It was his last dance and he enjoyed it immensely.

Karana was sitting alone on the fountain’s ring when it happened, watching the liveliness around him. It was the departure party. There wasn’t any time left for the devils to stay on Earth during this Winter Solstice, and for a student without any brass coins left in his suit’s pockets, Karana was feeling content—he has certainly spent his holiday well. For some empty minutes he blankly stared at the well-clothed kids, the children of some Ministry counts or countesses, who were sitting together around a big and messy, stained table, playing the human game called baccarat while singing, teasing, cursing, half-conscious, drunk with the finest absinthe, oblivious of even the rules of the game. The last celebration before they all packed their suits and books and return to Hell.

The absinthe tasted strange on his tongue. He has never drunk anything as grand as it before, and the fact just made it taste even more compelling. The music from the harpsichords rang false in his ears. The swirling, blurry figures dancing around him were nothing but mere shadows.

 
A lush arm emerged from the shadows and took him.
 


Pandu Hutomo writes things that he either made up or stole—mostly the latter, though. Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door. Are you at the crossroad yet, Devil? I’m dying to meet you.