For what desire would you sell your soul?

***

Salvatrice meandered leisurely through the narrow streets, her footsteps drowned out by the humming town. The cobblestones, worn smooth from footsteps, absorbed the suns warmth and seeped into her skin through her sandals. Laundry and weathered fishnets billowed from the colorful buildings, dry and faded. The salty air was heavy with the scent of sea and fish, clinging to her damp skin and lips. As she made her way further down the road, the sound of the sea disappeared, replaced by the cry of seagulls and children.

The gasps and shrieks that pierced the air were not the carefree sound of children playing games, she realized. They were sharp, anxious, hastily stifled, as if they should have never escaped. There was only one voice heard above the rest, unleashing a torrent of profanities and anguished screams.

Salvatrice turned towards the market, pushing past a group of fisherman. A boy, bare from the waist up and bound to a pole, writhed in place with his hands pinioned above his head. A grizzled man in a worn leather apron that barley tied at the back held a long rod, bringing it down on the boys shredded back. Blood dripped down his emaciated ribs, pooling on the already stained floor.

“May the devils tongue curse you!” The boy yelled at the whip man once he paused. “You hear me you breed of dog-ah!” The boy cried, as the rod was brought down once again. The man likely gave him an extra whip for his foul mouth. Salvatrice grinned.

“Who is that?” She asked, lifting her veil only slightly to get a good look at the boys beside her. There were two, a short freckle faced one who’s nose was red from crying, and a thin, green eyed boy who watched expressionlessly.

“That’s Gianozzo” the red haired boy responded, his voice breathy and erratic.

“And what earned him such humiliation?” Salvatrice asked.

The green-eyed boy’s expression shifted from indifference to a scowl as he replied, “You know damn well lady! Everyone’s heard by now so cut it out!”

“But I’m not from around. So how could I?”

The boys gaze roamed over Salvatrice’s attire, his eyes captious and curious. Despite her youthful appearance, her dress was strikingly mature, it’s deep hues and expensive fabric contrast to her age. The golden girdle cinched at her waist was like nothing he’d ever seen, and the veil that partially concealed her face seemed exotic enough. He sighed. “I suppose you are a foreigner then.”

The green eyed boy turned towards the pole, watching the injured boy composed himself in front of dozens of eyes. “Gianozzo’s an idiot.”

“Don’t say that!” The red haired boy exclaimed. “Don’t you see the state he’s in!”

“That’s exactly why I said that! Who in their right mind goes around kissing a patricians daughter, a betrothed patricians daughter, and thinks he can get away with it!”

“Ah, so this is the result of a torrid love affair” Salvatrice said.

“If you can even call it that” the green eyes boy huffed. “Idiot.”

Salvatrice didn’t ask anything after that, and the two boys didn’t stick around for long. Their offer to help Gianozzo was met with a bitter, shamed refusal, as if he didn’t want his friends to witness him in such a state.

It had been a while since anyone piqued Salvatrice’s curiosity. Perhaps that was for the better, she thought, as she followed the stumbling boy down a desolate street. Only misfortune came to those who amused her.

Gianozzo finally gave in, collapsing on a pile of broken fishing nets and oars, his bare back hitting the splintered wood. He winced.

“Do you need help?” She asked, catching up to the boy and kneeling beside him.

The boy turned his head, his clear brows furrowed in pain. He spat out a mouthful of blood, which splattered on her veil. “Get lost!” Tears prickled his eyes, but he wiped them away and with his scowl, refusing to acknowledge them.

“Are you not even going to listen to my offer?” Salvatrice asked.

The boy gazed at her bewildered. And very, very mad.

“Who do you think you are-!”

“Someone who can help you.”

Gianozzo pressed his pale lips together. “No one can help me.”

Salvatrice laughed, a genuine, throaty laugh that sounded like it belonged to someone far older and crooked. It was the only unpleasant thing about her, and ironically, also the only true part about her.

“I can. Is it revenge you seek? I can help you with that” Salvatrice said. “Is it revenge against the man who whipped you? Or against the people who took your love away from you.”

Gianozzo’s eyes widened, as if surprised she knew so much.

“Perhaps you want revenge against those who made you the way you are. A foul mouthed boy with more scars than happy memories.”

“Stop talking!” The boy yelled, rolling away. He landed on his back and winced. “Revenge? You believe you can help me get revenge? And what’s the price?”

“The price?”

“Don’t trifle me with saying you offer help from the good of you heart. So what’s the price? My money? I’ve got none. My body? Damaged. So what’s you price?”

Salvatrice knew it was a good choice to come back. The people here were so…interesting.

Salvatrice lifted her veil with one, long finger. Her face was pale, raven hair bunched up. Her mouth was as red as a peony, and so were her eyes. “The price is you soul.”

“Demon” the boy whispered. “Demon! Demon!” He tried to crawl away, but his injuries made it impossible. Salvatrice stood up and grabbed him by shoulders, giving him no option but to lean on her.

“Don’t say it too loud” Salvatrice said, covering his mouth with her hand. “I’d hate to have us both beheaded.”

Gianozzo trembled, partially for fear and most out of anger. “Why do you even need my soul! I’m going to hell anyways!”

“Unfortunately that’s not how it works.”

Salvatrice leaned the boy against a shops wall. He fumed. “Do you want to know why I desire your soul?”

He nodded. A curious boy, she thought. Both dangerous, and always endangered.

“I once stole a doll from a pretty little girl” Salvatrice explained.

Gianozzo looked confused, but she shot a warning glance to keep him quiet.

“And I brushed her hair every day and sewed all sorts of gowns. But I soon realized that it was not the doll I wanted, but the girl. So while her ignorant parents slept, I offered her the doll and took her away.”

“And what happened to the girl after?”

Salvatrice placed a hand to her mouth, concealing a smile. “I broke her.”

Gianozzo laughed crudely. “And you expect me to make a deal with you?”

“I do. Because like the girl, you are desperate for the doll. A girl you desires so much, you made some risky choices to be with her. And I, desire you. Or your soul , at least.”

Gianozzo quietly mouthed a name. Chiara. And then, pushed away all hints of vulnerability.

“And what if you ‘break me’? I’d rather like to keep in tact what I have left.”

“I won’t” Salvatrice stated quickly. “That was a mistake, and centuries ago at that.”

“So what about my soul?”

“So many question. Let me ask you one. Why does your souls matter, once your already dead?”

Gianozzo stayed silent.

“Meet me here again by the end of the week. If you do, I’ll make everything you desire a reality.”

Beads of sweat clung to his face, the damp and fishy air stifling his breaths. “I…I won’t come.”

Salvatrice smiled. “We’ll see about that.”

She left Gianozzo, bleeding and injured, and trailed back up the winding streets.

She wondered momentarily if the boy was stubborn enough to refuse, but then laughed at such a ridiculous thought.

They always agreed in the end.