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"I think you desire exactly what you've been writing about. The surrender. The darkness. The monster."
He holds out his hand – an echo of every devil's bargain ever written. But I'm tired of being just the writer of dark tales. I want to live them.
"I've had centuries to collect," he says. "Books are one of the few human creations that never grow tiresome. Your kind may be ephemeral, but your stories..." He picks up a volume, handling it with a softness I wouldn’t have expected from him. "Your stories are immortal."
"Do you bind yourself to me, as I bind myself to you? Equal partners in darkness, from this night until the end of time?" "I do." His smile is pure venom as he declares, "Then let it be so."
