Victoria sat at her desk, looking at sales figures. Her mind wasn’t on profits, but only a single thought.
Can I ever catch up?
She hadn’t started as a clothier. She’d been an archaeologist. A good one. But in Mali, it’d all changed with the urn. She’d uncovered the rim. She cleaned it with her brush – which awoke the djinn. It burst forth, a cloud of gold energy.
“Speak thy wish, Mistress!”
She’d panicked. She was young and foolish. “I want to be the most beautiful woman in the world.”
The djinn was gone, and a wicker basket appeared. No matter how often she emptied it, it always filled with lacy underwear. And she knew. She HAD to complete the task. As horrific as it was, she was compelled.
One day, all women in the world more beautiful than Victoria would wear the underwear. And then, they would all die, leaving Victoria as the prettiest.
But the wish had been 30 years ago. She was old, her looks faded. Each day, more sales were made, but more sales needed to be made. Could she ever catch up?