Wishes are everywhere. You wish you'd fit those pants. You wish your boss would leave you alone. You wish you'd made a better decision yesterday when you were talking to that girl.
You wish when you go under bridges. You wish upon a falling star. You wish when you throw a coin into a fountain. You wish when you blow out the candles on your birthday cake. But seemingly, no matter how many wishes you make, they never come true.
But at that very moment, unbeknownst to most everyone in the world, the most powerful and terrible wishes of the Grand Vizier Jafar of Agrabah...were about to come VERY true. Three of them, in fact.
Jafar held the gleaming golden lamp up to the firelight, keeping his touch on its surface delicate and light. Wouldn't do to wake the monster before all the preparations were made. It was a simple lamp, no ornamentation or obvious craftsmanship. He could pick up a far nicer one in the bazaar outside the castle for mere pocket change.
But he didn't want a better one. He wanted this one. This was the key...the wish solidified, in gold and smoke and magic...for his desire of the title 'Sultan'. And all that came with it.
Soft, fearful footsteps echoed outside the velvet-draped chambers he stood in. Even muffled, they provided a harsh and unattractive contrast to the presence of the cold, cruel world just outside his sanctuary. "What?" he snapped, even before the footsteps had come to a complete stop. The guard sounded startled. "I- uh- your Grand- "
"WHAT!" Jafar snarled. He was in no mood.
"Th-th-the p-princess J-Jasmine has return-n-ned to her q-quarters, sir." The Vizier's vicious temper was no secret on palace grounds. In fact, the guard should probably be doing more than simple stuttering.
"Prostrate yourself." he ordered. Though he could not see the guard through the heavy falls of silk and velvet shielding the alcove from the man's presence, the slap of his palms hitting the marble was satisfying enough. "And has her ugly beast been contained?"
"Y-yes, sir. Rajah now presides with the rest of the tigers in the Sultan's royal menagerie."
"Remove it. I want the damn thing in a cage. A SMALL cage, with no water. You understand?"
"Yes, sir." His voice was barely above a whisper. He dared not disobey his master.
"Leave." Jafar's voice had returned to its natural nasal hum; like the beat of an insect's wings drenched in oil. "On your hands on knees."
He did not wait to here the man recede. He turned back to the lamp, cradled gently in the curve of his left arm.
Savor this, he cautioned himself. Enjoy this feeling. This will bring you the world...on a platter.
More delicate than even a lover's caress (for Jafar had nothing in his heart that would prompt care for a lover) he rubbed the sensitive heel of his palm against the shining, gleaming spout of the lamp. And he WISHED.
Time had no relevance inside the lamp. It was how the Djinn had managed to survive all those years buried in an insufferable pile of gold beneath the sands of a changing desert tide. To him, it could have been a moment; it could have been a thousand years. It had been the latter.
Now, in his sickly black fury and the choking hopelessness that seemed to define every wisp of magic in his being, he was again being called to serve a master who cared nothing for him in return. He had thought, however briefly, that he had found a friend in Aladdin. His disappointment seemed to darken every glowing crevice in the Djinn's soul. Now at least, he knew better.
But time had no relevance...inside the lamp. It could have been days since he'd last been called. It could be moments. It could be eons; he could have been buried beneath the sand again as the world changed and life changed- even though people never would.
In his current temper, he HOPED it was the latter.
Aladdin's choice had taken the heart out of him.
The mist he called obscured his surroundings for the briefest of moments. It- seemed as though- he was in some kind of darkened boudoir. Draped with black and wine velvet, gilded everything, sensuous incense burning on rare wood tables.
There was nothing of Aladdin in this room. No place he'd seem to fit LESS. Was it true? Had he been dormant in the lamp long enough for lives to fade? Would his new master carry the same hot blood his old master had carried- father-to-son, father-to-son?
"Who calls me?" the Djinn demanded, whipping up a cool breeze to dispel the idiot fog faster. He seemed less demanding and impressive than his usual entrance, more shrill and expectant. He sounded...scared.
"I do."
He whirled. A shape behind him, darker than the shadows themselves, stepped into the ring of blue light he cast.
It was Jafar.
In that very moment, the despair and the betrayal swamping the Djinn's cold heart were so great he WISHED...that he could die.
And that is a very powerful wish.
You wish when you go under bridges. You wish upon a falling star. You wish when you throw a coin into a fountain. You wish when you blow out the candles on your birthday cake. But seemingly, no matter how many wishes you make, they never come true.
But at that very moment, unbeknownst to most everyone in the world, the most powerful and terrible wishes of the Grand Vizier Jafar of Agrabah...were about to come VERY true. Three of them, in fact.
Jafar held the gleaming golden lamp up to the firelight, keeping his touch on its surface delicate and light. Wouldn't do to wake the monster before all the preparations were made. It was a simple lamp, no ornamentation or obvious craftsmanship. He could pick up a far nicer one in the bazaar outside the castle for mere pocket change.
But he didn't want a better one. He wanted this one. This was the key...the wish solidified, in gold and smoke and magic...for his desire of the title 'Sultan'. And all that came with it.
Soft, fearful footsteps echoed outside the velvet-draped chambers he stood in. Even muffled, they provided a harsh and unattractive contrast to the presence of the cold, cruel world just outside his sanctuary. "What?" he snapped, even before the footsteps had come to a complete stop. The guard sounded startled. "I- uh- your Grand- "
"WHAT!" Jafar snarled. He was in no mood.
"Th-th-the p-princess J-Jasmine has return-n-ned to her q-quarters, sir." The Vizier's vicious temper was no secret on palace grounds. In fact, the guard should probably be doing more than simple stuttering.
"Prostrate yourself." he ordered. Though he could not see the guard through the heavy falls of silk and velvet shielding the alcove from the man's presence, the slap of his palms hitting the marble was satisfying enough. "And has her ugly beast been contained?"
"Y-yes, sir. Rajah now presides with the rest of the tigers in the Sultan's royal menagerie."
"Remove it. I want the damn thing in a cage. A SMALL cage, with no water. You understand?"
"Yes, sir." His voice was barely above a whisper. He dared not disobey his master.
"Leave." Jafar's voice had returned to its natural nasal hum; like the beat of an insect's wings drenched in oil. "On your hands on knees."
He did not wait to here the man recede. He turned back to the lamp, cradled gently in the curve of his left arm.
Savor this, he cautioned himself. Enjoy this feeling. This will bring you the world...on a platter.
More delicate than even a lover's caress (for Jafar had nothing in his heart that would prompt care for a lover) he rubbed the sensitive heel of his palm against the shining, gleaming spout of the lamp. And he WISHED.
Time had no relevance inside the lamp. It was how the Djinn had managed to survive all those years buried in an insufferable pile of gold beneath the sands of a changing desert tide. To him, it could have been a moment; it could have been a thousand years. It had been the latter.
Now, in his sickly black fury and the choking hopelessness that seemed to define every wisp of magic in his being, he was again being called to serve a master who cared nothing for him in return. He had thought, however briefly, that he had found a friend in Aladdin. His disappointment seemed to darken every glowing crevice in the Djinn's soul. Now at least, he knew better.
But time had no relevance...inside the lamp. It could have been days since he'd last been called. It could be moments. It could be eons; he could have been buried beneath the sand again as the world changed and life changed- even though people never would.
In his current temper, he HOPED it was the latter.
Aladdin's choice had taken the heart out of him.
The mist he called obscured his surroundings for the briefest of moments. It- seemed as though- he was in some kind of darkened boudoir. Draped with black and wine velvet, gilded everything, sensuous incense burning on rare wood tables.
There was nothing of Aladdin in this room. No place he'd seem to fit LESS. Was it true? Had he been dormant in the lamp long enough for lives to fade? Would his new master carry the same hot blood his old master had carried- father-to-son, father-to-son?
"Who calls me?" the Djinn demanded, whipping up a cool breeze to dispel the idiot fog faster. He seemed less demanding and impressive than his usual entrance, more shrill and expectant. He sounded...scared.
"I do."
He whirled. A shape behind him, darker than the shadows themselves, stepped into the ring of blue light he cast.
It was Jafar.
In that very moment, the despair and the betrayal swamping the Djinn's cold heart were so great he WISHED...that he could die.
And that is a very powerful wish.