Chapter One: Clementine and the Kingdom of More
Clementine Hope was a girl born into a world that could never seem to stop wanting. Her city rose in glassy towers of humming lights, each one shouting promises of marvels yet to come. Sidewalks rolled beneath shiny shoes, carrying people too busy wishing for tomorrow to notice today. Food appeared at the touch of a button, glowing with flavors no one could name, and children traded their parents’ memories for toys that laughed in three languages.
Clem had never felt quite at home among so much hungry wonder. Her mother collected dream machines that could play lullabies straight into your mind. Her father owned a personal weather cloud, always ready to shower him with perfect sunshine. Yet Clem lived in a quiet corner of their steel apartment, drawing stories on scraps of real paper, which was harder to find than gold.
One night, while her parents tested a new happiness serum in the living room, Clem caught the voice of a street vendor rising through the window. His cry was as sharp as a cracked bell.
“Wishes, wishes, precious wishes! All the wishes your heart could ever crave!”
The words made her heart spark like a fire catching dry wood. Wishes. If there was one thing Clem understood, it was wanting. She wanted more too, though not quite the more everyone else seemed to chase.
She peered out across the glittering city. It trembled with a thousand colors, each one eager to be the next best thing. Somewhere out there, beyond the bright distractions, lay a rumor whispered among the bold: a machine older than all the rest, a Wish Engine that could grant anything. Anything at all.
Clem pressed her hand to the cold window. A story was beginning to stir, and she could feel it reaching for her.
Clem dressed quickly, heart pounding like a wild drum. She wrapped herself in her mother’s cast-off coat, a shimmering thing far too fine for an ordinary girl, but no one would notice in a city where every coat sparkled. She slipped from the apartment while her parents were still busy laughing at the effects of their new happiness serum.
Outside, the night air tasted like sugar and static. Down below, vendors called out their wild promises, selling everything from programmable pets to jars of bottled courage. The voices tangled together until they were a single chant: More, more, always more.
Clem made her way through the crowds, eyes shining with something different from hunger. She was searching for that vendor, the one who had cried out about wishes.
Past a tower that played lullabies through its glowing walls, past a fountain that spat diamonds into the air, she found him at last. An old man, bent and bright-eyed, stood behind a stand draped in fabric printed with constellations. He looked almost ordinary, which made him more startling than any of the city’s polished wonders.
He saw Clem at once and nodded, as if he had been waiting.
“Wishes, little lady,” he rasped, voice full of secrets. “The real kind. Not these flimsy amusements.”
Clem stepped closer, heart beating in her throat. “Where?”
The old man leaned in, breath scented with pepper and something ancient.
“Out past the Pleasure Strip, beyond the Carnival Gates,” he whispered. “There lies the Wish Engine. It gives you more than you ever dreamed, if you dare to pay the price.”
A thrill swept through her, sharp and dangerous. She had found her beginning.
Clem thanked the old man, though he had already turned away, busy folding up his star-draped stall as if he might vanish into thin air. She clutched his whispered directions to her heart, repeating them over and over. Out past the Pleasure Strip, beyond the Carnival Gates.
She wove through the crowd, ignoring the mechanical birds that sang advertising jingles, ignoring the tempting stalls with their rainbow confections and perfect plastic flowers. The Pleasure Strip was a mile of glittering lights and theaters where people lined up to dream themselves into heroes, villains, or kings for an hour. Clem slipped past them, barely breathing.
Beyond the Strip rose the Carnival Gates, crowned with golden lions that roared once every hour. Their mechanical throats boomed through the night, shaking her bones as she stepped beneath them. The Carnival was a maze of illusions, mirrors that offered you taller legs or brighter eyes, rides that spun so fast your thoughts could not catch up. Clem hurried through, eyes fixed on the dark stretch beyond.
There, on the far side, lay something different. A deep stillness that did not belong to the kingdom of more.
She paused to catch her breath, peering down a narrow road lit only by crooked lanterns, their small flames dancing like shy guardians. At the end, an archway stood, carved from pale stone and so old it looked out of place in the city of glitter. Its surface was worn smooth by countless hands, and three solemn words were etched across the crown, words that made her shiver:
THE WISH ENGINE
For a moment, Clem almost turned back. The world she knew might have been gaudy, but it was safe. Familiar. Here, there was mystery, and a risk that could break her or save her. But her heart, her dear stubborn heart, pulled her forward.
She stepped through the archway. Beyond it, a corridor stretched, dimly lit by lanterns that seemed to float like fireflies. At its far end waited a heavy iron door, framed in shadow. Clem reached for the handle, her fingers trembling.
A voice rose behind her, so sudden she nearly cried out.
“Are you certain, child?”
She turned. The old vendor stood there, somehow having followed her without a sound. His eyes gleamed with a knowing sorrow.
“There is always more,” he told her, voice calm as rain. “But more will never end. If you open that door, you must be ready.”
Clem swallowed hard. She was ready. She had to be.
With one last glance at the vendor, she turned the handle and stepped inside.