The Devil's Deal

My name was Elara.

I lived at the edge of the woods in a house too quiet for comfort, with the stench of sickness rotting the air. My father, Thomas, once strong enough to split trees with a single swing, now lay still as stone in his bed, lungs drowning in themselves. I’d tried every tonic, every herb, every prayer. Nothing worked.

I was seventeen when he began to die. I was eighteen when I gave my soul away. It happened on a night thick with thunder and silence. I was staring into the fire, wondering if I could bring myself to end his suffering, when the shadows moved. Not flickered but moved. They pulled themselves together like wet fabric and formed a man with ash-coloured skin, eyes like dying embers, and a grin carved straight from bone.

“I’ve come to offer a deal,” he said. “A life for a life.” I knew what he was. The Devil doesn’t need a name. “You’ll save him?” I asked. My voice felt foreign in my throat. “You’ll heal him completely?”

“I’ll do more than that,” he purred. “He’ll rise tomorrow with no memory of the pain. Like it never touched him.”

“What do you want in return?”

“You.” He produced a contract from thin air, and I saw my name already etched in the corner. I signed. My father woke before dawn, bright-eyed and laughing. The colour had returned to his face. He kissed my forehead and called me his little miracle.

And by nightfall, I began to cough. It was worse than I’d ever seen it in him. My joints ached. My breath clawed at my throat. I bled from places that shouldn’t bleed. By the third night, I could barely speak. The Devil appeared again, standing at the foot of my bed like a patient undertaker.

“You didn’t think I’d give a gift for free?” he said. “You asked me to take the illness. I did. I took it...from him. You should’ve read the fine print.”

I wanted to curse him. But all I could do was gasp.

He left me there to rot. But I didn’t die. Not yet.

I spent what little strength I had reading the contract again, every line etched in blood. And buried deep in the legal hellfire, I found it: “To ensure equilibrium, the ailment shall pass to the signer, save in cases of breach or counter-bargain.” That single line kept me breathing. You see, he bound me by contract. But that also meant he could be bound too.

I began to study, between fevers and blackouts, I read every cursed page of the grimoires left by madmen. I marked my floors with salt and iron, lit candles that burned blue. When he came back, I was ready.

“I want another deal,” I rasped.

His smile returned, cruel and slow. “You’ve got maybe a week left, darling. You think I’ll waste another word on you?”

“I think you’re greedy,” I said. “I think you want more than just one soul.”

That caught his attention.

“I’ve spent the past days finding desperate people. I know what they want. I can get you a hundred souls. All clean. All willing. All signed in blood. You let me live and I’ll deliver them to you myself.”

“And if you fail?”

“You can have me. Twice over.” He laughed so hard the candles died. “Deal.”

I recovered within hours of the contract being torn. My body remembered how to live. And for the next seven years, I gave the Devil everything he asked for, except what he wanted. Each soul he hoped to claim? I taught them to read. To question. To hesitate. I turned his own rules against him. And when he came to collect what he was owed, there were no souls to give. Only inkless pens and burning pages.

“You lied,” he growled.

“No,” I whispered. “I just played better.”

He tried to take me anyway but the contract sealed shut, glowing with the Devil’s own binding words. He vanished, snarling, into a scream.

My name was Elara. But now, they call me the girl who beat the Devil. And if he ever comes again...

I’ll be ready.