"You mean", you start in a dumbfounded demeanor, "You want me to help you do this to other people?".
Jeannie nods her head in a concurring manner.
"No way!", you muster as much bravery as you can behind your shrill voice, "You're sick, Jeannie! You need help".
Jeannie's lips curl in a frowning fashion. Her tame eyebrows sulk as her ultramarine irises lower in disappointment. She angles her chin downward sorrowfully.
Jeannie mutters as she speaks, "Wow, I never thought you'd develop a backbone. That's no fun. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to squish you...".
A tenebrous shadow slithers beneath your feet. A soft whistle draws your attention overhead. Jeannie's subtle, cream colored palm swiftly descends upon you. You don't even have a chance to cringe, let alone run away. The base of Jeannie's middle finger assaults the back of your head, forcing you to the ground face first. You wait for the rest of her voluminous hand to bring its full weight down upon your fragile frame, but it refuses to do so. Instead, rays of light flicker through the ceiling of your domed prison of flesh. The screeching of Jeannie's nails dragging against the wooden surface is amplified by your closed confines as you are scooped up by her less than caressing fingers. Your back lands on Jeannie's impressionable palm, and you are brought before her beaming face.
"...is what I would normally say to someone like you telling me no, but lucky for you I have a backup plan for just such an occasion".
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