“You smell like old doughnuts.”
The Devil tilted his head. “What’s a doughnut?”
“Seriously?”
“Are they made of nuts?” The Devil asked in his monotonous way. He never lingered much on human triviality.
The girl laughed nervously. “They’re soft and sweet and wonderful. You should try one.”
“I may.”
“If I get you one, will you—will you let me go?”
The Devil considered her. At fourteen, she had sold her soul after a night of too many ‘Bloody Marys’ in the mirror. “Are you willing to stake your soul on my good opinion of a doughnut?”
The girl nodded.
Author’s Note: I sometimes feel like I might sell my soul for good food.
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