“Hey, listen,” I held Joanne’s hand tenderly and stared at this weird little brunette I had grown fond of these last few days. “I have a feeling things are going to be turning around for you soon. Maybe your mom will get better.”
“Aw, Joey...” She looked sullen, staring down at the intricate hardwood floor. “Thanks, dude. But like... reality is reality, you know?”
She let go of my hand and turned toward the front door, sighing. “You enjoy your mansion.”
“You, uh, wanna spend the night?”
She stopped, turned slowly, and stared at me in shock. “I’m... married.”
“He hates you.” I shrugged. “He spends all your money. He can’t give you kids. You spend all your time caring for your mom and picking up after him in a house that’s falling apart because you can’t afford to fix anything.”
Tears welled up and she gasped. “H-How do you know that?” The poor woman was in shambles.
“Listen, I know a lot that I shouldn’t. Like, for instance, how your mom is going to completely beat her cancer and even start looking a little younger.”
“That’s not funny!” Joanne wiped her eyes.
I wished for Joanne’s mother to do exactly that. Her cancer would go away like a miracle, and once it did, she’d get healthier, younger by the day, and continue to regress in age until she was a young beautiful 20 something woman forever.
“Look, I don’t sell drugs.”
I held up my hand and held out the ring.
“Yeah,” Joanne scoffed, crossing her arms. “I saw that already. So what? It’s a ring.”
“It’s magic.” I grinned. “I already fixed your mom. You want me to prove it?”
The short brunette saw my apparent seriousness and blinked. “Uh... what?”
“Tell me your fondest wish.”
The hapless realtor blinked and thought it about it. “I guess I’d wish for ten years off my life, a foot of height, huge tits, and a million bucks.”
I slapped my hands together in delight and grinned ear to ear. “Oh, this is gonna be fucking great!”
I wished for Joanne to grow ten years younger. She jolted sharply in her nice suit and gasped as hot prickles of energy zapped down her back. She subtly deaged. Her skin became smoother, the bags under her eyes from constant stress shrank. She grew leaner, her smoker’s cough vanished, her previously broken wrist healed. She went from 45 to 35 in the span of a minute or so.
A seriously freaked out woman carefully removed a powder compact from her purse and flipped it open. She gasped and reeled from the image, tossing the compact into the air and letting it shattered on the floor.
“Hey! Watch it! This place is expensive!”
“Oh my God!” Joanne reeled, slamming the huge open door behind her and latching it. “Oh my God! That makes so much more sense! Thank God you’re not a drug dealer!”
“Told you.” I giggled.
“Wait! Wait!” She gulped, pulling back her shirt and staring down. “Holy fuck! I’m in my 30’s again.”
“Wanna go younger?” I grinned.
“Wait, what?” She blinked.
I wished she was a nice even 30. Joanne shuddered in her heels and gritted her teeth as she lost more age, more wear, more fat, and became a lean and trim (and barely busty) 30. Her suit had grown saggy and loose.
“You said you fixed mom.” She stared down at herself in shock, hearing her whimsical high pitched voice that hadn’t yet been affected by stress smoking.
“She’s going to go into remission immediately. And you’ll have her around for a long time.”
“Oh my God.” She blinked.
“Now, about those other wishes?” I leaned forward, taking the shocked woman’s hand and pulling her toward me.
“Taller? Bustier? Richer?”
She stared up at me and blinked again and again.