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01:00 | Venice, Italy | 89 NE | Reality Control: 63%

Asa

I'm known for my panic attacks. Anything can spur one: a storm, a test, being late, losing touch with reality. The last one is uncommon, or usually is.

I've been going insane for a while now—crying obsessively over random things, constantly losing important items (which, for some reason, always seem to be later found in the refrigerator. I turned in frozen homework last week), forgetting stuff, etc.

Now I sit at a booth table in a tourist cafe in Venice, facing the devil himself in human form. Marco del Var.

A cold smile slithers across my face.

"Asa, how about a deal?" he asks.

"I'm sorry, but I don't make deals with demons," I reply, a smirk crossing my face.

"I would say the same, yet, here I am."

I pick at the peeling paint on the table.

"Thank you for meeting me," I say, ignoring his last remark.

"Of course, Asa." My name comes out as a taunt. He holds that power over me.

"As for you, del Var, I see no better fit joint partnerships." Two can play at this game.

"Yes, yes, of course."

The first wave of darkness hits.

My train of thought runs off track and crashes into a tree as my vision blurs.