Edwin Hall sat in front of his pen and ink staring at the parchment before him. Although he didn't look it, the man was just weeks away from bankruptcy. His house, his servants, his reputation, his livelihood, were all on the line, his family's happiness was on the line.

The dark august night outside caught his attention and Hall watched the lantern flicker over his face in the glass of the window. It was the face of a man on the brink, his mind was racing and every single thought was written on his face in dark wrinkles.

It wasn't right, it wasn't fair. How was he supposed to cater to the ever fluctuating and ever critical tastes of London readers? He slaved away at his desk night and day only for his writing to be shoved aside in favor of the works of Charles Dickens and Leo Tolstoy, and now he would watch his dreams-!

The office door squealed slightly on its hinges and Mrs. Hall entered the room with a candle and a plate of jam and bread.

"Edwin?" Her expression was laced with concern as she gently set the plate on the desk, careful to avoid placing it on any papers, not that any of them had any writing on them. Just glaring blank parchment.

"Edwin? Is everything alright?" She put her hand on his shoulder.

"Hm?" He tried to clear his head, "Oh? just brainstorming, dear."

In truth he was spiraling, she knew this, they both did.

"Well, I won't keep you any longer." She kissed his cheek, went back to the door, and closed it softly.

He was again left, this time to think about his family, his wife and children, who had no means by which they might survive except by him, him and his writing, the very same writing that the villains at Smith, Elder & Co. refused to publish!

Hall growled and stood up fast, shoving his wordless pages to the floor in a flurry of white. He turned as he did so and came face to face with a pointy-horned, maroon-faced devil grinning toothily at him from across the room.

Hall grit his teeth and closed his eyes, "I remember telling you, demon, you have no place here."

The beast only stood there, forked tail flicking back and forth, looking on as if waiting to watch Edwin Hall be swallowed up to the depths of Hell right from beside his desk.

Hall rested his hand on his char and rubbed his temple. His head was sore from the day's stresses and with nightly visits from Lucifer's dark angels his sleep schedule wasn't working in his favor.

"What do you want from me?" He nearly whispered the words because in his heart he knew the answer. It was the same every time.

"Your soul." Its voice was smooth and frank.

Hall chuckled grimly, how unoriginal, "Is there anything else I can interest you in? A slice of jam and bread perhaps?"

"You misunderstand my intentions Mr. Hall, I'm here on your behalf and on behalf of your children."

As He said those words and as his snaking tail flicked again the world around Edwin Hall erupted. His blank pages flew around the room as if blown by a powerful wind and a wall of flame only six feet in diameter encircled him. Though he felt no heat from the fires, they rose higher and higher about him until they reached the ceiling.

Hall stumbled back in shock. In all his many nights of torment, he had never been so outrightly trapped by his demons' flair. The demon whose horned figure could barely be seen through the orange, flickering light.

His poison webbed voice echoed through the office, "You think you have an idea of what's ahead for you and your family, Mr. Hall. But oh, I encourage you to think again."

The flame surged brightly and as Hall attempted to regain control he could see several images flickering with it. He had only a second to catch one with the face of his youngest son in the fire before he fell.

He fell far, almost as if he was indeed falling into the depths of Hades itself, surrounded by darkness and uncontrollable fear.

His mind was racing, asking what he did to deserve such torture, when he was no longer falling. It was as if he never fell to begin with, as if he had just lay down but didn't remember the action of doing so.

Edwin Hall pushed himself off the ground and began to come out of darkness, to see his life in a completely new setting. He was not laying on the rug in his hell-singed office but in the muddy streets of London on a frosty November evening. His face was covered in the mud, manure, and snow that filled the streets of London and its rookeries.

He got to his knees and examined himself further. Had he really been daft enough to forgo his greatcoat when out walking in November? And his gloves? His fingers were already nearly frozen. Had he really left his office and home on a breezy August night and fainted until November?

His spinning thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice, echoing from an alleyway only a yard from where he knelt, "Father. Come back, mind the carts coming father."

Hall turned to see his son standing, feet bare in the frost, looking directly at him.

"Charlie?" Hall jumped to his feet and stumbled forward, aching as if his body had been dulled by frostbite lifetimes ago. "Charlie, why are you here? Son, where is your jacket?" Hall outstretched his fingers and gently held his boy's hollow cheeks in his hand. Charlie took his fathers hand and brought him further into the alley way.

Quiet murmuring from behind old crates grew louder and louder until Hall could see three more children huddled against the brick building, his children. And Mrs. Hall curled up with her little girl against her belly, pale skinned and shivering. Charlie tugged Hall closer to them.

Edwin Hall's heart broke at the sight of his starving children, and tears stung his eyes, threatening to freeze on his cheeks. But the cruel vision pulled him back to what it was, just that, a vision.

The world around Hall swirled and his family contorted into blackness again for a second as the nightmare faded away. He felt the frosty air encircling him begin to warm, and instead of rising from the manure aside the carriages of London, Hall felt the plush of a velvet chair underneath him and he opened his eyes.

Sound erupted about him. He was in a grand banquet hall with a long table stretching out in front of him. He heard laughter and music, the smell of roasted pork and candied nuts, and the sweetest giggle, like a tinkling bell.

A small hand rested on his knee and Hall saw his daughter climb onto his lap, "Papa, can I have a plate of cream before the tables are cleared for dancing?"

His head was reeling first his starving family and now this? What sort of fever dream was this?

"Papa?" Her big blue eyes looked up at him, impatient for an answer.

"Uh? yes. Of course Elenor dear, of course."

She climbed off of him and ran to her mother, who wasn't freezing in the rookery alleyways but was just now telling William to stop picking the steamed carrots from his stew.

His whole family was here enjoying a feast fit for the king of England, and not just his family, Hall saw friends from his days at university and from even earlier, people he had never met before sat at his table, feasting on honey hams, pastries, and cakes.

Hall stood from his chair and began to walk about the room, tapestries and artwork decorated the walls, the carpet was so plush his shoes sank deep until his ankle was all that was left, he wore a silk vest with intricate embroidery. Such wealth was so unknown to him and he felt out of place, it must be another dream. Bittersweet, he thought.

The servants took notice of him standing and began to clear the table away to make room for a dance floor. Music struck up again and chatter replaced the sounds of eating. Mrs. Hall approached him with a wide smile, her face wasn't hollow and pale as before but healthy and blushing. She too was dressed in finery, low sleeves, and her usual apron was gone.

Edwin Hall couldn't help but smile at such a happy scene, his children were happy, his wife was rich, and he wouldn't have to worry.

But as he took her arm and led Mrs. Hall to the floor the world contorted again, like being woken up from your favorite dream.

If only he could have written something better.

As Hall came to he was again in his office encased in fire and his universe was spinning.

"Are you satisfied?" He grumbled as he stood up from the floor.

"Of course not Mr. Hall, I haven't got your soul do I?" The devil grinned, displaying its ugly fangs.

"No?" Hall started.

"Well, now that you've taken a closer look at what's possible, I trust you're willing to make sacrifices. For what matters more, for your family, right Mr. Hall?"

"I?" Hall was pensive. He thought of the visions, how intense and extreme they were. Was he really being forced to decide between a life of poverty for his family because he wanted to keep his soul or a life of joy and full stomachs because he was willing to sacrifice when it really mattered?

Can an eternity of torment really hurt when you know you've given your children what they truly deserve?

The demon's voice broke his thoughts, "Decide, Hall! Misery or Felicity for your loved ones."

"I will choose?" Hall hesitated, "I-I-!"

The world was really spinning now. How was he supposed to think when he was encircled by flame and the walls of his office warped around him?! His papers swirling like a dust devil had broken into the room added a new level of intensity.

"HALL!" The fiend yelled over the commotion.

"I will-!" Hall's shouts into the fiery cacophony were interrupted by a voice, so soft and so far away, like a dream.

"Edwin!"

Hall looked up into the inferno to see, so far away, in a doorway of light, his beautiful wife, like a saving angel reaching out towards him.

He called her name in return, "Clara! Save me!"

In an instant the world was silent. The fires were gone, the devil returned to his misery in Hades, and all that was left were his papers, fluttering back and forth until they rested on the floor.

And Clara was no longer so far away. The door was right there, only feet away from where he knelt.

Mrs. Hall knelt beside him and took his hand in hers, "Don't go selling your soul without my permission, dear. I already own it."