They say the devil has no soul, that his heart had frozen over as soon as he was cast down from the heavens and tumbled straight into hell. The king of hell is a fitting name for a monster like him- a man who could never love, that is merely an empty shell devoid of romantics, driven only by the twisted nature of his games and the thrilling chill of lust, and of death. At least that is what they told me.

But I know differently.

Some say he is beautiful- dancing through the night with a seductive sway of his body and a tender caress of his honeyed word that could make any mortal fall, others berate him as a monster.

When I was younger, I never used to know what to believe. Never knew which legends told the truth, and which ones voiced a lie.

You see, there are entrances to hell all over the world, in the pitfalls of the earth, or the darkened shadows that lengthen by the influence of the moon on a grim and unsuspecting night. It would take only one false move, or one of great calculated precision, to find yourself tumbling down, down into the fiery depths of the earth- into his domain. Nobody goes there. Not even death.

I shouldn't have gone there, either. But it's too late for that now.

They say once you are in hell, you can never get out, trapped by the seductive and watchful gaze of the man who rules over its terrain with an iron fist and a lusty gluttony for all things depraved. By all sense of logic, avoiding such places would be the best thing to do. 'Stay in the light' I was always told, and 'never let yourself stray into the shadows.' Now, it is not that there's anything wrong with that logic, in fact, it is rather sound.

But every now and then, I feel a calling, a low whispering hum that chimes within the depths of my heart, beckoning me to its sullen tune, drawing me to the place I know I should never rightly go.

Hell is no place for a mortal.

But then one day I made a deal with the devil himself.

And that is when my life changed forever.