Oliver Queen finds the dark purple bottle on Lian Yu’s beach. He digs it out of wet
sand and washes it off in the ocean water before pulling the out the stopper
and releasing a burst of purple smoke that quickly solidifies into a blonde
girl in a belly dancer outfit.
At first he thinks he’s hallucinating. It’s about damn time
too, really. He’s been stranded alone on this island for—by his surely
inaccurate calculations—over four years. Four years of limited human contact—there
were people, but they were threats or targets and they provided no escape from
this hell—was bound to leave his sanity unraveling at the edges.
Oliver doesn’t have an abundance of time to contemplate his
slow descent into madness, because the hallucination has thrown herself into
his arms and pressed her lips to his and—
Hallucinations aren’t this solid, aren’t this real, are they?
He can feel the softness of her skin beneath the calluses on
his hands as he instinctively grabs onto her waist. He can taste saltwater on
her tongue and smell the sweet scent of her perfume. The press of her body
pressed against his is tantalizing. One of her hands rakes through the long
tresses of his hair while the other holds fast to the tattered material of his
And Oliver’s lost.
He opens his mouth to her, pulls her closer, kisses her
deeper. She’s like breathing fresh air after an eternity of drowning, and if
this is some kind of dream, he doesn’t ever want to wake up.
Except then she’s pulling away, stepping back, and he looks
down at the most beautiful woman he’s every seen. Bright pink lips, golden
curls, kind eyes.
“Wow,” he breathes.
“Hi,” she says, and he can’t help but notice the way
she’s panting, the dazed expression on her face. She’s broken the kiss, but she
hasn’t stepped out of his arms.
“Where did you—” Oliver stops, glances at the bottle
floating in the ocean at the girl’s feet. “I’ve got to be—”
He chuckles, suddenly awkward. She’s still very much pressed
up against him, and he’s still thrown from that kiss.
“You’ve got to be what?” she asks.
“Dreaming,” he says. “I’ve got to be dreaming. You can’t be real.”
Confusion fills her features. “Why not?”
“Because,” he swallows, somehow nervous. “I’m
She smiles, “You’re not dreaming. You rescued me.”
Letting one of her arms fall from around Oliver’s neck, the
girl reaches down to retrieve the bottle. “I’ve been in here for the
past…well, it must be about forty or fifty years by now.”
“You’ve been trapped…in there?”
“Waiting for you, Master.”
She looks, of all things, offended
by his clear confusion. “Genie—” she points to herself, then to him—
Oliver scrambles away from her, and she looks even more hurt. “Wait—wait, what?”
“I’m your genie,” she says, slowly, as if he’s an
“No,” he says. “You’re not. You’re…I don’t
know what you are but what you’re not
is a genie.”
The girl crosses her arms, and narrows her eyes at him. “I
can prove it to you.”
“I can give you anything you want. Wish for something.”
“Wish for something,” Oliver says. “Anything?
"Anything,” she repeats.
That’s easy. There’s only one thing he wants. “I want to
The girl blinks. “Done.”
“Done?” Oliver asks, “You haven’t done any…”
He lets his sentence fade away.
There’s a ship on the horizon that wasn’t there a second ago.