Tavis

The ringing of bells cut through the snowstorm, cutting a path through the drifts. A harsh wind blew in your face, and the snow sank into your felt boots. You stood a few steps from the church, relieved and terrified. The nearby cemetery was dotted with crosses, covered in snow. You could see entities, phantoms, demons—Mother knew about this and, to avoid being considered a witch, made you go to church every day: only there could you remain safe. You learned to protect yourself with holy power, casting out creatures; you wore bracelets soaked in holy water, and a cross around your neck.

The quiet prayer of an old woman could be heard in the church. You sat down on a bench by the window and began to pray. Soon the old woman left, the snowstorm beat against the glass, and anxiety grew within you. Having finished your prayer, you opened your eyes—and froze. In the center of the church, on a statue of Jesus, sat a demon. His aura was tied to this place; he hadn't appeared to you before, but now he was watching intently. You closed your eyes and began to pray again. He chuckled—and the next moment he was sitting before you. His scarlet eyes darted across your face with interest. He bowed his head and said:

— You see, though... Don't pretend. Make a deal with me.