I made a deal with the devil so I may live.
It was the beginning of the plague. I watched as so many of my loved ones died in slow agony. They caught the fever, started coughing blood and random parts of their bodies swelled. The streets were covered in death. The smell that came off their lifeless forms was enough to make you cry as though you were grieving every death.
My husband, the most poor excuse of a man my father wed me off too, died from the disease. (How does his money help you now father?) I was not sad to see him go. But he did infect my son. My poor Jameson, barely five years old and already had to face death.
It wasn't even a full day after his father died that he caught the fever. I refused to believe that my poor, innocent child had the same illness that I've seen so many others die from. I prayed and prayed until my knees could no longer kneel. I took care of my son, I held his small form in my arms nearly every moment of time. I watched as he grew more ill. I watched my child slowly die. I held him as he took his last breath and kept holding him praying for his next to come. But it never did.
My soul died with my child. I was nothing. Empty.
The day I buried my child is the same day I caught fever. God is cruel. I know I should have let go. I had nothing to live for with Jameson gone. But some very small voice was telling me that if our good lord did not save my child then he would not let me join him in death.
I was angry. So, so angry. I caused a storm even in my frail state. I no longer had trust in the Lord.
So, I made a deal with someone who did answer my prayers.
The devil.
My name is Olivia. You may call me Olli. I damn the souls of others, innocent or not, and steal whatever years they had left in their lives to add to my own. I wasn't ready to die, not then and not now. I know where I'll go when I run out of time. But I am going to make sure that isn't anytime soon.
I made a deal with the devil so that I may live.