Anastasia stepped over the threshold into the Enchanted Forest and paused to inhale the old familiar scent of wet earth and growing trees. She glanced around; some of it had changed in so many ways, and so much remained the same. It took a brief moment of looking around to get her bearings, but once she did, she was years younger, in a forgotten, more difficult time.

There were the old trees that marked the path into town. By that overgrown bush with the wild fern sprouting in the middle, she knew the path that led to the small cottage she once called home.
Anastasia hesitated at the crossroads. She could head straight into town and leave behind her family completely, or she could visit her mother and see whether time did indeed heal all wounds.
While her mind was still deciding, her feet stubbornly moved along the path that led to the cottage. Anastasia arrived at the end of the lane and gasped.

The little house had changed; no longer the compact log cabin built by her father with his own hands, the structure more closely resembled the simple, stately structure befitting the woman of less than ample means who demanded to be addressed as "Lady Tremaine."

Anastasia lifted the knocker. She struck the door at least a dozen times before at last it creaked open.

"What do you want?" a rough voice croaked.

Anastasia peered at the shriveled old woman with the proud face sneering down at her.

"Mum?" she guessed.

The eyes stared a little bit harder.

"It's me, Anastasia!"

"Oh," Lady Tremaine said in a flat voice. "So you've come back, have you? Didn't I tell you I would never allow it?"

"No, mum, you don't understand-"

"My daughter who disowned me is trying to come into my house like nothing ever happened between us; what is there to understand?" Lady Tremaine remained in her doorway, neither deigning to join her daughter outside, nor allowing the outcast into her domain.

"Mother, please!"

"Would you listen to that! All high and mighty, sounding like the queen you always refused to be. You think something like that is going to change my mind?"

"Mum, would ya lookit me? Just look!" Anastasia stepped back and spread her arms. "I'm here, ain't I?"

"And where's your precious outlaw?" her mother retorted. "I should have known that out of all my daughters, you would be the one who could not keep a man."

Bitterness welled up in Anastasia's chest. "What about Drizella?" she fired off. "No suitor ever suited 'er!"

"Oh, didn't you hear?" replied her mother crisply. "Your sister married a long time ago, and he's a rich merchant. I have her to thank for this house." She frowned at Anastasia. "Don't pretend you mean anything to me anymore, Ana. I'd even take Ella back if she came. Go visit Drizella in town, if you want a place to sit with no money to pay for it."

Tears welled in Anastasia's eyes, and a lump in her throat prevented her from speaking. Lady Tremaine slowly and firmly closed the door.

Anastasia wandered sadly back to the crossroads. She had little choice in the matter, but at the same time, she had not seen her sister since a few years before she met Will. Who knew if she harbored the same resentment against her-if she even remembered her.

Not far away, a young woman in plain, stained clothing was on her way into the city, herself. She made her way along the bank of the river, the soft dirt soothing her tired feet. Her dark hair hung in matted tangles around her head, but she did not own a brush; the best she could do was bind it tightly with leather thongs and scraps of ribbon she could find.
A sharp metallic clang pulled her from her introspection. She looked down to see an ornate brass bottle floating along the bank, striking against the rocks at her feet. The young serving girl bent down and picked up the bottle. It was beautiful, if a bit worn and ancient-looking. She hefted it apprisingly. It wasn't too heavy. If it did not have anything in it already, she could think of a few uses for a jar like that.

The handmaiden removed the stopper, but before she could peek inside, a cloud of red smoke erupted from its opening. Suddenly, she realized she was no longer alone beside the river. She stared at the man who had suddenly appeared: he dressed strangely, wearing a black leather jacket over a grey shirt, with pants and shoes of strange material. But something about the face-

He noticed her. "Jazz? That you, Jasmine?"

Jasmine gasped. "Willie?" how many years had it been-and here he was, standing before her. Without thinking, she threw her arms around him to assure herself that he was real.

"Good to see ya, Jazzy," Will said, hugging her back.

Pulling away, Jasmine glanced into the bottle she still held. "H-how... What were you doing in there?" For the first time, she noticed the strange gold cuffs that her childhood friend now wore.

Will saw her gaze and self-consciously moved his hands behind his back. "Erm, it involves magic, and even if I understood it-which I don't-I couldn't explain it to ya." He turned and focused on finding a way up the steep bank to the road above, where he could reach the town. "Now if you'll excuse me, I really need to find Cyrus and Alice-"

"Who?" Jasmine hitched up her skirts and tried to follow Will, who was striding away on long legs. Jasmine stumbled over a burl and Will climbed out of sight.
"Will, wait!"

Suddenly, he came tumbling back down the bank as if hauled by a string, landing right at her feet.

"Bloody hell!" cried Will.

Jasmine looked from the cuffs around Will's wrists to the bottle in her hand.
"What was that?" she asked carefully.

Will scrambled to his feet. "That's what I'd like to-Hang on," he placed his hand into his pocket and drew out three shining stones. He offered them to Jasmine. "I think these are yours, Jazz."

"What are they?" she asked, watching them glisten on her palm.

"They're wishes," said Will. Abruptly, a strange look came over him, and he intoned, "Mistress mine, my will is thine, tell me your wishes three-Bollux!" The moment passed, and Will was himself again. He looked pained, as if he had been compelled to say those words against his own volition. There was nothing else for it. "I think I'm a genie, Jazz."

Suddenly the bottle and the three wishes made a lot more sense.
"If you're a genie," said Jasmine, a slow smile of realization unfolding across her face, "that means I'm your master!"