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Frustrated

Gwend.

..o...l...

G wendolyn wasn’t sure if spite was enough to get her through her predicament.

There weren’t any self-help books on what to do when you found yourself in a contract with a demon.

And even if there were, they were probably more tailored towards teenagers or desperate middle-aged women, seeking a romantic partner.

All of which could probably be found in the fiction section of a local bookstore.

If there was one thing that Gwendolyn had learned from years of custom doll making, and even prior to that—with simple illustrating—it was how to be creative under intense pressure.

Creativity was the only thing that got her through her workday, through her relationship breakups, and even high school.

She had originally hoped it would get her through the rest of her life, until her hands could no longer hold a colored pencil or pull a thread through a needle .

Her hand still stung from where she had made contact with Ambrosius’ cheek.

Gwendolyn had never hit anyone before—not as an adult, anyway—and was hoping she wouldn’t have to make a habit out of it.

Gwendolyn was determined to use creativity to get herself out of this, or so she kept telling herself as she fingered the scroll case between her hands.

She knew there had to be a key to her escape within the scroll case, but she dared not open it with how many strangers were on the bus at the moment.

The last thing she needed was for her fate to become a comedy, and potentially lose this precious item.

For now, it would do as a fidget toy as she tried to make her hatred for Ambrosius her horizon.

Truthfully, Gwendolyn felt incredibly ill.

A nauseous sensation went through her stomach every time the bus shuddered.

Even the tiniest shift caused her stomach to pinch.

And there were a lot more people on the bus now.

Impoverished moms with their small children—all under the age of six—elderly couples, single parents, general workers, and students.

They were all a small glimpse into the city she lived in, and for some reason, something in the air—perhaps someone’s cologne or perfume—was making Gwendolyn feel sick.

It contrasted greatly with the fact that she was also incredibly hungry.

Her thoughts might have still been focused on Ambrosius’ smug face, but her stomach was gurgling and gnawing at her insides.

It was the kind of hunger that Gwendolyn only really experienced after spending six hours at her workstation, not realizing that she hadn’t eaten like she thought she had.

She would usually find her dinner still in the microwave hours later, and whether or not it was safe to eat was a concern for later.

By the time the bus arrived at her apartment complex, Gwendolyn was starving, nauseous, and still clutching the scroll case.

She was relieved that none of the other residents were around as she exited the elevator and found the hallway empty.

Her neighbor wasn’t waiting to pop out from his apartment as she opened the door.

Once safely inside her apartment, Gwendolyn removed her shoes, and dropped her phone and her wallet onto her kitchen counter.

She pivoted on her heel with the intention of sitting at her kitchen table with the scroll case, and that was when she saw it.

Sitting in the middle of her kitchen table was the unfinished doll, the same one that she had deliberately left at the antique store.

Gwendolyn had desperately hoped that if she abandoned it, it would count as a sign that she did not want to be a warlock.

Especially not for Ambrosius.

Naturally, that was foolish of her.

She’d seen the movies.

Haunted dolls usually had a way of coming back, and this one was still unfinished.

The doll was still in the same half dressed state Gwendolyn had left her in when she stuffed the doll into the paper bag earlier that day.

The two pieces Gwendolyn had sewn were piled next to her, almost as if the doll was begging Gwendolyn to dress her properly.

As much as Gwendolyn adored dolls, she suddenly hated this one.

Ambrosius said it represented their contract—a shameful reminder of how Gwendolyn’s fixation had been used against her.

Before she could think better of it, Gwendolyn snatched the doll from the kitchen table and dashed towards her balcony.

She hurriedly unlocked the glass door, slid it open, and chucked the doll over the edge of the balcony.

When she heard the doll clatter onto the hard cement below, Gwendolyn counted it as a small blessing and a temporary solution .

That will only buy me some time.

I know it’s going to come back, she thought as she found her way back to her kitchen table.

With some apprehension, Gwendolyn picked up the scroll case.

It was warm in her hand, like an electric current pulsed beneath the brassy exterior.

Steeling herself, Gwendolyn pulled on the chain and began to read the job responsibilities.

A lot of them were arbitrary and preposterous things that made little sense to Gwendolyn.

The job requirements with her current employer were somehow less ridiculous than this.

Granted, this one was less about dress code and more about being available to Ambrosius’ every whim at a moment’s notice.

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes at that.

Naturally, that arrogant prick would want her at his beck and call.

As she read more, it was becoming increasingly obvious that most of the job details were pretty corporate sounding, despite the odd demands.

The job requirements were less important than what she was really looking for.

What Gwendolyn needed were clues, and for once, the universe answered.

Beneath one of the job requirements—something about being Ambrosius’ eyes, oddly enough—was a note about power.

Or the implication that a warlock would be given power by the demon, though it didn’t exactly explain what ‘power’ meant.

She wondered if this was similar to what she had seen in old werewolf movies.

An unsuspecting man was bitten by a werewolf and gained some of the creature’s abilities before eventually succumbing to the curse.

Did that mean she would eventually also become a demon?

How would that even work?

While the thought was still fresh in her head, Gwendolyn grabbed her cell phone and started writing.

Gwendolyn noted the bit about sharing of power and anything else she thought could be useful, all the while cussing out Ambrosius in her mind.

She was momentarily taken aback as the job requirements devolved into legal jargon that went completely over her head.

Gwendolyn would have to search the internet for at least half of those terms—

Wait!

The internet!

Creative solutions were always just a thought away, and Gwendolyn admonished herself for not thinking of it sooner.

She wedged the scroll underneath her phone and opened a search engine, typing the word ‘demon’.

She made sure to add other search terms as well, as the suggestion bar was already auto-filling with popular topics.

Last I checked, I’m pretty fucking sure I’m not in an anime.

But knowing my life…

Luckily, Gwendolyn had more to work with thanks to Ambrosius’ mouth.

He had already ruled out Christianity as a potential origin, which made it a lot easier to sort through the results.

She didn’t know what to make of all the romance novels that came up, and thinking about romance made her want to throw up.

Wet dreams were out of her control, but falling in love very much was.

At least, I think…

It had been a long time since Gwendolyn had entertained romantic love.

So long that Gwendolyn shoved the thought out of her mind and got up to make herself a late lunch.

Her stomach had finally leveled out enough for her to even contemplate shoving a microwaved chicken sandwich into her mouth.

Gwendolyn ate the sandwich in under five minutes, felt her stomach greedily open wide.

It stung her tongue—still sensitive from where she had burned it the day before—but it was the most delicious thing she had eaten in what felt like ages.

She rinsed her hands, dried them on the back of her knees, and began her search anew.

By the time the first firework went off, the afternoon had burned away into nothing.

It seemed fitting, as Gwendolyn’s search resulted in much of the same.

More anime, more forums asking about anime or Satan, but nothing about any three eyed demons.

Was she not searching for the right thing?

As the afternoon bled into night, and the fireworks grew louder, Gwendolyn became frantic.

She read through more of the scroll—and by read, she really meant skimmed—until she reached the end of the job requirements.

One line read like a devastating blow to her face.

All job requirements before this one are null and void.

Gwendolyn read that line three more times before she continued.

The only requirement that the Warlock must do is finish the doll.

*Terms subject to change upon reevaluation.

“You motherfucker,” Gwendolyn growled between her teeth.

She was about to chuck the scroll case over her balcony when something caught her eye.

Dark ink was bleeding from the words she had previously read.

Gwendolyn watched as it pooled below, slowly revealing cursive being written in real time.

Don’t be upset, Gwendolyn.

It’s just business.

Gwendolyn screamed, hands twisted into angry fists at her side.

Heat traveled up her neck, into her cheeks, as a wave of pure frustration tore through her.

She didn’t care if her neighbors heard her as she snatched the scroll case.

The parchment—free from its weight now—snaked back into the case, smarting Gwendolyn’s hand as the chain whipped back.

Another frustrated sound escaped her as she stalked toward her balcony, fully intending to toss the case as well.

However, when she reached the other side of her shelf, Gwendolyn stopped in her tracks.

Every doll that Gwendolyn had ever made and kept for herself was laying in a heap at the bottom of the shelf.

When they had fallen, Gwendolyn couldn’t be certain.

She hadn’t heard them fall, but they definitely had still been on the shelf when Gwendolyn had thrown the cursed doll away.

The same doll that was sitting at the center of the shelf, as if Gwendolyn hadn’t thrown her out earlier that day.

“Fuck this,” Gwendolyn swore, snatching the doll.

“Fuck you and fuck Ambrosius, too.”

Desperation made people do wild things, and Gwendolyn was no different.

She shoved the doll and scroll case in a plastic bag she found under her kitchen sink.

Gwendolyn hurriedly shoved her shoes on, grabbed her keys, and jetted to the elevator.

Gwendolyn’s apartment was absurdly overpriced, and the only thing that really paid for her rent was her dolls.

However, that didn’t mean the apartments didn’t come with any amenities.

There was a twenty-four-hour gym, and a community room that residents could rent out for large events.

But the thing that Gwendolyn liked most about the amenities was the outdoor courtyard just past the fitness center.

The sun was nearly gone, and there were fireworks in the sky as Gwendolyn crept into the courtyard.

She eyed the area, past trees and simple plants.

Their concrete flower beds doubled as outdoor seating.

The grass was an open space that most of the residents used for their dogs .

Silently, Gwendolyn tiptoed toward one of the plants and sat on the lip of the concrete.

Once the coast was clear, Gwendolyn dug a small hole beneath the base of one of the plants.

The dirt was always soft, thanks to the weather and the apartment complex’s rigid irrigation system.

Once there was a hole deep enough, Gwendolyn dropped the plastic bag.

She had no doubt that the doll would show up again—it was only a matter of time.

But there was a catharsis in burying the source of Gwendolyn’s own personal hell.

It wouldn’t solve her problem, but there was clarity as Gwendolyn swept dirt onto the plastic bag.

Ambrosius’ scroll said the only job requirement Gwendolyn had as his warlock was to finish the doll…

So, I won’t finish it, Gwendolyn thought.

And if any consequences were to come from that, Gwendolyn would deal with it later.

If she was going to be miserable, she was going to take Ambrosius with her.

Her stomach growled.