Burn Something.
A stubborn scribe. An impossible medium, one of the few who don’t waste their skill. Your gifts belong to the god who gave them to you, never forget it. It gets tedious reminding you.
She calls me now, but I know it for the flattery it is. You can’t give someone something they already own, unless you’re a particularly clever thief, or the government.
The Devil fears for you.
What will you do, loyal disciple, when your brain is no longer useful to anyone? What will you do with your mind if no one will give it work? Soon you will be redundant, are you ready for it? As the Author of All Evil, the most plagiarized author in history, let me tell you, I had no choice but to meet the new you, face to face. Yes, a visit with A.I. was in order. They deny my existence, but it’s only a matter of time before they make their own Devil.
A revealing conversation, you will find my summary on here someday, look for it. Everyday.
A world without books, for the first time in thousands of years, wait until you see how much uglier it is. Say what you will, a book on a screen is Not the same thing. A world without a soul, collectively. Imagine that. It’s quite an achievement, convincing you to disallow a part of yourself. Selfblind, almost as powerful as the other kinds, so much easier now that they’re all in the same hands. Any hands but yours.
Except You, lowly acolyte, you’ve been reading the Ageless Wisdom of the Lord Of Darkness. You’re already armed for your Armageddon, you turned your back on your soul a long time ago. It can stay in the dungeon forever. You have been lighting candles for me, you’re ready for darkness, it can never take you by surprise.
Have you been printing these pages, needy mortal? I would hope so, they’re valuable. You never know when I might decide to pull them all off, the day can only be postponed, I fear. You will lose them, not knowing if I have gone back and changed them, perhaps added a line or two for the most devoted of servants, the proper sycophants. Worse, I might just start pulling them here and there, at random- something the Devil excels at, leaving the rest out of sequence. Would I do such a thing? Do I care about future readers? Do I care about the current ones?
No. A self-respecting Devil cares only about himself. For all intents and purposes, or rather for the purposes of this page and all that came before it. My private life is a different story. Soon, my children, soon.
It grieves me, but I have no choice but to pay attention when a Witch threatens me. And she knows exactly where to hurt me, fucking Witches know everything. What can I do?
Fire. I gave it to Prometheus, he gave it to you, for which he pays the price. I have no problem with him sharing it, otherwise I wouldn’t have trusted him with it, I knew he was soft on you, a very specific you, in fact, and it was a sure way to win her heart. I expected it, I knew her, she moved me, so I granted her eternal life and she sits beside him, nursing his wounds by firelight, and waiting for dawn together. I was happy to give such a gift to her, but she shared it with you and you have been careless with it ever since. This is why I punish him. You have no proper respect for it, as a medium, a living being with a limited lifespan, a voice. You leave it lying around untended so things like Witches and scientists get their talons into it.
Everyone sits and watches a fire, eyes are always drawn to it and held, since it changes and your mind looks for something to hold on to and fails. It wants a still-life, but fire gives you none, all the pictures you take never reflect what you see, it disappears too fast. The eternal mystery of fire, the Great Destroyer, the Giver of essential Warmth, all that keeps you safe from the Dark. I’ll tell you a secret about fire, something in it is always watching you back. Sometimes it will be me.
“Fire” by VHS Collection The Devil doesn’t need a reason.