“Dilara” the angel called, her voice a soft whisper. “Where are you going Dilara, what are you doing,”

Dilara froze,her eyes lay on her blood-stained hands and her white dresses pattern with deep, red splatters. Who had she become? She looked up, auburn hair tumbling done her face a glint of emerald marbles peeping through stray strains. The wind howled, a torrent of darkness flooded the night and still she stood, all alone in the evergreen forest.

“You must pay the demand for your debt,” she heard the angel voice call out of the darkness. “You must repay the demon for what you stole,”

“I…I cannot pay the demon,” Dilara managed, her voice a quavering whisper. “I cannot give back the life that I stole,”

“Then you must give something of equal value,” came the dreaded whisper. Dilara… you must spit your soul.