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Summary
“So, theoretically, if I were to trade my soul with you, is it possible to get money in return?”
A drag of silence passes. The demon’s smile fades into a blank expression that could almost be called confusion.
“...Yes…” The demon trails off. “You could, but couldn’t you go bigger than that?” It phrases the question as an offer, a chance to make the deal at least a bit complicated. Demons don’t like simplicity, it seems.
Shame, because that’s all sleep-deprived Wilbur cares for.
“What could be bigger than Money?” Wilbur asks, raising his eyebrows and clapping his hands together. He then winces with a curse, having forgotten about the fact his palm is still sliced open.