The Devil's Favourite

The hospital smelled like alcohol, sorrow, and bleach.

Rhea Cross had memorized every tile on the floor, every tick of the old clock in the waiting room, and every flicker of the fluorescent lights that buzzed like dying wasps overhead. She hadn't slept in thirty-one hours. Her coat was still damp from the rain outside, and her fingers trembled from too much vending machine coffee and too little hope.

The ICU nurse had told her Ellie’s vitals were dropping. Again. That there was nothing left to try. Again. And the doctors had begun using words like “comfortable” and “final stages.”

Rhea didn’t want comfort.

She wanted a miracle.

But miracles were rare, and hope was a brutal thing to lose.

At some point, she drifted into the quiet chapel tucked near the edge of the west wing. It was always empty after midnight. That was part of why she liked it. Here, she could sit and pretend, just for a moment, that something might hear her.

The last candle in the chapel flickered like it might die before the prayer finished.

Rhea sat hunched in the third pew, coat draped over her lap, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Her whisper barely stirred the air.

"Please... just let her live."

It wasn’t a prayer anymore—it was a plea. One she’d made a thousand times. But tonight, she said it like it was the last thing holding her upright.

The silence after was crushing. The candle went out.

Rhea stood slowly, dragging herself down the quiet corridor. The hospital at night always felt haunted—too still, too sterile, too full of waiting. Her boots squeaked on the floor as she passed the ICU doors without looking in. She couldn’t. Not again.

She just wanted to breathe.

She was almost to the exit when someone called out.

“Miss Cross.”

Rhea turned, surprised. A nurse stood by the vending machine, clipboard in hand. She was older, with graying curls tucked under her cap and tired eyes that had seen too many goodbyes.

“I—I’m sorry,” Rhea said, confused. “Did something happen?”

The nurse gave her a long look, then set the clipboard down. “No. Nothing… yet.” She stepped closer. “You love your sister very much.”

“I’d die for her,” Rhea said before she could stop herself. Her throat tightened. “But that’s not enough, is it?”

The nurse’s eyes softened. “Sometimes... there are ways. People don’t talk about them because they sound impossible. Or mad.”

Rhea stared at her. “What kind of ways?”

The nurse hesitated, then leaned in. “There’s a man. In Blackwood Forest. He doesn’t come to you—you have to find him. And if you do… he might offer you a bargain.”

Rhea blinked. “What does he want?”

“I don’t know. But those who return… don’t come back the same.”

Rhea took a step back. “Why are you telling me this?”

The nurse only gave her a sad smile. “Because I see desperation when I see it. And you prayed like someone who was ready to be heard.”

Then she turned and walked away.

Rhea stood frozen for a moment, heartbeat loud in her ears. And then, instead of going home, she turned toward the road that led out of town.

Toward Blackwood.

The night air bit at her skin as she walked. No car. No flashlight. Just her and the moon, half-hidden behind drifting clouds. The entrance to Blackwood Forest looked like a wound in the earth, all twisted trees and tangled branches. But she didn’t stop.

She stepped into the dark.

The forest was thick with silence. Every step seemed to echo louder than it should. Her breath fogged in front of her face, and the further she walked, the colder it became.

Branches scraped against her coat as if trying to hold her back. The wind carried faint whispers, like forgotten lullabies or warnings too late to matter. Still, she pressed on. The deeper she went, the more the world she knew seemed to vanish behind her. Her phone had no signal. Her watch had stopped ticking. The only thing moving was her heart, too fast and too loud.

After what felt like hours, the trees thinned. A clearing opened before her, lit by an eerie silver glow with no visible source. It was beautiful in a haunting way, like a dream that was never meant to be remembered.

And he was there.

He stood with his back to her, cloaked in shadows that moved like smoke. When he turned, her breath caught. He was... beautiful. Painfully so. Dark hair framed a face that looked carved from stone and shadow. His eyes—deep black, no whites, no light—pierced through her like they’d been waiting for this moment all along.

“You came,” he said, voice low and smooth. It wrapped around her like silk and frost.

Rhea’s voice came out shaky. “Did I call you?”

He walked closer, not quite touching the ground. “You prayed. I listened.”

“I didn’t think anyone was listening.”

He smiled, and the air grew colder. “Most who pray don’t expect an answer. But you... you meant every word.”

“What are you?”

“I’ve been called many things. Devil. Demon. Deal Maker. Savior. Which do you need tonight?”

Rhea swallowed. “I need my sister to live.”

He studied her face for a long time, as if weighing her soul. “Your sister is not meant to die. Not yet. But saving her will cost something.”

She took a breath. “My soul?”

He tilted his head. “No. Not ready. There’s still too much light in it. It would burn in my hands.”

“Then what?”

“One year,” he said. “In my world. You’ll come with me. No questions asked. No conditions. You stay until the year ends. After that, you return. And your sister lives.”

Rhea stared at him. “That’s it? No torment? No tricks?”

“No torment. Unless you run. No tricks. Unless you lie.”

“And my sister?”

“She will wake tomorrow. Whole. Healthy. As though death never touched her.”

Rhea looked down at her shaking hands. And then back at him. “How long do I have?”

“One month,” he said. “Spend it well. She won’t remember the sickness. But you will.”

“And then what?” she asked.

His smile returned, slow and sharp. “Then I come for you.”

A shadow shifted behind him—something tall and watching.

It whispered, just loud enough for her to hear:

“She looks just like her.”

The man’s gaze snapped toward the sound. “Not yet,” he said sharply, voice like cracked ice.

The shadows retreated, silent and swift.

Rhea's breath hitched, but she stood her ground. She felt the air change around her, felt something old and powerful acknowledge her choice. The trees leaned in as if listening.

She turned without another word and walked away from the clearing.

The forest did not stop her.

And neither did the devil.

.....