BUT ON THIS ISLAND, IT’S ALWAYS BEEN ABOUT “LONG LIVE EVIL.” On the Isle of the Lost, Mal spray-painted a battered city wall. With her purple hair, leather jacket with a decal of two dragons on the back, and tough-as-nails boots, Mal had trouble written all over her—which was precisely what she was going for. The bilious green spray paint spelled out LONG LIVE EVIL. Mal holstered her paint can, reveled in her work, and stepped into the bustling marketplace, where she was quickly swept up in the throng and blended into the sea of haggard, worn faces. Jay, son of Jafar, watched Mal vanish into the crowd as he looked out over the bazaar from the rooftop of a nearby building. Oozing confidence, he had long dark hair and biceps that bulged out of his leather vest. He smiled. His eyes glinted dangerously. In several cobra-like moves, Jay leaped and slid down a rusty ladder from the rooftop. Those who knew of Jay would say that he was dirty, no good, bad to the bone.
