Even as the words slipped from his mouth, he knew it had been a mistake. A bungled wish that was certain to...
Mikey Merlin swooned, and his mother quickly caught him and helped him to a conviently placed bench, asking "What's wrong, Missy? Are you okay? Oh, my poor, fragile darling. This is why I had to pull you from that school. You're just such a silly piece of fluff that this rough, old world is too much for you. That's why the state agreed to let you skip that whole "school" nonsense, and focus on a career in ballet. All that foolish reading, writing and arithmatic wasn't going to do a girl like you any good, and your Ballet Classes have taught you the sort of grace, poise and charm that a young lady really needs."
Missy? Girl?
The former Mikey Merlin looked down, and saw a lean, spritely body that could only be discribed as "Quintessentially Girlish". She was tiny and fragile as a china doll, and her every movement was artfully coreographed to project an air of innocence, grace and poise. Mikey tried to run, biy found that she couldn't. She tried to remember what it had been like to play outside, running in the fields and catching frogs by the creek...but all she could remember was hours and hours and days and days and YEARS AND YEARS OF...Ballet. It was all he...no, SHE could think of. The endless cycle of smooth and fluid movements were now second nature to her, and she knew she could no longer simply walk from place to place, she must glide about with the grace of a swan. The repetition of Arabesque à demi hauteur, à la hauteur and penchée was in her blood. She stood, and she naturally held her hands in a delicate and graceful manner. She tried to remember something...anything about baseball or videogames, but all that came to mind was École Française and a perfect muscle memory of every movement and position involved. She tried to think of a sports figure or comicbook superhero, but instead a list of revered and respected Ballerinas and teachers filled her head like echoing static. Which was superior, the French School? The Vaganova method? Perhaps the Cecchetti method? She had mastered them all...at the cost of everything else. Never having even been inside a traditional school, she only knew the basics of reading, writing and math. She could sign her name with an artistic flourish when signing autographs, but other than that...very little. She could recognize signs only by the colors and shapes, but could nolonger read them. Thanks to her foolish wishes, she'd been spared ANY sort of schooling...except for Ballet.
Her wishes had all come true, in one way or the other. As she walked - graceful as a fawn - past the place where the boys had gone, she wasn't recognized at all. After all, they didn't even know who Missy Merlin was.
Missys mother opened the door for her ballet prodigy daughter, and smiled. The tiny, graceful girl was so lovely, with her perfect, porcelain skin, classical features and soft, shining blond hair pinned back into her traditional Ballet Bun. It was too bad she wasn't good at anything else, but at least with Ballet she was perfect. She didn't notice her daughters turmoil or horror, because Missy simply couldn't display such emotions or feelings. Her face was a perfectly unlined mask of passive beauty.
Missy held the stome in her hand, nolonger clearly remembering what life before BALLET had been like. She knew she had to get out of this, but...the stone couldn't be trusted to interperate any of her wishes correctly. In fact, it seemed to go out of its way to twist and corrupt anything it was used for. She twice opened her mouth to make a wish that would fix all this...but each time she stopped, having seen at the last minute how the stone might pervert her wishes. What could she do?
Jon saw his mother pulling up into the driveway, and watched as his super-girly sister Missy exited the car, holding in one dainty hand...his missing Wishing Stone! How the heck did SHE get it? She must have found it innocently enough, because Missy just wasn't the sort to sneak into his room. She wasn't interested in ANYTHING that didn't revolve around her precious ballet.
He ran downstaire and kissed his mom, then took Missy into the hallway, saying "Hey, squirt. I think that's mine."
Missy looked up at him, her chin quivering and tears beading in the corners of her eyes. Jon paused, then said "Are...you okay, Missy?"
Missy handed the Wishing Stone (actually the Humiliation Stone) to her older brother, and said in a voice that was dulcet and soft "Here you are, Jon. But..."
Missy tried to warn him. Tell her brother about what the stone had done, but found she was unable to reference the wishes he'd made. Unknown to him, one quality of the Humiliation Stone, was that no one who had used it...could express to anyone that anything had gone wrong. Thus, those who'd been twisted or wronged, were unable to warn anyone else about the stones negative effects. She tried her hardest, but could only say "The stone...the stone...did what I wanted!" before running upstairs, throwing herself onto her bed and bursting into tears. Confused, Jon followed his sister. Her room was lacy, frilly, plush and pink, with many posters of ballerinas on the walls, and Jon peeked into the room with genuine concern. Had his sister used the stone and wished for something foolish? Should he ask her?
Finally, she stopped crying, rose gracefully and stood before her wall mirror, posing and practicing her Arabesques. She gave Jon a resigned look, then turned away. "Everything I wished for came true. I'm very happy with my wishes." she said. Jon asked her to explain herself, but she refused, continuing her Arabesques and refusing to say any more. But...the haunted look in her eyes told him she'd wished for something silly, and it bit her in the ass. Oh, well...he wouldn't make a silly mistake. He'd be extra careful with HIS wishes, and not make the blunders that his silly, un-schooled sister had made...whatever they were.
