strawberry foot

A shy author who writes a novel series which are super popular but is on indefinite hiatus. Soon after the ruler of hell appears in front of them in a dramatic burst of smoke demanding for them to continue because apparently demons are also very fond of popular literature.

Being a demon wasn’t so bad. All Stiles had to do was meet his monthly soul quota and other than that, he could pretty much do whatever he wanted. Stiles was very good at his job, he was the only demon in history to be named Soul Collector of the Year ninety-nine times. The year Greenburg won is still a sore spot for Stiles, it was 1967 the Summer of Love was in full swing and Stiles got a little… distracted. There were more than enough people out there willing to give up their souls for something and Stiles was more than happy to oblige them.

Stiles’ journey to becoming a demon was something of a cliché. He didn’t sell his soul to save some poor person’s life; he didn’t even sell it for riches. No, Stiles sold his soul for love. Her name was Lydia Martin, a 5 foot 2 strawberry blonde goddess. He didn’t even have the sense to negotiate himself a good deal. Blinded by infatuation, Stiles thought three years was an enough time so fifteen and stupid he agreed. In return for his soul, Lydia would fall in love with him.

But things didn’t exactly go to plan. Stiles quickly figured out that Lydia wasn’t really the perfect girl he thought and there was also that whole life-changing moment when he turned sixteen, and realised that boys were actually more of his thing. It turns out that demons don’t really care if things don’t work out so, when Stiles was eighteen, the demon came to collect. Faced with the prospect of burning in hell for all eternity, Stiles proposed an alternative – make him a demon instead, with his smart mouth and quick mind he’d definitely be an asset to the team. So here he was, a hundred years later and collecting souls for a living.

There was one big problem with the job; it got a little repetitive. You meet some poor shmuck down on their luck and desperate and it’s pretty easy to entice them with offers of a better life. You give them five or ten years, collect on the debit, and then their soul is yours forever. And so on and so on. Honestly, Stiles was bored; a hundred years of collecting souls is enough to drive even the finest demon a little crazy.

Away from collecting souls, Stiles had one pleasure in life and that was reading.  Wolf Moon, a series of novels written by the mysterious author D. H. Sales were Stiles’ particular favourite. The teenage misadventures of the titular character Scott, a werewolf, and his best friend Dylan were Stiles’ only escapism from his tedious life as a demon. It had been two years since the release of the fourth instalment and Stiles was getting a little frustrated.

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