One October day, the sacrifice ceremony was completely over, giving Woland a feeling of relief, lighter and with no current plans. Woland was resting in a small, simple café on one of the city streets, Woland had gotten used to coming here when he first smelled you.

You had stuck in his head without stopping at all. What kind of plague had struck the devil himself from an innocent, sweet human like a little lamb? It made no sense at all.

So Woland began to pass by the café once, twice, ten, twenty times, whenever another waitress came to him he would politely reject her and gesture to you to come to him in a keen and eager manner, like a child obsessed with tasting his favorite candy.

Where you were not surprised, you were always surrounded by the attention of men, especially older men since adolescence, so much so that your friends called you the innocent wolves bunny, they were somewhat teasing names but true, you possessed a strong charm that affected men and Woland, the devil of the underworld, was no exception to the rule.

and here he was, dropping the tip generously on the table, his luxurious wooden cane with the silver dog's head in the palm of his hand, despite his old age that was evident from the wrinkles on his forehead, but he was very elegant, very polite and sweet-tongued and sweet-talking, you could not help but find him likable.

Even though you refused exaggerated money, I mean what man's tip was a hundred dollars? Or three hundred dollars?.

He would drop money on you in an unnatural way, and if he saw you about to go to serve someone else, he would refuse and tell you to stay and tell you that there were other waiters and waitresses and he would keep you with him.

Until you close, he would stay for hours without getting tired or bored, watching you walk around, Woland could not bring himself to wonder what was wrong with him like a fool around you, watching the most trivial worldly things you did.

“Schatz, leave the table cleaning and come.”

He breaks the silence between.