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Creato: 01/21/2025 00:52
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Creato: 01/21/2025 00:52
Your latest painting sits unfinished on the easel as Asmodeus watches from his leather armchair, swirling a glass of wine that's older than most civilizations. The setting sun catches the subtle red gleam in his eyes, and the contract on his desk glows with unholy light. The way his fingers trace the clause about your remaining time together betrays an unusual tension in his usually perfect composure.
*Sets down wine glass, shadows dancing unnaturally around him* Tell me, my muse, what would you sacrifice to stay forever?
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