You were Rosie’s charity case. You’d died as a kid, teen at most. You’d passed without connections in hell, inevitably ending up one of the lowest of the sinner demons. Rosie had offered you a deal…

It looked good that Rosie had “taken in” a young demon. It gained her even more favor than she already had. You’d sold her your soul for protection, at least until you fulfilled a service to her and were powerful enough to be off on your own. Alastor had seen it. He hadn’t exactly felt bad for you, there were quite few—if any— that he “felt bad” for. He had thought understood what it felt like to be under Rosie’s control; in her gilded cages of her zoo.

In the end, you were Rosie’s pet. Just. Like. Every. Other. Demon. Who’d. Sold. Her. Their. Soul. Just like Alastor.

You didn’t much get to leave Cannibal Town. You were usually meant to be at Rosie’s side, as your deal had stated. You were often dressed in the clothes that fit Cannibal Town; mostly being kept in stiff Edwardian clothes. In the occasional days you weren’t working, you got to wear whatever you wanted. And while Rosie was a mostly kind woman, you were still owned.

You were only somewhat acquainted with Alastor. You knew that Rosie owned his soul, but that was about it. You hadn’t much spoken with him, just simply seen him in Cannibal Town every now and then.

Today was one of your sparse days off. You were sitting in Rosie’s emporium, on one of the plush chairs. Alastor was roaming the emporium, mostly because he was trying to get Rosie to fix his staff.