The Devil and the Details

Rosamund walked into his office and closed the door behind him. He tossed his jacket on the couch and loosened his tie as he approached the table and sat down. So many case files to go through... and on such a lovely, sunny afternoon. Perhaps if he finishes quickly, James will want to go and grab a coffee with him... perhaps Bluebell could deliver it, too. He'll see what can be arranged. Work had to come first, sadly. He heard a rumble from outside but ignored it. Ongoing construction, as usual.

He pulled the quill and inkwell closer and started writing on the paper. They were trying to confuse him with several languages, it seemed, but he spoke them all. He could respond in all of them without issue. Nothing could disturb his work.

Except for a faulty pen. It wasn't writing right! Annoyed, he scratched the pen on the paper in an attempt to get it to work, but it was completely out of ink. This was no way to work! He had letters to answer, the nobility demanded his attention! Deeply frustrated, he went through the drawers on his table, looking for another pencil. He didn't find any, but he found a quill and an inkwell, which he took out and set on the table. Finally, he could continue.

He scribbled on in relative peace and silence, until a man burst into his office, shouting at him to think his actions through thoroughly, or else there would be consequences. Rosamund felt a strange, unknown anger welling up within him. The man continued with his threats and Rosamund wanted nothing more than to kill him where he stood. His pen snapped in his hand, red ink spilling all over the documents like blood, and he realized he was writing on his table instead of the paper for quite some time. He stood up and shouted at the man to leave at once, before he calls the guard and has him arrested. The man left, but the unease stayed with him.

Something was wrong.

He recognized who the man was, but he somehow didn't know who he was. He knew he was dangerous, somehow. Someone who wanted to hurt him, someone who was going to hurt him. He was gone now, but he felt his heart racing, loudly beating in his ears. He held onto his chest, feeling an unknown terror course through his body like poison. He reached for the telephone to call the police. To call for help, for anyone, but there was nothing on his table.

He closed his eyes, gasping for breath as if he was drowning, in pain, pain, pain...

Rosamund opened his eyes suddenly. A jolt went through his body and he sat up in alarm. A horrible pain pierced his chest, as if there was an invisible weight pressing him down. He keeled over, resting his head on the table again and trying to unbutton his vest with trembling hands. The pain was unbearable to the point he couldn't breathe. Was he having a heart attack? No, no. He had a nightmare. The pain was going away, leaving him shivering in his seat. Crying.

He fell asleep. That was all there was to it.

He carefully sat up again, looking around his office. It was his office, nothing strange about it. His coat was tossed over the couch, his cravat was folded with utmost care on the table next to him, and the precious pin was resting on top of it. His inkwell was nearby, he spilled it over as he fell asleep. Thankfully, the black blot of ink didn't harm his documents. He needed to get back to work...

But it was already night.

No matter. He didn't sleep before midnight anyway. With the bright light of the three full moons outside, he won't even need to use a lantern. He took out a new inkwell and ignored the dried ink on the table for now. He started scribbling with a strange, uneasy feeling. He was clearly under too much stress. His stomach was turning as he was writing, sending cold chills through his whole body. He started shivering again, to the point he couldn't hold the quill anymore. He carefully set it down, cold and terrified of nothing. There was nothing to fear. Why was he shaking so much?

How many moons are there?

He almost turned around to look, but his gaze fell on the document he was writing. The text of what he thought was a letter to Baroness Mayberry ended halfway through the page. What he wrote on in this state was a single phrase, repeating for rows and rows, filling out the rest of the paper.

BEHIND ME

He didn't dare to turn around. A sudden flash of bright light engulfed his room, blinding him for a moment, but he was vividly aware there was a dark corner that couldn't be illuminated. Something was there. Behind him, right by the balcony window. He could hear the silk curtains brush against it. If he turns around, it will know he knows. If he turns around, he will be forced to look at it. He couldn't move at all, paralyzed in his own fear. Deep, loud sound deafened him. Hairs on his arms and the back of his neck raised on ends as he felt with his whole body that the thing behind him moved towards him. The darkness was ankle-deep, spreading through the room like a cancer. He couldn't run. He couldn't speak or call for help. He helplessly sat there as he was, tears running down his face as it stopped right behind him.

The shadows swirled around him, spilling over his table and forming a tall, shapeless blob of darkness in front of him.

An eye opened.

"What is the point of being invisible..." a voice spoke as the second eye opened. The third soon followed, and then the fourth, and the fifth, eyes growing from and moving around the inhuman body. They bubbled throughout like boiling water, overflowing the horrible thing. "...if I am still seen?" All the eyes turned to him and Rosamund finally let out a scream, falling backwards from his chair. A dry, freezing cold hand wrapped in gold chains grabbed his shirt before he hit the ground and pulled him on his feet.

"What a disappointing display. I expected more from you, Nicholas," the man said. His long clawed hands were ripping his shirt as he pulled him even closer. "Was this little jest really enough to break you? Surely NOT-" He released him and swung at him with his other hand. Rosamund ducked backwards out of the way before he could strike, but he couldn't keep his balance and fell on the ground. He quickly sat up, crawling backwards away from the creature.

He let out a laugh, small dimples forming on his cheeks as his wide smile showed off his sharp teeth. "At least your reflexes work. You may still have your wits about you, then," he said, crossing his legs and leaning on his knees. "Fear me not, little man. I've not come to kill you today."

Truth? Lie? Truth lie truth lietruthlietruthlie-

Breathe.

Rosamund put a hand on his chest, forcing his heart to calm. If he passes out in front of this thing, he will die. The man- the thing- the devil looked at him with deep sadistic amusement, gleefully enjoying the effect he had on him. Rosamund wanted to kick himself to get his brain to work, still shivering and crying in terror on the floor. He felt pathetic in front of the grinning devil, but he couldn't stay like this. He forced himself to look back at the monster.

The devil took the form of a skinny young man with ivory skin that turned a complete black color on his forearms and clawed hands. The two horns on top of his head curled into thin, long, straight cones, and his ears were long and pointed. His long hair was a vibrant red color, held in a loose bun with several long pins, flowing down his shoulders like blood. His clothes were anachronistic, his pose revealing two deep cuts on his long black skirt. The split opened all the way up to his hips, showing off heavy boots that reached halfway up his thighs, and small black shorts he wore underneath. He wore a skintight turtleneck halter top with little black embroidered details. Rosamund realized his skirt had embroidery too, but he couldn’t make out what it was.

Where did the chains go? He was sure he saw them around his arm-

"It is very rude to stare, Nicholas. Don't make me hurt you."

"How do you know my name?" He managed to ask, dragging himself further away from the monster.

"Curious, is it not? I am more curious about why nobody else calls you that. It's not how humans act. I wonder what's wrong with you..."

Rosamund's eyes wandered around the room, trying to find a way out of this. He couldn't scream or call for help, the magic the devil was using certainly affected him, but nobody else in the house seemed to be noticing what was happening. Besides, calling out would bring people here and put them in danger. Not even Adanita could fight this.

"Nicholas. Look at me before I come over and make you."

His back was against the wall, most literally. His breathing was fast and erratic. There was no way out. He didn't want to, but he looked back at the monster.

The devil smiled at him, showing off his teeth again. "Ah, I see, I see. It was that all along, then. I am rather impressed how much you and your brother are like me. He has no love in his heart for anyone, and you, much like I, do not belong in this world. It is quite a shame nobody else sees you for what you are, you dirty little liar. I wonder what they'd think if they knew they spoke to a dead man?"

"Stop talking."

"Am I offending you, Nicholas? You are getting rather brave if you dare to talk back to me. Perhaps I should test how far you can keep up this charade... Or maybe not. Your display of confidence while you snivel on the floor is commendable, and I feel merciful today. I am a changed soul, Nicholas. I come bearing gifts. What do you say to that?"

Lie? No... Truth. Lie and truth. For as long as this creature was willing to speak, Rosamund could try to talk his way out. He could. He lived this for two lives now. He could figure it out. Somehow. His mouth was dry and his heart was beating in his ears like a distant drum. But he was here. He could do this. Very slowly, he gave the monster a nod.

The monster snapped his fingers, and Rosamund was sitting in his chair at the table. His shirt wasn't torn anymore. Before he could get out of the way, the devil sitting on his table grabbed him by the neck again and forced him to look up. He couldn't see his eyes, but he could feel tears running down his face again. His hand was freezing- he couldn't breathe-
"What a delight you are, Nicholas~" he mocked before releasing him. "I wish I could have the time to really play with you. Unfortunately, I am here for a reason. Let's talk."
"What d-do you want?" he asked.
"I wonder. There are quite a few things I want, but I wonder how much you can provide. Yet you continue being such a nuisance with those damned eyes of yours." Truth, Rosamund realized. "But not matter. I can get by. I see you are that little girl's solution to her conundrum. She is betting with her own life, and she decided to put it all on you, didn't she?"
Adanita? "What do you want?" he asked, anger seeping into his voice, breaking through the sheer terror.
"A deal, of course! What every devil lives for." The monster gleefully giggled and hopped off of the table. Truth. He turned to get a drink from the cabinet, and Rosamund could see his shirt was backless. The creature's back was covered in deep, vicious scars. So, he could be injured-

The devil must've had eyes on the back of his head. He twitched, grabbed the bottle and violently threw it at Rosamund. He managed to duck out of the way, and the glass shattered against the chair, spilling brandy and shards on him. The deep cuts burned like fire and the devil's face was twisted with rage-

Until it wasn't.

The blood that was soaking his shirt and chair disappeared. Rosamund sat there, unharmed while the monster offered him a generous smile. "Really now. Look what you've made me do. I told you it's rude to stare, why must you behave like this? I was going to pour you a drink, my dear Nicholas. Is that not how humans like to speak to one another?"
"Thank you for the drink," he managed to say, trembling in his seat. He couldn't look at him, he couldn't look away. He stared at the devil's boots as he walked closer to him.
"See? You can be so polite when you want to. Now, to get back to business. This little girl you seem to be oh-so-very fond of belongs to me."
Adanita?! He was speaking the truth- "How?" he snarled.
"The same way anyone does, love. She made a deal with me, and it was sealed in her death. Her soul belongs to me, but worry not. I have no inappropriate attachments to it. In fact, you can have it. What would I do with this filthy little thing, anyway?" He rejoiced in Rosamund's expression as he flicked his wrist and created a small white glow in the palm of his hand. It screamed and cried in Adanita's voice as it was writhing in his grasp. "Completely worthless." He clenched his fist, and the soul was gone.

Lie, Rosamund realized.

The devil was far too close to him again, leaning on the armrests of his chair. But he was lying. Rosamund's panicked mind was overheating as he was trying to sort out his words. He expertly mixed truth and lie, making a mess in his head. But he could sort it out, even if nobody else could.

"She didn't make a deal..." he quietly said.
"What?" the monster said, stepping back.
"She didn't! But it was sealed in her death..." He was sitting up, staring at the devil in front of him. He was frowning, clearly planning to turn violent again, but he waited to see what else Rosamund would say. He quietly continued. "And she belongs to you... but that wasn't her, was it? How would she be alive without a soul?"
He let out a laugh again. "Impressive. And what else, fellow monster?"
"You turned back the time..." Rosamund said.
"Mmm... Partially correct. I suppose I will allow such an understanding of events. What else?"
"She isn't worthless. You want something... from me. For her. What do you want?"
"Very perceptive. As I already said, I want a deal with you, Nicholas. It won't even cost you your interesting little wretched soul. It's all broken anyway, I don't want it. I will need you to do just a little something for me, and then you can have it. I'll let you own her yourself, if it would sweeten my offer." Rosamund's stomach turned at his words.
"Despicable monster-"

The devil slapped him. He fell, hitting the edge of the table with his ribs and continued hanging onto it, to at least stay on his knees. The devil grabbed him by the elbow, pulling him up on his feet as he coughed up blood. He couldn't stand, so the monster wasn't letting him go, forcing him to dangle partway between standing and kneeling. He was so much shorter and smaller. Why was he so strong? Why did he feel so much larger than him?

"Nicholas~ Why are you like this? I am offering you the deepest desire I see in your horrible little heart," he said. Truth... Rosamund's half-conscious mind violently denied it as such. He only spoke what he thought was truth, just like when he called him and Lily monsters on par with him. He was a repulsive creature. He wanted nothing more than to shut him up. "It's really not fair. How are you so hypocritical when you pretend to be so merciful? You spared your time and effort for so many pathetic souls. What makes me different to them? It's not fair-"

A revolver found itself in Rosamund's hand. He tightly gripped it, as if he was holding onto his own life. The monster was right next to him, too close to notice him raise his hand.

Rosamund fired.

The bang rang in his ears. The bullet pierced the devil's side, and he dropped him in shock. Feeling no mercy, Rosamund fired two more times into his chest, not hesitating for a moment.

Black liquid was pouring out of the holes. The devil coughed up more, staining the floor and Rosamund's clothes. He stumbled backwards. "It's- not fair-"

Instead of falling, his corpse melted away into the black liquid. He was gone. He was-

Rosamund let out a scream, grabbing onto his chest again. The pain was unbearable, tearing him into pieces, shredding his flesh and grinding his bones, and he was still alive as it kept going, and going, and going...


Rosamund opened his eyes.

He couldn't move.

He couldn't breathe.

He was in his bed, and the devil was pressing his chest with his knee, pinning his paralyzed body. The air around him was freezing cold, and he was oozing darkness and shadows that not even the flashes of lightning could pierce. He was still bleeding, he realized. The black soot was still pouring out of his chest onto Rosamund.

"Look at what you've done now, Nicholas."

The chains... Rosamund's eyes widened as his vision cleared. The chains of golden magic were forming all over the devil's body, whispering and tinkling as they dangled loosely off of him. Their glow continued onwards into the sky, and he tried to follow where they went but he couldn't see through the ceiling. They were words-

The devil grabbed him by the jaw, forcefully turning his head. "I told you it is rude to stare. My eyes are down here~" he hummed. The hum turned into a deep growl. "Look at me." He didn't want to, but the monster forced him. His eyes were darker than black, a void that was sucking him in. Rosamund couldn't look away, feeling the hopeless abyss engulfing him. He couldn't breathe. He was drowning... "It was just a little joke, Nicholas. A harmless prank, a bad dream. Nothing more. I will never hurt you on my own, my dear. I don't want to. I need you. You seem to have difficulty breathing, do you not? Look, I can make it all better for you." He stopped pinning him down, taking his knee off of him. Truth- he thought this was a joke.

Truth... he won't harm him...

He let him go before his hands gave him frostbite. "Am I not as kind to you as those who've wished for your death? Why do they deserve your pity? Why not me? Why won't you help me, too?" he whined as Rosamund's tears soaked his pillow. "Oh, but I made you so upset. It's because you broke out of my spell. I didn't expect you to do that, Nicholas. Perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye indeed, but if you hadn't done that, you would've hardly remembered me at all. Really, you brought the fear you feel on yourself now that you've caught me. I hope this pays out for me, because the pain really won't be worth it if you fail..." he mused quietly. Rosamund tried to move his arms, screaming at his body to get away, to find a chance to survive. He couldn't even speak...

The devil gently stroked his cheek. "My offer still stands, little man. You can have her. Or, she can be free. Nobody needs to own her, if this is what you'd like better. A favor for a favor, would that not be the best for us both?" he asked. The holes on his chest were slowly closing.

"You better have an answer for me, Nicholas. We'll be seeing each other soon, very soon. And, who knows. Maybe next time I will be here to kill you, so you better figure out what I want from you fast."

Rosamund couldn't answer him. The devil smiled, his body slowly dissipating into the glimmering black fog.

"Until next time, my dear Nicholas."