SCENE 9: CONFESSION

The grove seemed darker than usual that evening, the air heavy with an unnatural tension. Faouzia stormed through the trees, her heart pounding as much from fury as from fear. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms. She found Faust seated beneath the ancient oak, his alchemical staff leaning lazily against his shoulder. The faint light emanating from the staff cast jagged shadows across his face, highlighting the weariness in his eyes.

“We have to act,” Faouzia said sharply, stopping a few feet away from him. She didn’t bother with pleasantries. Her voice was steel, and her determination crackled like the energy in the air.

Faust didn’t look at her. He tilted his head back, staring up at the canopy of twisted branches and fading stars. “You’re certain?” he asked, his voice low and quiet.

“The signs are undeniable,” Faouzia replied, crossing her arms tightly. “The salt crystals. The unnatural heat. The way light bends around him. It’s him, Faust. Mephistopheles.”

A long sigh escaped Faust as he finally lowered his gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his grip on the staff tightened, his knuckles whitening. “And what do you expect us to do about it?” he asked flatly. “He’s not just a devil. He’s Mephistopheles. You don’t fight him, Faouzia.”

“I will,” she snapped, stepping closer. “If you’re too much of a coward, I’ll fight him myself!”

Faust turned his head sharply to glare at her, his voice rising for the first time. “You can’t fight him alone! You don’t understand what you’re dealing with.”

“Then help me,” she said, her tone softening but her eyes still blazing with determination. “You know him better than anyone. You’ve dealt with him before.”

For a moment, Faust froze. His eyes darted away, his body tense as though he’d been struck. “What are you talking about?” he said, too quickly, his voice betraying the lie.

Faouzia’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t,” she warned. “I’ve known you too long, Faust. Don’t try to deny it. You’ve dealt with him. Haven’t you?”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the tree. “Yes,” he finally admitted, his voice barely audible. “I made a deal with him.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Faouzia took a step back, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and disbelief. “You what?” she whispered, her voice trembling with restrained anger.

“I made a deal with Mephistopheles,” Faust repeated, louder this time, his voice bitter. “Years ago, before all this. I thought I could outsmart him. I thought—”

“You thought?” Faouzia interrupted, her voice rising. “You thought you could outsmart a devil? Are you insane?”

“I didn’t know what else to do!” Faust shot back, his voice raw. “I wanted to understand you, Faouzia. To know how to love you better. I thought if I had the wisdom he offered, I could see you more clearly, be what you needed.”

“Be what I needed?” Faouzia repeated, incredulous. She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “You didn’t want to understand me, Faust. You wanted to control me.”

“That’s not true,” Faust said, his voice breaking. “I wanted to help you. To help us.”

Faouzia’s fists tightened at her sides, her body trembling with anger. “And look where that got us,” she said coldly. “You gave up alchemy for me, only to turn to the darkest magic imaginable. Do you have any idea how insulting that is? How... invasive?”

Faust opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes. “It was a mistake,” he said quietly. “I know that now. And I’ve been trying to undo it ever since.”

Faouzia’s voice softened, but the edge of betrayal still lingered. “And you think you can undo a deal with Mephistopheles? You think he’ll just let you walk away?”

“I don’t think,” Faust said, looking back at her, his expression grim. “I know. No deal is ever truly binding. Even his. That’s why he’s here now.”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Faust hesitated, his grip tightening on the staff. “He doesn’t leave loose ends, Faouzia. He’s here because I broke the deal. He’s using Margaretta to remind me what happens to people who cross him.”

Faouzia’s breath hitched, the weight of his confession sinking in. “So this isn’t just about her,” she said slowly. “It’s about you.”

“It’s always about him,” Faust said bitterly. “Mephistopheles doesn’t care about Margaretta. He’s making a point. And if you go after him, you’ll be walking into his trap.”

“Then what do we do?” Faouzia demanded. Her voice was quieter now, but no less resolute. “If he’s already playing with us, how do we fight back?”

Faust stared at her for a long moment, his mind racing. He thought of Margaretta, her bright smile and unguarded laughter. He thought of Faouzia, standing before him now, strong and defiant despite her fear. And he thought of Mephistopheles, the devil who had haunted him for years, weaving his chaos into their lives.

“We don’t fight him,” Faust said finally. “We outthink him.”

Faouzia crossed her arms, her expression skeptical. “And how do you propose we do that?”

“By remembering that devils play by rules,” Faust said, standing slowly. “We just have to find the loophole.”

Faouzia watched him carefully, her anger giving way to a wary determination. “If you’re wrong—if we fail—”

“We won’t,” Faust said, his voice steadier now. “Because this time, we’ll be ready for him.”