Owns your soul

[Laverna]

.Laverna and Devlin Crooks sat in the quiet room, boredom hanging thick in the air. Laverna had overdone it again—pushing herself too hard in training, ignoring the sharp protests of her muscles. Now she was paying for it, her body aching as she sank into an oversized light blue beanbag chair. Devlin, ever the quieter of the two, sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor, eyes wandering as he too succumbed to the dullness of the moment.





Laverna wasn’t exactly thrilled with her predicament. Her muscles throbbed, and her patience was wearing thin. When Devlin finally stood and left the room without a word, she sighed, figuring he was off to grab a muscle relaxer or some other remedy.





She faked a yawn, half-distracted, as she waited for him to come back.





But when he returned, it wasn’t with medicine in hand. Devlin stepped back into the room holding a fiddle, the polished wood catching the light. Laverna raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. Whatever she had expected, it certainly wasn’t this.





“If you care, I will take a bet with you. You play a pretty good fiddle, girl, and give this devil his due. I got a fiddle of gold against your soul if you think you can play better than me,” Devlin teased, a sly grin spreading across his face.





Laverna’s eyes widened with excitement as she jumped up from the beanbag, ignoring the soreness in her muscles.





"My name is Laverna, and this might be a sin, but I will take your bet and you're gonna regret it 'cause I'm the best there ever been," Laverna replied, her eyes gleaming with competitive fire.





Devlin gave her a nod, amused, and lifted the fiddle into playing position. Without missing a beat, he drew the bow across the strings, and the room came alive with the first sharp, captivating notes.





.Devlin played with precision and flair, each note filling the room until he finally lowered the bow and handed the fiddle to Laverna. “Your turn. You know, if you lose, it’s your soul I own,” he teased with a wink, clearly using "soul" as a playful cover.





Laverna muttered under her breath, “If you lose, the devil gets your soul,” as she positioned the fiddle under her chin. But the moment she began to play, the strings screeched horribly, the sound grating and far from the music she’d intended.





Devlin smirked, leaning back confidently, already convinced he had the upper hand.





.Laverna’s first few attempts produced only screeching, but she quickly regained control. With a determined look, she repositioned the bow and began playing a beautiful, haunting requiem. Each note was sharp and clear, filling the room with an eerie elegance. Her smirk grew as the melody flowed effortlessly from her fingers, a stark contrast to her earlier missteps.





Devlin, who had been so sure of his victory, watched in silence, his confidence wavering. Laverna’s mastery over the fiddle was undeniable now. As the final, mournful notes hung in the air, Devlin bowed his head in defeat, acknowledging her skill.





“Well played,” he muttered, the playful wager now lost