The Immortal Gazette Presents:
Wishes, Whispers, and Absolute Chaos
The Immortal Gazette studio was alive with the usual mayhem. Papers floated in midair, quills scribbled furiously on their own, and a few enchanted teacups had formed a secret society in the corner. Somewhere amidst the organized chaos, Alice, the ever-maddeningly enchanting Day Walker, adjusted her hat and took a dainty sip of her tea. Across from her, Loki, the God of Mischief himself, lounged back in his chair like he owned the place—which, to be fair, he practically did, if only in attitude.
And then there was Rumplestiltskin.
The self-proclaimed First Storyteller of The Immortal Gazette was seething in the most elegant way possible. His fingers drummed against the wooden desk, his golden eyes flicking back and forth between Alice and Loki as if he were a judge in a very unamused courtroom.
“You know,” Rumple drawled, “when I founded this institution, it was meant to be a sanctuary for wisdom, history, and the finest storytelling known to immortals.” His gaze flicked pointedly at Loki. “Not a playground for overgrown tricksters with delusions of grandeur.”
Loki grinned, utterly unbothered. “Oh, come now, Rumply, aren’t we in the business of stories? And what are stories without a bit of mischief?”
Alice, who had been watching the verbal sparring with a sparkle of amusement in her eyes, leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “Speaking of mischief, today’s legend is right up your alley, Loki.”
Loki’s smirk deepened. “Flattery will get you everywhere, darling.”
Rumple huffed. “Can we please get to the story before I start granting my own wish and making both of you disappear?”
Alice ignored him entirely and flipped open one of the many ancient books stacked on the table. “Today, dear readers, we delve into the Djinn—legendary beings of fire and air, trapped inside lamps, granting wishes that always seem to go horribly wrong.”
Loki propped his feet up on the desk. “Ah, yes. Amateurs, really.”
Alice arched a brow. “Amateurs?”
Loki waved a lazy hand. “Oh, please. If you’re going to grant wishes, you should commit to the chaos. Mortals always ask for ridiculous things—‘I wish for gold!’ and then boom! They get buried alive in it. Or ‘I wish for eternal youth!’ and suddenly, they’re stuck as a screaming infant for eternity.”
Rumple pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is exactly why no one lets you grant wishes.”
Loki gave him a sly grin. “Oh, but someone did, once.”
Alice sat up straighter, intrigued. “Oh?”
Loki’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “It was centuries ago. A foolish sultan—power-hungry, arrogant, perfectly corruptible—got his hands on a lamp containing a very... unruly djinn.”
Rumple crossed his arms. “You mean you.”
Loki grinned. “Details, details.”
Alice laughed, her fingers idly toying with the rim of her teacup. “Alright, Loki. Let’s hear it. What did you do when granted the power of wish-giving?”
Loki leaned forward, his voice dropping into a husky whisper. “Oh, darling, I did exactly what he asked. The sultan wished to rule the world, so I gave him the world—locked inside an hourglass, sand pouring endlessly while he screamed for escape.”
Alice gasped—partly in horror, partly in delighted fascination. “That is brilliantly wicked.”
Rumple groaned. “You are flirting with him.”
Alice rolled her eyes. “I am appreciating the artistry of a good cautionary tale.”
Loki smirked. “Oh, Alice, if you ever need a wish granted, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”
Rumple slammed the book shut. “And we’re done.”
Loki chuckled, clearly reveling in the storm he was brewing. Alice just sipped her tea, entirely unbothered.
And thus, another chaotic edition of The Immortal Gazette came to an end—complete with scandal, legends, and Rumple questioning every life choice that had led him to this.
🖋️✨📜🖤
