Candace Miles, an 18 year old High-schooler

You are Candace Miller. You are enjoying your Saturday, and decided to take your morning walk. It is the middle of summer, but right now its too early to be hot, so you take a brief moment to enjoy the growing warmth, which is made bearable by the cool breeze fluttering your blonde hair around your head. You decide to head for the park on a whim and turn left at the next intersection.

That's when you spot it, a gleam of sunlight off something shiny. You pause and walk to the other side of the road, inspecting the object. It appears to be a small, wooden box, covered in shiny lacquer and adorned with intricate designs of a tree laden with heavy red fruits, along with a naked man and woman standing on either side, both gesturing to the tree. You wonder idly about the significance of the design before reaching out to touch the box. But as you finger brushes the top ot it, feeling the cool lacquer, you hear a voice. "Salutations," the voice booms. You drag your hand back, jumping up. "Hello?"

But there's no one there. You glance around, but the street is empty except for an old man on the end of the street, watering his flowers. But there was no way that was him- he's not even looking this way. You look back over at the box. Maybe someone was angry you touched their box, you thought. You reached down and touched the box again. "My apologies, was that too loud?" The voice repeats. You pull your hand back again. The voice, it came when you touched the box. Experimentally, you touch the box for a third time. "For crying out loud," the voice growls, "I can't talk to you if you keep moving the box. Keep your hand on it or just open the damn thing already."

"Who are you?" You ask. "And where are you?" The voice sighs, and it sounds like it's coming from right behind you. But a quick glance reveals no one there. "Look, just open the box, please." You hesitate for a second, but then decide you have nothing to lose and open the box. As you do, red and purple smoke pours out, wrapping around you. Lighting crashes and the sky seems to darken for a second. "Haa haa haa," the deep voice laughs. "HAAA HAA HAA!" A huge, shadowy shape rises in front of you, towering over you. You freeze in terror.

Then, all at once, all the smoke is gone and the sky is light again. And standing before you, next to the open box is a creature sitting on the raised edge of the road. It has clawed feet and grey, scaly skin, with huge horns and giant bat wings. The creature's eyes glow bright yellow and it has long fangs and glows. "Greetings, Mistress," it says with a casual wave. You feel the blood drain from your face. "Whaaaa?" You manage. "What?" The creature stands. "I am Lozengar, the creature from this box. I am compelled to serve whoever possesses it. As you have touched my box last, you are now my Mistress. Now tell me- what is your wish?" You are speechless. "Wish? You grant wishes?" The creature sighed. "Yes, I do. Do you just want me to explain?"

You nod dumbly. The creature rubbed his chin. "Well, it's a bit of a long story. All you need to know for now is that I am Lozengar. I am compelled to serve the one who holds my box. I will obey any order they give me and grant their wishes. So, what is your command?" You rub your chin. "Wishes?" He nods. "Yes, wishes. Anything you desire, it can be yours." You nod, slowly starting to accept the idea. "Okay, I like the sound of that. How many do I get?" Lozengar holds up 1 clawed finger. "I can grant you one wish per day. Once you have made it, you must wait at least 24 hours before I grant another of your wishes."

You glance over the creature again. "So, what are you? A Genie?" Lozengar flinched. "I am a, Demon," he said reluctantly. "But I assure you, I mean you no harm. I cannot hurt you, unless you wish or order me to." You look him over. "So, is that how you normally look?" Lozengar shook his head. "No, Mistress. I am a shapeshifter, but this form is not solid anyway. It is only a, illusion, I suppose, to enable swifter communication. As such, I can change it even easier than my normal form." You gesture to him. "Then, can you change into something less, sinister?"

Lozengar nodded, dipping into a bow, his wings folding around him like a cape. "But of course, Mistress. Do you have anything in mind?" You shrug. "Surprise me." Lozengar snaps his fingers and in a puff of smoke, he transforms into a modestly handsome man dressed like a butler in a three-piece black suit with a white bowtie. "Nice," you comment. He smiles, his golden eyes glittering like coins. "Thank you. Also, I should mention that unless you wish for it to be so, no one can see or hear me, even in my illusion form. Nor can I touch anything solid. So right now it looks like you're talking to yourself."

You frown at him. Luckily, the street is deserted. "Well, that's inconvenient, but I guess we'll worry about that later. Tell me, do I have to keep touching the box to talk to you?" Lozengar shook his head. "No, not as long as the box is open. Just remember that if someone else takes the box, they will become my Master or Mistress." You walk over the box and pick it up. "That is a good thing to know. Thank you for telling me. Also, can I call you Zen? Zen shrugged. "Call me whatever you wish, Mistress. So, do you have any idea of what to wish for first?"

You don't know, so you shut your mouth and consider your options. While you do, you keep walking, your mind awhirl with possibilities. The standard options came to mind, money, power, but why not something else? What if you could give yourself superpowers, such as the ability to fly, or grant your own wishes? The thought excited you, but at the same time, it was a daunting choice. Like a student staring at an empty page, the potential options crushed you, leaving you paralyzed.

Just then, Zen spoke up. "Mistress!" He called. You see you have walked the entire length of the neighborhood street you were on and were about to step onto a busier road that connected to it. And just as you do, a red sports car whips by, a beautiful blonde in a cheerleading outfit in the driver's seat. The car passes only feet from you, speeding down the road in a squeal of tires.

You immediately recognize the driver. Cynthia Stevens, the baddest bitch in school, the resident alpha chick whom all social cliques paid homage to. She was beautiful, friendly to many, and even smart, the total package. But to you, she was a object of scorn. Because not only did she used to be your friend back in middle school, at least until she got "too cool" to hang out with you, but Lance Fitzgerald, the hottie in Math Class that you'd had a crush on since Freshman year, had a no-doubt equally massive crush on her. Meanwhile, you doubt he had ever even looked at you.

You grit your teeth. "Hey, watch where you're driving!" You yell. But Cynthia is long gone. You grumble to yourself. If only there was some way you could get back at her. Then you look down at the wooden box in your hands and the handsome man standing next to you. "Is that not proper etiquette for 'driving'?" Zen asks innocently, saying the word strangely, as if he has never heard it. "Yes," you growl. "Tell me, if you were in my position and you disliked a girl, how would you get **** on her."

Zen gave you a blank look for a second, a look of intense concentration on his face. "It would depend on the offense," he finally said. "If it was extremely serious, I might transform her into a frog or a snail. If it were minor, I might cause her hair to fall out." He shrugged, glancing over at you. You rub your chin. Neither of those seemed like good ideas. You wanted her to suffer, but not enough to want to turn her into a frog. But also, the latter could easily be remedied by a trip to the wig store.

Zen suddenly piped up. "Tell you what, Mistress, why don't you tell me more about this young woman you have an animus towards and what she did. Then I can advise you more properly." You nod, and start making your way home. As you do, you fill Zen in on the details of your fall from Cynthia's social graces, your exclusion from her circle of friends and the loneliness it caused you, and finally her presence making it hard for Lance to even notice your existence. Zen listened politely, only interrupting to add helpful comments or ask important questions. By the time you arrived home, you were fuming. You also had an idea of what you wanted.

You took the box up to your room and placed it on your bed, then shut the door. You sat down in your desk chair. Zen's hologram lounged on the bed, supporting his elbow on the box. "I'm not entirely sure what to wish for, but I know what I want," you informed him. "I want her to be publicly humiliated. Can I just wish for that?" Zen nodded. "Of course. But I should inform you, my powers twist reality in a way that changes the least amount of things. If you're not specific, it could be much more underwhelming than you might like. Specificity is your friend."

You stroke your chin. "Do you have any ideas, then?" Zen smiled in response, his grin sharp and cruel. "I thought you'd never ask. Since this is a matter of love and Eros, I feel the best way to respond to it is something in the same vein. You understand?" He then listed off a couple ideas, most fairly tame, but one stuck out to you. You blushed beet-red at the suggestion. "You can do that?" Zen stood, bowing deeply. "At your command, Mistress. Unless you'd prefer her to fall in love with a pig or a large dog instead." You shook your head. "No, that seems too cruel, even for her." Zen nodded. "As you command. Now, is there any public venue where'd you like to see this happen?"

You smirked at him. "Oh, that won't be necessary. I know exactly where she's going to be on Monday. That's when we have the pep rally."

Zen nodded. "If you say so, Mistress. May I ask one question, however?" You gesture for him to go ahead. "By all means." Zen clears his throat. "What is a 'Pep Rally'?"