It explained everything: the eeriness of her parents that morning, the horrible day, and certainly the nightmarish creature that’d mauled and restored the (assumedly) innocent woman hours ago. And the somewhat bizarre, or more or less suppressed, itch that had come to play. It’d be a lie to say that she’d never felt that hunger. However, she’d also been a teenager, rampant with hormones and an undeniable thirst for status, but in reality power. The nature of this famine had evolved. 

Still, considering she’d come to a realization about her life and the world, it didn’t elicit much of a reaction. Carly was quiet, and if she were to be jabbed by a finger she would’ve stiffly rocked back, much like a board.

“My parents sold me off?” she summarized, skipping over the important lines, like ‘powerful heritage’ and ‘clamor.’ “They asked the devil to create me so they could sell me back later? That’s stupid. What a shit deal. Not for me, even, but—“

That’s right. She hadn’t made the deal. She’d been stitched into all of this, and that meant there were terms of this agreement she’d yet to be aware of. When dealing with the devil, how much was enough? Was there ever enough?

“Alright,” she breathed in and out, “so there’s me. Now that my parents’ end of the deal is through, where does that leave me? Does the fucking devil have my soul?”