She wanted to touch the chubby legs of her sister’s baby, but by the time her fingertips touched the child, he had turned to hot blacktop.

The toe beans of her best friend’s corgi puppy? Turned to a handful of pebbles you’d find on the rocky beaches of Croatia.

Her first love, a marble statue now, that several boyfriends later made her get rid of because he was insecure about his latissimus dorsi muscles. She sold it to a gay architect.

She had never used her power for bad, unlike popular theory.

All accidents.

She wasn’t the vengeful type.

Finally, she took out her eyes with a ice cream scooper and as she rolled them around in her hands to take a look at herself, she found the smooth, caramel skin, the dark hair, the red lips were a gray, rough concrete.

1. Why had anyone ever thought she was a beauty?