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She holds a towel to her cut hand, watching the red seep into the soft white through the dark room. Her dull expression is illuminated only by the lit candles on the floor in a circular pattern. The room reeks from the awful smelling candles and sigil drawn in her own blood on the floor. Though the thing that stinks the most was the mixture burning in a bowl inside the center of the large symbol. Words of Latin slip past her lips as she closes her eyes, a language she doesn’t completely comprehend rolles off her tongue. Her voice trembles as she speaks, but her tone stays firm till the last word is said. She pauses, waiting in the silence. Holding the towel as tightly as her breath, she opens her eyes to…
To absolutely nothing.
She sighs, frustrated and disappointed, and turns away from the mess. Carelessly, she tosses the bloody towel to her clothes basket in the corner of the room. It misses by foot, but she doesn’t care enough to pick it up.
“How messy,” a voice of lavender and sin comments from behind her. She jerks back around to find a finely dressed man prompted gracefully on her unmade bed. He’s sitting with his legs crossed fashionably with his hands supporting him up on each side of his frame. The man isn’t looking at her, instead his gaze is flickering around her dark room. For the first time in a long time, the girl feels self-conscious under his judgment.
“It worked?” She whispers, staring wide-eyed at the very proof that it did before her.
“Either that or I’m a serial killer who snuck into your room.” The monster in disguise of man muses, but then frowns in thought. “Actually, the latter would be safer.”
She doesn’t step forward, but is too scared to step back. Taking a deep breath, she tries to steal her nerves the best she can.
“Which devil has answered my call?” She demands.
The monster laughs, “oh Sweetheart, you are very much in over your head, aren’t you?”
“Answer me,” she hisses.
The demon snorts, shaking his head slightly before introducing himself. He places a hand on his chest, smiling corily.
“I am the son of the morning, Lucifer, and I am here to listen to what you have to ask, Darling,” he cooes and the girl feels all of the blood drain from her body. He watches with sick glee as she struggles to process his words, her mouth opening and closing several times before she finds herself again and sets her lips in a thin, tense line. Her eyes narrow and she can only hope that she can hide just how terrified she is. It’s not like she can turn back now anyways.
“I want to make a deal.” She says, trying to sound confident.
The Devil smiles and it sends shivers down the girl’s spine.
“Of course you do. Why else would call me? To swap cake recipes?” He sits straighter, entwining his fingers in his lap.
“Now,” he begins, “our deal?”
“I don’t need to play a fiddle do I?” The girl asks, cocking her head to a degree.
“Cute,” he sneers behind his smile. Shaking his head, “I just need an agreement and a handshake.”
“And my soul,” she adds when he doesn’t.
“And your soul,” he nods. “You get to live your apple pie life with your little wish and when it’s all said and done I get my payment for my services. Simple and sweet.”
His lips curl into a grin that reminds the girl of a viper coiling around its prey and sinking its venomous fangs into the small rodent’s flesh.
“But,” he lifts his finger, chuckling as if he’s making a joke, “No refunds.”
She gulps, but nods in understanding. She has already weighed her options and consequences beforehand. She knows what she’s doing.
She hopes.
“Okay,” her voice quivers and she steps closer to him. “My wish is…”
“Money? Power? Vengeance? The world’s knowledge at your fingertips?” The Devil guesses, brow raised. "I've heard it all before."
“A friend. I want a friend.” She finishes, looking at the demon before her with hope. She stretches out her hand for him to take.
“I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
Lucifer levels her with a look in his eyes that she can’t place, all traces of dark humor gone from his features. He peers at her silently, his impassive stare with the intensity of hellfire and utter madness. She feels such a look strike straight to her very soul he wishes to claim. Calmly, before she can change her mind, he grasps her hand in a firm grip. His touch is cold as death. It makes her gasp, her shuddering breath escaping her lips.
“You will not,” his soft voice booms in the quiet room like thunder, the earth could tremble with it.
“You will not any longer,” he promises, leaning in towards her. She does not move as he continues the last of his words.
“I will make sure of it.”
.