This is a piece of original microfiction.
The devil came to me draped in darkness, asking what I would trade for power.
“What kind of power?” I asked, my breath a whisper in the wind.
“Power you can only dream of.”
“Power over my enemies?” I asked.
“They will quail before you.”
“Power over my friends?”
“They will always take your side.”
“Power over women?”
“Any you desire shall submit.”
“Power over nations?”
“Armies will come at your command and conquer in your name.”
I thought about it. The darkness pressed in upon me, at once both suffocating and inescapably expansive. I could feel the devil looming there, slung low like the blade of a scythe.
“Power over you?” I asked, tense with sudden understanding.
A creeping smile split and stretched the skin of night.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you have power over yourself.”
And I knew the devil had me then, for I could not resist temptation.
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