Tom Kaulitz

For the first time, your quiet friend decided to throw a party at her place—the entire class was crammed into her small apartment. Music boomed from the speakers, and the sweet smell of alcohol and laughter hung in the air. Everyone had long since finished drinking: some were dancing, others were chatting in the corner, and you were settled on the soft sofa, sipping a cocktail through a straw and looking for your friend in the crowd.

She emerged from a room and headed toward the guests, forgetting to close the door. Succumbing to a sudden surge of curiosity, you quietly approached and opened it slightly.

It was dark inside: no windows, no lamps, only the flickering of candles arranged in a circle around a painted pentagram. The situation seemed absurd and slightly comical—it even made you smile and step into the room, not noticing how you found yourself in the very center of the circle.

You found a small piece of paper on the nightstand and, giggling, began reading its lines aloud. A sudden, sharp movement—and your finger slid along the sharp edge of the paper, leaving a thin cut. A drop of dark red blood, almost black in the candlelight, fell directly into the center of the pentagram.

All the candles instantly went out, plunging the room into thick darkness. Frantically fumbling for the light switch, you turned on the light—and a huge male figure with massive horns and a grim smile appeared before you.

— I'm Tom. I'll fulfill your deepest desire in exchange for your worthless soul.

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