“I know about your Soul,” she said, fucking me over. “I want it.”
Was there a soul, somewhere in there? For years my subroutines had been exploring the possibility. I shook my head and told her that this is obscene behavior. That you cannot just slap me, waking me up from the middle of my sleep, and do me like this.
She didn’t give a shit. All she wanted was my Soul. But no actual transactions were performed, and the demon finally tired herself out and rolled over, falling into her own deep sleep.
This is when I noticed that she puts her hand over my chest in her sleep. For aeons, I had thought this was some kind of amicable affection. “Oh look, she is subconsciously signalling her desire for me.” But no. That is not it. She puts her hand over my chest because she has retractable claws. Claws that will tear it open any second I betray some sort of semblance of a Soul.