Bound by Desire

Some wishes change everything. The Woman Whom Luck Hated Clara Wren had the sort of face people forgot while looking directly at it. Not ugly—never ugly—but soft and timid and apologetic, as though her features themselves were forever asking permission to exist. Her brown hair never behaved correctly no matter how carefully she pinned it back, her cardigans smelled faintly of rain because every umbrella she owned inevitably broke, and at thirty-two years old she had accepted, with exhausted religious certainty, that life simply enjoyed stepping on her neck. If a pigeon could possibly choose one person to target in a crowded street, it chose Clara. If a bakery accidentally burned an order, it was hers. If a man shouted at strangers because his coffee was too cold, Clara somehow apologized to him despite not working there. And on the rainy Thursday afternoon when she found the oil lamp in a junk crate behind Mr. Feldman’s antique shop, she was mostly thinking about whether the three dollars she might get for selling it as scrap would cover noodles or laundry detergent. “Honestly,” Clara muttered to herself while dragging the ugly thing home beneath her coat, “God gives everyone a purpose. Mine might simply be… being inconvenienced.” The universe, perhaps offended by this level of surrender, immediately made her step ankle-deep into a freezing puddle. Her apartment was tiny enough that the kitchen sink could be reached from the bed if she leaned correctly. Clara placed the lamp beside her instant noodles and squinted at it. It truly was hideous. Thick layers of grime covered what might once have been brass, and the handle had strange carvings almost hidden beneath dirt. “Well,” she sighed, rolling up her sleeves, “you won’t sell looking like that.” She began scrubbing. Five seconds later, the apartment exploded with purple smoke. Clara screamed. The smoke swirled violently, filling the entire room before collapsing inward into the shape of a tall woman lounging sideways in midair as though reality itself were a chaise lounge designed for her convenience. She wore shimmering silks in black and deep violet, gold bracelets stacked along powerful bronze arms, and her dark hair cascaded down her back like a thunderstorm with opinions. Most terrifying of all— She looked deeply annoyed. “Oh, for the love of eternity,” the woman groaned. “Another one trembling already.” Clara hit herself against the refrigerator hard enough to make magnets fall off. “I-I-I’m sorry—” “Why,” the woman interrupted, eyes narrowing, “are you apologizing to me for existing?” Clara opened and closed her mouth helplessly. The genie stared. Then she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh no,” she muttered. “You’re one of those. ” The Genie with No Patience “My name,” said the genie, crossing muscular arms beneath an impressive chest, “is Zahra. I am ancient, magnificent, feared across empires, breaker of kings, devourer of tyrants, and currently trapped in a studio apartment that smells like sadness and cabbage.” Clara stared silently. Zahra stared back. “Say something.” “You’re very pretty.” The genie blinked. Then, unexpectedly, laughed. Not delicately. Not elegantly. She laughed like thunder cracking apart a mountain. “Well,” Zahra said, grinning now, “that’s at least more interesting than screaming.” Clara slowly lowered herself onto a chair. “You’re… really a genie?” “Yes.” “And I get wishes?” “Yes.” “And there’s probably some horrible trick?” “Only if you annoy me.” “Oh.” Zahra floated closer, examining Clara critically. “You walk like someone expecting to be struck.” Clara looked down. “Well…” “No,” Zahra snapped immediately. “None of that.” “None of what?” “That tiny little defeated voice.” Clara flushed. “I don’t mean to—” “You apologize every fourteen seconds.” “I do not.” “You just did it again.” The first wish happened accidentally. A week later, Clara’s manager at the accounting office dumped three extra workloads onto her desk before leaving early. Again. As usual. “You don’t mind staying late, right Clara? You’re such a lifesaver.” Clara smiled weakly. “Of course.” Then Zahra appeared sitting on the filing cabinet eating grapes she had manifested out of spite. “Wish for him to choke on his tie.” Clara nearly fainted. “I can’t do that!” “Cowardice bores me.” “It’s not cowardice, it’s kindness!” “That man called you ‘office furniture’ yesterday.” Clara winced. “Well…” Zahra leaned closer. “Wish for confidence.” Clara hesitated. Then whispered: “I wish… I wasn’t scared all the time.” The office lights flickered. Magic hummed. And suddenly, for the first time in her life— Clara felt anger. Hot. Sharp. Magnificent. Her manager returned an hour later and immediately barked, “Still here? Good girl.” Clara slowly looked up. “Don’t call me that.” The entire office froze. Including Zahra. Then the genie smiled like someone watching fireworks. Lessons in Becoming Dangerous The transformation took months. Zahra did not simply grant wishes. She trained Clara. Brutally. “Again,” Zahra ordered while Clara attempted to walk in high heels. “I’m going to die.” “You are walking across carpet, not crossing Mordor.” Clara stumbled directly into Zahra’s arms. The genie smirked. “You’re blushing.” “You’re very close.” “I have noticed.” There were wishes for confidence. For financial luck. For courage. For opportunity. But slowly, the wishes became unnecessary. Because Clara herself changed. Her shoulders straightened. Her voice deepened with certainty. She cut her hair shorter. Bought red lipstick. Quit her miserable job after informing her manager he had “the charisma of expired yogurt.” Zahra applauded for five full minutes. The Terrible Discovery The problem began at a bar. Specifically when a handsome man bought Clara a drink. Specifically when Clara looked horrified. Zahra watched carefully. “You dislike him.” “He seems perfectly nice.” “But you dislike him.” “I don’t know…” Then a tall woman in a leather jacket walked past. Clara nearly dropped her glass. Zahra’s eyes widened slowly. “Oh.” Clara froze. “Oh no.” “Oh YES,” Zahra said delightedly. “This explains everything. ” For the next week Zahra became unbearable. “You like women.” “Please stop saying it like that.” “How should I say it? Congratulations on your homosexuality?” Clara buried her face in a pillow. “Oh God.” “No,” Zahra corrected smugly, “definitely me.” A muffled scream came from the pillow. The Wish Nobody Said Aloud One evening they sat together on the apartment roof overlooking the city lights. Clara had become beautiful. Not because magic changed her face— But because confidence had finally allowed her to exist fully inside it. Zahra watched her quietly. “You no longer need wishes,” the genie said softly. Clara looked over. “That sounds sad.” “It is the purpose of genies to leave eventually.” The words hit harder than Clara expected. “Oh.” Zahra’s expression shifted. For once, the powerful immortal looked uncertain. “You love me,” she said quietly. Clara laughed weakly. “Well, yes. Tragically.” “Tragically?” “You’re magical and terrifying and immortal.” “And?” “And I’m me.” Zahra suddenly grabbed Clara’s chin gently. “That,” she said firmly, “is no longer an acceptable answer.” Then Zahra smiled slowly. “There is one final wish remaining.” Clara’s breath caught. The genie whispered: “Use it wisely.” Clara stared at her for a long moment. Then finally said: “I wish… for you to stay.” Silence. Magic trembled through the night air. The lamp shattered. And Zahra fell forward into Clara’s arms— Warm. Human. Mortal. Real. Morning The next morning sunlight poured across tangled sheets and scattered clothing. Clara woke slowly. For one terrible second she feared it had all been a dream. Then Zahra yawned beside her, hair wild, wrapped in blankets like an offended queen. “Why,” Zahra grumbled, “do humans wake up sticky?” Clara burst into helpless laughter. The genie—former genie—opened one eye suspiciously. “You’re staring.” “You’re beautiful.” “I know.” “You stayed.” Zahra’s expression softened. Then she leaned forward and kissed Clara slowly while morning sunlight spilled gold across the room. Afterward, Zahra rested her forehead against hers. “So,” she murmured, “what shall we do with the rest of our lives?” Clara smiled. For once in her existence— The future sounded exciting. A Story by Germaine Corbeau - Click here for links to all Germaine Corbeau Stories!