The curtains shiver, fluttering fabric ghosts in the light September wind. Elena’s eyes are trained on the window with brazen determination. Her lips whisper a call that is as desperate as it is practiced. Her hair has come untied from its bun, hovering over her eyes like a storm cloud, but she makes no movement to try to clear her vision. 

        A blaring whine jolts her out of her stupor. An alarm, shining from her phone, discarded among her bedsheets. Wild with panic, she snatches the phone up, swiping frantically to stop its incessant ringing. Her breathing is quick, and her chest is heavy. She cannot shake the feeling that she has ruined it, that he is not going to come today, that she will be left alone, desolate and uninspired. 

        A hand grips her neck, talons digging into her bare flesh. She hisses in pain, feeling hot droplets of blood slide down her back, but the weight in her chest fades away in the wake of the pain. She relaxes into the arms that hold her, almost crying in relief. 

        “You again.” The words are spit at the nape of her neck, harsh with venom. “What more could you possibly want?” 

        “You know what I want. The same thing as always,” Elena says, her voice resigned. “I call you when the words don’t come.” 

        The devil hums his assent, twists her to face him. She flinches, a visceral, human reaction to the thing she is facing. He is different from the portrayal of demons in film, much like angels differ from their cherubic forms in artwork. His face is twisted into a blur of red eyes and raw flesh, and when he breathes, it is like a heart pulsing. 

        “You know what you have to do.” His words are crooning, self-satisfied. 

        Elena swallows, tilts her head to one side, exposing her open, pale neck. 

        The devil laughs aloud, a wicked, euphoric cackle, and sinks his teeth into her flesh. At first, the pain is a slight twinge in her skin, as if someone had pricked her with a needle. And then, the burning starts. She clamps her palm to her mouth, trying to suffocate the scream that is trying to tear its way out of her mouth. It feels as if someone has injected fire into her veins. It starts at the neck, then spreads through her body until every part of her is in complete agony. She knows that he is devouring her blood, and, by association, part of her soul. Sweat trickles down her spine, and her stomach twists. Her breath catches in her throat, and she struggles for air, gasping and panting for oxygen. But the pain, she has learned, only lasts so long. 

        She shivers as a cool euphoria runs through her body, soothing every part that had previously burned with agony. A laugh of pure ecstasy fills her, limbs tingling with energy, her vision sharpening. His poison is spreading through her body, and she loves every moment of it. It is a wicked, terrible joy, one that makes her feel as though she could bring the world to its knees. 

        She turns, sees the devil with blood dripping from his fangs. “Thank you,” she breathes, her eyes wide with exhilaration. 

        He shakes his head, cackling in the way he always does. “You only have a few more times left, child.” He gestures with a taloned finger to her wrist, and she follows his gaze. 

        Her veins, once blue, are now black, rivers of ink traveling down her arm. Without even looking into a mirror, Elena knows that her skin will have grown gray and her eyes turned yellow. She also knows that she will spend the next weeks coughing up blood, shivering at night, unable to sleep. 

        And she knows that one day, soon, she will not wake up. 

        But right now, she knows that what she is about to do is worth it. 

        She starts writing, words flowing from her like it is the most natural thing in the world.