Changes

            “Francis, what are you doing with your life?”

“At least he’s entertaining! You could learn a thing or two from your kid.”

“Mother, can’t you simply be quiet?”

“Well I don’t have much else to do, so no.”

“I am so sick of you guys.”

“This is all your fault Sweetheart.”

“She’s correct, for once.”

            Always bickering, always fighting. My head was never clear. Battling the witch had been fun, at least until my defeat, but having all three of them was tiring. Having to listen to them constantly left me with very little energy at times. Even plotting in my lair proved difficult with the distractions.

            Much had happened in the later part of my young adulthood. I suppose Claude becoming a toddler would be a big thing. Not that that really affected me. I didn’t particularly care for the kid.

            I left raising him to the butlers. That’s what they were being paid for after all.

            The last time I held Claude was when he was still a baby, not even two days old. Finch had begged me to do it; the old fool didn’t understand the bitterness I held for the brat. He couldn’t know that the infant represented my failure, a living embodiment of that damn witch’s cheating.

            But I had thrown my husband a bone and picked the baby up. He wriggled and made some sort of strange noise. It was unpleasant.

            It was because I was stuck holding Claude that I couldn’t make it to see Finch alive one last time. If I had just been in the hot tub with him… well, never mind. The whole point of marrying the elder was for him to die.

            For whatever reason, telling myself that didn’t always work. I caught myself crying once or twice. And whenever I saw Claude, an even bigger storm raged in me. I didn’t care that Finch had loved him. Didn’t mean I had to.

            Maybe Finch’s death was hard to process because Mom croaked the day before. Being upset over two deaths, that was acceptable, wasn’t it? Except she wasn’t really gone. She was always in my head, nagging about something or another.

            I suppose there was some good change in my life as well. I grew a goatee, because, you know, I look a whole lot more sinister with one. All the best villains have them. Not that I’m exactly a villain. I just live for myself, like everyone else in the end.

            Oh, and I knocked up a genie.

            I cleaned both of Mom’s lamps the night Finch died. It was funny to hear her gasp inside my head, a pick-me-up that I was in need of. You’d think such a genius would be able to recognize a genie’s lamp when they saw one.

            An idea had percolated in my mind, and I needed to compare both of my magical servants for it. Upon seeing them, Theresa became my obvious choice.

            I told her that I would free her from her servitude if she procreated with me. If I had a magic baby, then maybe they could destroy the curse. If not, then I would still have another chance at an attractive child. Grandma agreed with this. Theresa did not. At least, not at first.

            I wished for fortune from the other genie. She granted it and then again and again. When my wishes were depleted, I made sure Theresa saw her being sucked into the lamp. Her sorrowful expression did just the trick to change Theresa’s mind.

            While she wasn’t happy about it, I had to keep her locked in my lair after being freed. I couldn’t very well have a pregnant genie running amok.

            Theresa wasn’t the only female I had impregnated.

            With the money from the other genie, I could finally work on giving my fortress the things that it needed. Like several cars for the garage.

            Various furniture and electronic goodies, all expensive top end models of course.

            A second story with an elevator to reach it.

            And the master suite that Finch and I had deserved to share for our marriage.

            Only it was being shared with a busty red head instead of my husband. Too bad he died before I became ridiculously rich.

            Trish was aesthetically pleasing, giving her great potential of creating an attractive heir with me. And she didn’t mind that my bedroom was filled with pictures of my dead husband, which was a plus.

            She wasn’t exactly in a place to complain though. I’d found Trish through an online dating sight. She was a struggling artistic type, who couldn’t even afford an easel or a keyboard. My impressive fortress won her over, just as I expected it to.

            We shared the athletic trait, so she was not strictly a pain to be around. The risk of losing any of my money or control was too high to wish to remarry though. Trish did not pressure me for a ring, too galvanized by no longer having to live with six roommates in a one bedroom house.

            In short, I had what I wanted. I was plenty rich, though not quite at my financial goals. Time would get me there. And I had purpose in trying to create the perfect heir to break the curse. I didn’t want to end up like one of the voices in my head.

            I was happy.

            Why I occasionally begged the spectral Finch to let me live in fantasy for a few moments, I couldn’t comprehend. Everyone needs their vice though.