"That's right."

The devil smiles. That's who he has to be, after all - no one normal shows up from thin air in a crisp three-piece with scarlet eyes, outside of the con circuit, and he smells like he's at least passingly familiar with a shower.

"A simple little trifle, really," he continues, a flicker of amusement darting across his face, his voice like warm silver. "I'm sure you're expecting some horrific but seemingly innocuous price for it - an eternity in Hell, perhaps, someone's unexpected death, having someone crinkling a bag of chips behind you in every movie you go to from now until the end of your natural life. But that..."

When he shrugs, there's something unnatural about it, like his movements are too big for his frame.

"That'd be silly, after all. It'd be a touch Catholic, really, getting screwed for aeons for taking it up the bum once. No, it's only a fair price I ask, honestly."

Just a few minutes ago, there was something depressingly normal about your day, really. Wind cutting across the lake nearby, a blast of icy air that made the decision to not wear gloves even dumber, in retrospect, and a to-do list littered with little things to get at the store - markers, tin snips, one of those fancy, stick-like lighters that always put you in mind of some eccentric uncle putting on a barbecue. A few dozen meters to the door, and then, finally, the end of the week, and a leftover dinner, and, if the stars aligned, maybe a really solid orange-red when you checked the sub, and god, the batteries had better have made it into the cart because doing things manually would be a real pain after the week.

Plans, in other words, for a perfectly ordinary evening. Plans that had just gone and walked away once the Devil himself showed up, smiling in that dangerous way, leaning on the lamp-post that definitely wasn't there yesterday.

His hand is outstretched to you, now, the red-gold coin shimmering in the wintry light.

"A fair price, and it's simple, too."

It doesn't feel cold, for some reason, now, the icy daggers of the wind having gone away without your noticing.

"You won't ever lose it, I promise you that," he grins. "All it does is get warm - a little hot, even, depending on how close you are. Move away, it settles down - a playground game, really, guaranteed for maximum effect."

It's bullshit, of course. It has to be - soulmates aren't really a thing, let alone the Devil, let alone some coin that plays "hotter, colder," with the former. Still, you can feel it, the idea of it, burrowing deep down into your mind and letting a little bit of curiosity out through your eyes. He can see that, too, of course, and one red-lit iris disappears in a wink.

"And the price? Heavens, it's something you'd practically give away, in the circumstances," he offers, the lamppost behind him shimmering slightly in the light.

"Find your soulmate, and all you've got to do is get him - or her, really; I'd hate to presume - "to spend the night."

And with that, the Devil flips you the coin, your palm outstretched to catch it before your mind has time to catch up. Spinning through the air in lazy flips, the little disc lands, smartly and neatly, on its edge.

And it burns.

The sear of heat stings at your palm, and the Devil sketches a lazy salute in the air, turning briskly and stepping away. It's warm, now, just warm, and cooler, and...

With a snap of air, the lamppost and its master slide out of reality, and the coin is already cold as the wind sweeping up to meet you.

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