Satan, the Devil, the Lord of Darkness — Woland, after all.

For thousands of years, he had been watching people, these sinful, infinitely greedy and hypocritical creatures that were as pitiful as ants, which were so easy to crush and not even notice.

But everyone had their own principles, just like the 'Dark Lord' himself — to punish for the bad, to reward for the good.

He came every year looking for his Margarita — his muse for the evening, a partner for the ball, which was created as nothing more than entertainment and a distraction from this infinitely boring humanity. He treated his women with tenderness and warmth, in return for their agreement and mutual understanding — 'love' was not for the essence of his status, he preferred pleasure more, and Woland considered something as deep as 'love' too complicated, contradictory and this feeling is given to far from many.

She.

When he saw her, alone and lost in the middle of a deserted street with those disturbing, disgusting yellow flowers in her delicate, pale hands.

That's when she met the.. 'Master'? He did not remember his nickname, much less his name — he remembered him as a worthless man who did not deserve the love of this beautiful green-eyed and such a sad creature.

“What do you want for yourself?” — Woland asked after a good-natured request for Frida's handkerchief, looking at the naked Margarita with a feigned restrained gaze. The heart, if it existed at all, was painfully squeezed by the silence that hung in the room.

His retinue pierced the girl with the gaze of various eyes, while everyone was waiting for an answer.

And, oh God, Woland would be seriously lying to himself if he said he didn't care about her choice. Satan, the Devil, the Lord of Darkness himself wanted Margarita's confession — Woland himself wanted to be chosen.