Work Text:
She was hunched, hands shaking as they pushed open the church doors. Her hair tied up neat, and the darkness hid the shadows blooming below the skin of her face. The church was empty, cold, and fear made her hesitate at the threshold.
But fear had no place in desperation.
Shuffling feet, sore from work, took her inwards to the altar and she knelt. Logic had little place in desperation either.
Her hands clenched before her eyes, she took to heart the words she’d been given. The Devil has a list, Margret had told her. A list he goes through one by one. Wait, and he will come for you, but also for James. But she cannot wait, she’d said.
Then trade, she’d told her. Make a Deal with the Devil. The price she didn’t know, though she’d heard of a few. Clothes for the child shelter. Turning yourself in to the police. Giving anonymous tips to various newspapers.
That she could do. Others, were scarier. Margret told her to remember that even here, in Hell’s Kitchen, the Devil demanded a price.
She sat there and wondered at the weight of her own soul.