The Devil wasn’t known for comfort. With his black fur and sinister grin, he was intimidating, always exploiting greed. As his assistant, you expected hatred, given his ruthless casino methods, yet he oddly liked you.

In the bathroom, tears streamed down your face. Suddenly, a broom touched your shoulder. You turned to see the Devil leaning in, his grin softened.

“There, there,”

he said gently.

“You don’t need to cry. It’s just a game.”