's great! :D :D :D Thanks a lot for sending it to me :D I've done a Moze vs Destane drawing XD Most of the scenes are quite spicy XD I'd have to think before doing drawings :P
Reply
:iconcantareincminor:
CantareinCminor Featured By Owner Apr 4, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Glad you liked it! Haha yes please use discretion. I would appreciate tame drawings, lol.
Reply
:iconasisko4:
Asisko4 Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2013
Yes, yes, I diiiid!! :D :D :D Especially the part in the dungeon, where he is shy :P haha, it was sweet ^^
Of course, I don't upload anything inappropriate online XD
Reply
:iconcantareincminor:
CantareinCminor Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
If you do the dungeon scene it would be AWESOME. In my mind that was the turning point of Moze's feelings for her.
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconwolfzoroarkgirl:
Wolfzoroarkgirl Featured By Owner Mar 19, 2013  Hobbyist Digital Artist
You like mozenrath? Im a fan girl of mozenrath :D
Reply
:iconcantareincminor:
CantareinCminor Featured By Owner Mar 20, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Yes I do!
Reply
:iconwolfzoroarkgirl:
Wolfzoroarkgirl Featured By Owner Mar 20, 2013  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Cool! Are you like a big fan like me?
Reply
:iconcantareincminor:
CantareinCminor Featured By Owner Mar 20, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Not sure what constitutes a "big fan" but I've written a bunch of Mozenrath fanfiction!
Reply
(1 Reply)
:icondarkelf19:
darkelf19 Featured By Owner Dec 13, 2012   General Artist
WHERE DID YOU GO?! OnO
Reply
:iconcantareincminor:
CantareinCminor Featured By Owner Dec 14, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Haha, I am currently pulling an all nighter writing a final paper.
And working on 3 startup ideas. My life got crazy interesting. In a good way though! How are you doing?
Reply
:icondarkelf19:
darkelf19 Featured By Owner Dec 14, 2012   General Artist
Ah! I actually miss those days! Exhausting fun.
It sounds like it's interesting! What's all happened?
I'm working on my portfolio and trying to get hired by Marvel. That's the goal anyway. Wish me luck! And you too! All the luck! May all your finals get A+'s. :love:
Reply
:iconcantareincminor:
CantareinCminor Featured By Owner Dec 14, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Oh that's awesome! Good luck to you!!
Two of my ideas are about writing websites and the other is about classical music. I need to prioritize, lol. I'll let you know if a beta version comes out sometime :)
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(1 Reply)
:iconsarapsys:
Sarapsys Featured By Owner Jun 10, 2012  Hobbyist Digital Artist
heya, thanks for the watch! :)
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