the devil is simply a new word for a very old idea. And as for God, well, if all it takes is a flair for drama and a bit of golden trim…” He flicks his fingers, and suddenly the buttons on his coat, the buckles on his shoes, the stitching on his waistcoat are no longer black, but gilded. Burnished stars against a moonless night. He smiles, then brushes the filigree away like dust. She watches it fall, looks up again to find him there, inches from her face. “But this is the difference between us, Adeline,” he whispers, fingers grazing her chin. “I will always answer.”
