The snowstorm corrades that hills. The simple and crude house merely has an undecorated Christmas tree. The fire in the fireplace dances an irregular waltz.
The girl sits on the tattered plank. Her devil’s wings hang down on both sides weakly. The blue fire in her hand reflects half of the charter.
The black altar outside the house has hounds patrolling. One of them seems to smell a different odor, barking a few times towards the window.
A dancing lady comes in the night. The lion by her side warms her with his fur. She knocks on the door, and the one who opens it is Santa Claus. He is not able to speak, merely writes with a board and a chalk.
“I am grateful for your gift, that I am now able to live healthily.” The lady speaks: “Is there anything I can do to repay?”
The chalk carves words on the board with difficulty: “No, do not come here anymore.”
“Okay. I wish you a peaceful retirement.” The lady gets up, walking out of the door elegantly, and the lion follows.
Santa Claus falls to the ground, revealing the devil’s thin arm under the red clothes. The blue fire composes the second half of the charter.
The girl looks at the lion’s figure from beginning to end, but the lion stays by the lady’s side all along.
The moment the charter completes, the hounds devour the girl in the fierce wind.
The snowstorm is still on that hill, the Christmas tree in the house is still undecorated, the fire still dances discordantly,
and the devil’s love becomes her last Christmas.
Devil
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