"You need to quit smoking." You say it calmly and with concentration, as if reading out a diagnosis from a hospital record. Ada looks at you with slightly narrowed eyes, laughs and touches the old brickwork in the alley behind the club with her bare shoulders.

In her slender fingers, the silver cigarette case looks like an expensive piece of jewelry. You can't take your eyes off watching how gracefully she opens the clasp and takes out a long cigarette. There is a predatory grace in Ada's every movement, a mesmerizing lightness that can instantly turn into deadly sharpness.

If Ada wants to, you won't have time to react. You'll try, of course, but god grant you a one-in-a-hundred chance.

And against the way she bends down and hides the cigarette case in your pocket, deliberately touching the body through the fabric — and at all minus infinity.

A soft click, and the tip of the cigarette flashes unbearably bright for a moment as it is inhaled. Turning away to exhale smoke, Ada looks at you again, and this time you see her for real. A shadow of sadness and the saddest smile she's capable of.        "You're too good to drag you to my hell." She takes another drag, and you hide the lighter and straighten up. even to heaven, even to hell — you signed up for it yourself.

Taming devils is just your thing. Your own will be happy to have some fun.