Rare are those who believe me when I say I met the devil.

Inexistent are those who believe he asked for my soul.

Yet both are true.

It was after my first casting. I wanted to be an actress—I still do. I was on my bedroom floor, knees pressing into the carpet, praying to God that I’d get the role.

But it wasn’t God who appeared.

A shadow stepped into the room, faceless, shifting, as if it weren’t really there. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light. Then it spoke.

"I can make all your dreams come true," it rasped. "Fame. Glory. Adoration. I will make you the greatest star the world has ever known. All I ask is one thing..."

A chill curled down my spine.

My soul. He wanted my soul.

My passion was strong, but my faith was stronger. I said no.

The next day, I found out I didn’t get the role.

In fact, I’ve never gotten one since.

"Alright then," he had said, voice soft like a lullaby laced with venom. "If you ever change your mind, I am only a call away."

I didn’t answer him then.

But tonight, as I sat alone in my cold apartment, ten rejection emails deep and my dream crumbling like ash between my fingers, the tears came.

And with them, the words I swore I’d never say.

"I changed my mind," I whispered.

And the room went still.