The Wish

Only for a moment did Nicole pause and consider her options. Only for a moment, the briefest of moments, did the thought that not all was what it seemed, that the spirit who spoke to her could be anything but what it had presented. But that moment was fleeting, and her desire to see the world righted, to see the men of the world put on a proper path, was strong.

Strong enough to motivate Nicole to act.

The air around her felt electric as she brought the tip of the knife to the tip of her finger. Pausing, steeling herself to the pain, she could hear whispers, the excited chatter of the spirit, words she didn't know but knew very well the power they held. Nicole was going to save the world, and whatever help the spirit would give her was welcome.

She winced as a drop of blood appeared, an inkwell for the dagger. She collected her medium, dipping the metal in the scarlet, then lowered it down to the waiting scroll. She knew what she needed to write. The spirit had whispered it in her ear, over and over, filling her soul with the solution.

I wish, she wrote, that I had the power to fix the men.

The knife clattered to the floor. As soon as the last stroke of blood hit the last letter of her wish, something in the room changed.

Silence.

Gone was the spirit. Gone was the magic. Gone were the whispers.

"Hello?" she said in a small voice.

Then, all at once, every nerve in Nicole's body lit up. Pain. Pleasure. Hot. Cold. Terror. Ecstasy. She screamed. She moaned. She fell to the floor, spasming in **** and euphoria.

Then it stopped.

Her eyes slid open. It had worked. Nicole could feel it. She had the power that she needed. Only that wasn't all.

Nicole was no longer Nicole. At least, she wasn't only Nicole.