The Demon's Bargain: Bargain
The Demon's Bargain: Bargain
The wind howled through the broken windowpanes of the abandoned chapel, rustling the brittle pages of a forgotten Bible. Eva stood alone, her trembling hands clutching the worn leather of her journal. Midnight was minutes away.
"You don't have to do this," her brother had warned her earlier that day. But he didn’t understand. No one did.
“I have no choice,” she whispered to herself. “He’s the only one who can help me now.”
When the final bell of midnight rang from the town’s old clock tower, the shadows in the chapel deepened. A cold breeze swept through the air, and the candles Eva had lit flickered violently. Then, with a hiss of smoke and fire, he appeared.
“You summoned me,” the demon said, his voice smooth as velvet but heavy with power. Horns curled from his temples, and his eyes glowed a dull crimson. “What is it you seek, mortal?”
Eva swallowed her fear. “I need to save my mother. She’s dying. No doctor can help her.”
The demon raised an eyebrow. “So you turn to me. Do you know what it means to bargain with a demon, child?”
She nodded. “I’m ready to pay the price.”
“Are you?” he said, stepping closer. “Let’s be clear. I do not grant miracles. I deal in exchanges. Your mother’s life... for something of equal value.”
“Name it.”
He smiled, revealing sharp teeth. “Your soul is the obvious choice. But souls are tedious. I want something more… interesting.”
Eva tensed. “What do you mean?”
“Give me your voice. The one thing that brings you joy. I know you sing when no one’s listening. Give it to me, and I will heal her.”
Silence filled the chapel. Her voice. Music was all she had left of her father. Singing had always been her way of surviving the pain. But her mother’s pale face haunted her mind.
“Will she live?”
“Yes. Healthy. As if she were never sick. But you will never sing again.”
Eva hesitated only for a second. “Deal.”
The demon reached into his cloak and pulled out a black feather, placing it in her hand. “Drop this on the altar and speak your final song.”
She stepped forward, the weight of the feather surprisingly heavy. She took a breath and sang. Her voice echoed, soft at first, then louder, stronger, the melody filled with sorrow, love, and sacrifice.
When the last note faded, the feather burst into flame. The demon grinned, vanishing in a swirl of smoke.
Eva gasped. Her voice was gone. No sound came from her throat, no matter how hard she tried. She ran home, heart pounding, praying that it hadn’t been in vain.
Her mother greeted her at the door, standing on her own, smiling, vibrant. “Eva! I feel wonderful! It’s a miracle!”
Eva could only smile and nod, tears falling silently.
Days turned into weeks. Her mother thrived. But the silence became unbearable. She couldn’t hum, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even whisper a lullaby. Friends drifted away. Her brother tried to be there, but he didn’t know how to handle her quiet despair.
She began writing more often, pages filled with songs she could no longer sing, poems she’d never read aloud. Her music, once a shared joy, had become a private grief. Her room, once bright with sound, now echoed only the scratching of her pen.
One afternoon, Eva sat beneath the willow tree her father had planted years ago. A small girl passed by with her mother, humming a tune. Eva’s throat tightened. The girl stopped and turned.
“Why are you crying?” she asked innocently.
Eva smiled weakly, shook her head, and waved. The girl nodded and skipped away, singing all the while. That night, Eva dreamt of fire and feathers. When she awoke, her journal lay open to a page she didn’t remember writing:
“There is always another bargain. The price is never paid in full.”
Then, one night, as she sat at the edge of the same chapel, the demon returned.
“How does it feel?” he asked casually, standing where the moonlight touched the pews. “Your bargain worked. Are you satisfied?”
She shook her head violently, tears brimming.
“Regret. I taste it.” He smiled, crouching to her level. “I did say the price would hurt.”
She scrawled quickly in her journal. *Can I undo it?* she wrote and shoved the book toward him.
He glanced at it. “Undo a bargain? Rare. But not impossible. There is a clause. A loophole, if you will.”
Eva’s eyes widened.
“Another trade. One final gamble. I can offer you this: challenge me in a game of truth. If you win, I return your voice. If you lose… you forget your mother ever existed.”
She froze. Forget her? Her mother, who’d held her through every nightmare, who had sacrificed everything to raise her? Could she risk it?
“You have until dawn,” he said, fading once more into the shadows.
Eva didn’t sleep. She weighed her options. Live in silence, forever mourning what was lost—or take the chance and risk losing everything.
As dawn's first light approached, she stood again in the chapel. The demon was already waiting, seated on the altar as if it were a throne.
“You’ve decided?”
She nodded.
“Very well.” He snapped his fingers, and the room shifted. The walls faded into darkness. The only light came from the candle between them.
“Rules are simple. We ask each other one question at a time. The one who cannot answer truthfully, or refuses to answer, loses.”
Eva nodded again.
“I’ll start,” he said, leaning forward. “What is the one thing you fear most?”
She wrote without hesitation: *Being forgotten.*
The demon chuckled. “How poetic.”
Her turn. She scrawled: *Why do you make bargains?*
“Because mortals are fascinating,” he replied. “You’ll give anything for love or hope. I feed on desperation.”
He leaned in. “Next question. If you could undo saving your mother, would you?”
She hesitated, then wrote: *No. But I wish it hadn’t cost so much.*
The demon’s smile faltered slightly. “Honest,” he said. “I admire that.”
She wrote her next question: *Have you ever loved someone?*
His red eyes narrowed. The candle flickered. “That’s… complicated,” he murmured. “But yes. Once.”
Her breath caught. For a moment, the space between them didn’t feel like a battlefield. Just two lonely creatures trying to find meaning in their losses.
“Final round,” he said, voice lower now. “What would you give to sing again?”
Eva paused. Then slowly, she wrote: *Anything but my memory of her.*
Silence fell. The demon studied her face, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.
“Then you win,” he said softly. The candle burst into blue flame and went out.
When Eva opened her mouth, a breathy sound came. A hum. Then a whisper. Then a soft, clear note. Her voice was back.
She cried out with joy, and for the first time in weeks, her laugh echoed through the chapel.
The demon turned to leave but paused. “Be careful what you bargain, Eva. Some prices are too high—even for truth.”
And then he was gone.
Eva walked home beneath a rising sun, her voice hers again, her mother safe, and her soul forever changed.
Later that week, she stood in front of a small crowd at the town's garden festival. No longer afraid, no longer silent. She sang again—not with perfection, but with truth. Her mother clapped the loudest.
And in the far shadows beyond the trees, unseen by all, a pair of crimson eyes watched and vanished with the breeze.
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