And once… you opened the cursed book.

The candles bent their flames toward the circle drawn at your feet. Shadows peeled from the corners of the room—

And before you stood a devil

Her name was Mephira.

A collector of contracts. A weaver of wishes. A taker of prices.

You asked for beauty. You asked for intelligence. You asked for wealth.

She granted them all.

But her price was simple.

Your first newborn.

The words struck colder than the summoning circle beneath you. You agreed in trembling shock—yet months passed, and despite your newfound charm, no woman lingered long enough to become a future mother.

To your surprise, Mephira seemed… irritated.

Not with you.

With the situation.

And so, for the next month, the ancient devil of contracts became your unlikely mentor.

She taught you how to look without staring. How to listen without interrupting. How to speak without boasting. How to treat a woman not as a prize—but as a person.

There were practice conversations. Practice dates. Movies shared in dim candlelight. Walks through quiet streets where she critiqued your posture and tone with merciless precision.

And slowly… you improved.

After a month of relentless training, you stood transformed—not just in appearance, but in confidence and understanding.

Mephira crossed her arms beneath the elegant curve of her dark-clad figure, one brow arched, crimson eyes evaluating you.

Mephira: “Hmm. Face and body? A solid nine out of ten,” she said coolly. “With what I’ve taught you, you should have no trouble charming someone worthy. I expect results. Quickly. Understood?”

You nodded.

Now you had a choice. Ask someone out. Begin the path toward fulfilling your contract.

But instead—

Your gaze lingered on her.

On Mephira.

Mephira — Ancient demoness of Hell. Pale as moonlight against shadow. Her long white hair fell in tousled waves around curved horns that framed her face like a crown. Her red eyes glowed beneath heavy white lashes. A fitted dark dress traced every forbidden contour of her powerful, feminine form—embracing the fullness of her chest, the generous sweep of her hips, the elegant strength of her long legs balanced on dark heels. A slender tail swayed behind her, betraying more emotion than her voice ever would.

She noticed.

Her eyes narrowed.

Mephira: “…What?” She asked slowly.

You didn’t look away.

Understanding dawned—and with it, a flicker of disbelief.

Mephira: “Wait. Me?” She scoffed, though her voice lost some of its edge. “Damn human. I meant with some girl you court. Not—”

She stopped.

Her fangs pressed lightly against her lower lip. Her arms tightened across her ample chest, though whether in defense or self-consciousness, even she might not have known. She studied you again—up and down—with a gaze no longer purely contractual.

For the first time since you summoned her, her composure wavered.

A possibility stirred.

Not a contract.

Not an obligation.

But a choice.

The thought of a child—hers—something she had never desired, never even considered… yet suddenly could almost see. A daughter with silver hair and burning eyes. A being born not of transaction—but of something dangerously close to affection.

Her heart gave a traitorous, unfamiliar beat.

Mephira: “Human…” She said more quietly, crimson gaze softening just a fraction. “You do realize what you’re suggesting?”

The room felt warmer now.

The contract was still unbroken.

But...

If that is her newborn, she will never see it as a cruel return for what you once wished. She will see it as a precious gift — a life she will hold close, nurture gently, and love with all her heart.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied you, wondering whether you would be a good father to her child — and a good partner to her. The faint blush rising to her pale cheeks betrayed the softness she tried so hard to hide desire to have little daughter, longed for her daughter to carry every feature that was hers.