Emily descended the stairs like royalty returning to her throne. There was no guilt in her eyes, no hesitation in her step. The air in the room thickened, choked with dread as her footsteps echoed on the hardwood. Her family, frozen in place, watched her in stunned silence.

  Sarah sat at the kitchen table, blood crusting at the corners of her sewn lips. Her face was red and soaked in tears, her sobs choked and muffled. Grandma knelt beside her, desperately dabbing at the blood with trembling hands and a dish towel, trying to snip the impossibly tough stitches with kitchen scissors—but the threads wouldn't break. They shimmered faintly with some unnatural magic, immovable.

  Emily didn’t even look at them.

  She walked right past, humming faintly, opened the fridge, pulled out a soda, popped the tab with a hiss, and took a long, slow sip. She leaned against the counter, eyes lazily scanning the room until they landed on her family.

  Her smile curled—dark, twisted, victorious.

  Tom stood slowly, his small hands clenched into fists at his sides. Once taller than Emily, he now stood at equal height. But his voice still held weight.

  "Undo it," he said, jaw tight. "Whatever you did to Sarah. Undo it now."

  Emily lowered the soda. "Or what?"

  "Or I'll make you regret it."

  She tilted her head, amused. "That's cute. You really think you scare me?"

  "I'm not scared," he said, though there was something flickering in his eyes—something she noticed. A tiny crack in his defiance.

  She stepped closer, her tone dropping to a whisper. "Try me."

  Tom flinched ever so slightly. That was all she needed. Her grin widened.

  She dumped the can sideways, letting the soda drizzle onto the clean floor.

  "Clean this up," she said, her voice syrupy sweet.

  "No," he spat.

  Her eyes gleamed. "Clean it up… or I swear I'll wish you taste everything as rotting flesh for the rest of your life. Every bite, every sip."

  Tom's jaw clenched. "No."

  Emily took a breath. "I wish—"

  "No, Emily!" Grandma shouted, scrambling to her feet. "It’s okay. I’ll clean it up. Just… just stop."

  Emily paused, blinking slowly as Grandma knelt with the rag again.

  "No," she said flatly. "I want him to do it."

  Grandma looked up at Tom, her face pale. She nodded, eyes pleading.

  Tom hesitated, rage and humiliation burning behind his tears, but he bent and picked up a wad of paper towels. He got on his knees.

  "No," Emily said, taking another sip of her soda. "I want you to lick it up."

  Everyone stared.

  Even Uncle Joe, who always had something to say, was silent.

  Tom's entire body trembled. A single tear slid down his cheek as he looked at the soda pooling on the floor.

  And slowly, painfully, he leaned down.

  Emily giggled. A soft, evil sound.

  She turned and walked away, voice light as a feather.

  "When I come back downstairs... it better be clean."

  And with that, she vanished up the stairs, leaving a trail of silence and horror behind her.

  Emily shut her door with a soft click, the outside world disappearing behind it like a discarded coat. The sound of her family’s despair was nothing more than a faint hum now—like a distant storm she’d already outrun.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  She crossed the room with a swagger, grabbed her old Bluetooth speaker from the nightstand, and flicked it on.

  A bass-heavy pop song filled the room, rattling the walls, pulsing with manufactured joy. She raised the volume and let it soak into her bones. Her hips started to sway, her hands thrown in the air, fingers tracing the lights flickering through her curtains.

  She danced like nothing mattered.

  Like the world belonged to her.

  Between spins and twirls, she shouted out wishes like party confetti.

  “I wish my closet had every outfit I’ve ever wanted!”

  The door creaked open mid-turn—her once-limited wardrobe now bursting with vibrant designer clothes, glittering shoes, and fashion that sparkled like magic.

  “I wish for an ice cream machine! In my room!”

  POP.

  In the corner, right beside her bookshelf, a tall chrome machine appeared with blinking lights and endless flavors. It hummed gently, already churning vanilla.

  “I wish my bed was made of marshmallows!”

  With a giggle, she leapt backward—and her bed changed beneath her. Soft, pillowy, sweet-smelling puffs of sugar cradled her body as she collapsed into them, laughing.

  “I wish… I wish for a thousand balloons in my room!”

  Suddenly, the ceiling filled with them—red, gold, blue, floating silently above like her own private parade.

  She danced beneath them, spinning faster now, limbs loose and wild, her face flushed with joy and power.

  “I wish I had the biggest candy stash in the world!”

  The floor shuddered slightly as giant glass jars filled with jawbreakers, gumdrops, licorice, and chocolates erupted around her bed like candy-colored mountains.

  She fell into a pile of gummy bears and sighed in delight. “This is perfect…”

  The music pounded on.

  The world outside her room did not exist.

  Downstairs… the mood could not be more different.

  The living room was dim and quiet, except for the occasional sniffle or squeak of a chair as someone shifted uncomfortably. Sarah sat at the kitchen table, still crying softly, her lips grotesquely sewn shut. Her face was pale, eyes red and swollen, as Grandma gently wiped blood from her chin with a warm cloth, whispering soothing words that couldn’t be answered.

  Tom sat nearby, his back to everyone, face buried in his hands. His tongue still tingled from humiliation. He hadn’t spoken a word since licking the soda off the tile.

  Lily paced the room, wringing her hands. Uncle Joe sat slumped in a chair, looking more sober than ever. Eric sat curled in a corner, arms wrapped tightly around his legs, eyes on the ceiling as though praying this was a nightmare.

  Jane stood, still. Her knuckles white at her sides. Her jaw set in stone.

  Then she spoke.

  “She’s out of control.”

  No one disagreed.

  “We have to do something,” Lily said. Her voice was trembling but firm. “Before she hurts anyone else. Or worse.”

  Grandma nodded, her face tired and wet with tears. “We can’t stop her with words. We tried. She doesn’t listen.”

  “We wait until she sleeps,” Jane said.

  Uncle Joe looked up. “And then what?”

  “We end this,” Jane whispered.

  They all looked at each other. Nodding. Silently forming the plan.

  But unbeknownst to them, as the plan was forming downstairs… someone was listening.

  Emily lay sprawled across her new marshmallow bed, half-buried in the puffed cushions, one hand lazily dangling over the edge, holding a half-melted lollipop. Her other hand clutched a caramel bar, partially unwrapped and forgotten. Her legs kicked idly to the beat of the music still playing softly from the speaker.

  She wasn't making wishes now. Not at the moment.

  She was enjoying the spoils.

  Giant jars of candy surrounded her like sugary trophies, and she reached for a gumdrop without even looking, shoving it into her mouth with a satisfied sigh.

  The air smelled like spun sugar and syrupy dreams.

  The room glowed pink from the neon lights she’d wished for, and balloons still floated gently above her. She felt like a princess in a bubblegum kingdom. Invincible. Untouchable.

  She licked her fingers clean and whispered to herself, "Maybe later… I’ll wish for a castle.”

  And as she was enjoying her sugar high, anu left her side. Momentarily.

  Then—

  From the ceiling.

  The lightest shift in shadow.

  Anu.

  He didn’t blink.

  He didn’t speak.

  He listened.

  Not to Emily this time.

  But to what was happening below.

  Through the floorboards and soft insulation, through layers of whispered voices and muffled panic, Anu heard them.

  The family.

  Plotting.

  Scheming.

  Planning.

  The intent was loud.

  “We have to stop her.”

  “We’ll wait until she’s asleep.”

  “If we distract the genie—”

  “We’ll hold her down. Take the lamp. Force a wish.”

  They didn’t know.

  They didn’t know Anu was listening.

  They didn’t know the lamp was no longer the prison it once was.

  They didn’t know that whatever they were planning… they were already too late.

  His faint smirk returned—slower this time. Colder. Not quite amused. Not quite angry.

  Just...

  Knowing.

  And without a sound, Anu sank back into the ceiling like smoke being drawn into a vent. Gone. As if he was never there.

  Emily didn’t notice.

  She giggled to herself as she rearranged the pillows, chewing another handful of gummy bears, humming along to the bubblegum pop song playing in the background.

  She had no idea her family was conspiring against her.

  He had told Emily he couldn’t return to the lamp.

  He had told her he was by her side now.

  And he meant it.

  Not just in duty.

  But in bond.

  He closed his eyes for a moment as the voices below swelled and quieted again.

  He knew what they were planning.

  And now…

  So would she.

  With a silent retreat, he withdrew into the ceiling, vanishing as if he’d never been there.

  Emily stretched on her cloudlike bed, completely unaware.

  She was in control.

  But not alone.

  Never alone.

  Emily lay sprawled on her oversized marshmallow bed, arms behind her head, her room glowing with the soft shimmer of wish-light. Her cotton candy pillows were stacked in absurd shapes, her walls shifting gently with mood-reactive pastel colors.

  She bit into a caramel apple she'd summoned with a lazy flick of her finger, humming to the music dancing from her invisible floating speakers.

  Then, the air shifted.

  Just a little.

  Like the warmth of a room tilting cooler. The music didn’t stop, but it softened, as if it, too, was listening.

  A familiar scent floated in—the faint mix of stardust, cinnamon, and something like burning paper. Her eyes flicked up.

  Anu stood beside her bed.

  He hadn’t knocked. He hadn’t spoken.

  He just stood there.

  Smiling.

  But not the usual mischievous grin.

  This smile was... quieter. Measured.

  “Having fun?” he asked, voice smooth as ever.

  Emily raised an eyebrow, licking caramel off her thumb. “Yeah. Why?”

  “No reason.” He sat on the edge of the bed, his weight not even denting the softness beneath him. “You’ve earned it.”

  She looked at him, narrowing her eyes slightly. “That’s not your usual tone.”

  Anu tilted his head. “Isn’t it?”

  “You usually sound cocky or smug. You sound... I don’t know. Weird.”

  He didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted to her glittering chandelier, to the shimmer of frosting still smeared across a crystal dish.

  Then, softly, “You ever hear how animals get quiet before a storm?”

  Emily blinked. “What?”

  “Just... something I remember,” he said, tapping a glowing fingertip to his temple. “They feel something changing in the air. Long before thunder hits.”

  “What kind of storm?” she asked, now fully sitting up.

  Anu met her eyes.

  He said nothing.

  Not for a long moment.

  Then: “Just be careful who you trust, kid. Especially the ones who say they love you... while hiding sharp things behind their backs.”

  Emily’s breath caught a little.

  She scoffed, trying to wave the chill off. “You’re being dramatic.”

  “Maybe.” He stood, walking slowly toward the wall. “Maybe I’m just... the wind before the storm.”

  And with that, he was gone—his body dissolving into a faint shimmer, as if he'd never been there at all.

  The room was still warm. The lights still glowed.

  But Emily suddenly felt... colder.

  She hugged her knees to her chest.

  And her music kept playing, a little softer than before.