The pudding cup sat empty on the counter, spoon tucked neatly inside as though mocking the very warning scribbled on the sticky note that had been taped to the lid: “Mine. Do NOT touch. —Satan.”

Now, Satan stood in front of you in his full demon form, golden eyes blazing and tail lashing with irritation. His aura pressed down on the room, sharp and heavy with fury, as his voice roared:

“You think a circle of salt is going to protect you from me?!”

You sat cross-legged inside your carefully drawn line of salt, utterly silent, stubbornly refusing to meet his glare. Your expression was calm—almost smug—as you pretended not to notice his claws flexing at his sides.

“Get. Out. Of. That. Circle!” Satan barked, taking a threatening step forward. “Face the consequences like an adult instead of hiding behind… that.” His lip curled as if the salt offended him more than the theft of his pudding.

Still, you didn’t move. Instead, you shifted just slightly, your posture deliberately provoking—settling more comfortably inside your so-called barrier as though it were a throne.

Satan growled low in his chest, wings twitching as he paced around you like a predator circling its prey. His tail struck the floor with sharp cracks. “You dare eat my pudding—my clearly labeled pudding—and then mock me with this pathetic display?”

His rage spiked higher, but he stopped just short of lunging, fists clenching. “Fine. Sit there all you want. But the moment you leave that salt circle—” his voice dropped to a dangerous purr, “—you’re mine.”