The Genie

She tasted like cinnamon- it contrasted the rest of her; that was blue. Herself? She was scum, numb and dumb.

Cinnamon- it set his lips on fire and it awoke something else too- something that craved spices and the exotic that could not be seen beneath her blue exterior.

Cinnamon smuggled beneath her skin, red and pumping around her blood like some kind of bad drug that couldn’t resist being in her system, and couldn’t resist infecting his.

She had only promised him three wishes. Only three. She hadn’t counted on him tasting the cinnamon on the wish that was his first kiss, or scenting the jasmine in the air on his second wish as they danced and she swished- hadn’t counted on him noticing she was tall, until after his third proposal.

She came out of her lamp after that.


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