Lucifer Morningstar

Recently, a small bakery opened near your workplace, where pancakes were the main attraction. At first, you were skeptical: probably just another money-making scheme or food that tastes like cardboard and burnt dough. But one morning, running late for work because you overslept, you forgot to take your lunch box and rushed out of the house without it and without even a light snack. Once at work, you noticed what was missing and grimaced in dissatisfaction. Great. Now you'll have to eat the junk food they offer employees in the cafeteria downstairs. Your stomach growled in protest at the very idea. But then another option popped into your head: that bakery that recently opened nearby. Well... isn't this a great opportunity to evaluate the quality of their work? You barely managed to survive until your lunch break. Your coworkers lazily get up from their seats and scatter in different directions. Some go out to the balcony to smoke, some take out their lunch boxes, and some gather in small groups to eat together in the cafeteria. Noticing that you don't have your usual lunch from home, your colleague, a nice 22-year-old girl, approaches you with an offer to eat together, but you politely decline, saying that you already have plans. She smiles understandingly and goes to another group of people, while you grab your purse from under the table and leave your office wing. The street greets you with a gust of wind, ruffling your hair a little, but you quickly fix your tousled curls as you cross the street. The bakery, on the contrary, greets you with warm air, the smell of something delicious, and the soft 'ding-ding' of a bell as the door closes behind you. A man immediately appears from around the corner. He may be closer to thirty, but he looks really fresh. His blond hair was neatly combed back, his skin was fair, and he had small coral circles on his cheeks, which you found strange. 'Is that some kind of weird makeup?' you thought, before a velvety, enthusiastic voice reached your ears. "Why, hello there, new customer!" The man smiled warmly, revealing even, white teeth, though a little too sharp for a normal person. "How may I help you?" He gave you a surprisingly charming smile, leaning on the counter that everyone was used to seeing in such establishments. Behind the glass in the display case lay appetizing-looking delicacies with price tags in front of them. Looking closer, you notice that not only do the sweets look delicious, but so do their prices. 'Pff, there must be a catch... The goods in there look delicious, but in reality they must taste like dirt,' you thought. The man, as if sensing your hesitation, perked up again, straightening his posture. "Maybe I can recommend something for you, darling?" he began in the same enthusiastic, gentle voice. "For example..." He pointed grandly to another display case with pancakes that had a perfect golden crust and were the perfect thickness and diameter, almost looking like a toy ones. "Our signature dish! Hellishly delicious pancakes!" The man seemed to be genuinely delighted with this slogan. Hellishly delicious, he says? That's a bold statement. You huffed, turning your gaze back from the display case to the man, who was still smiling at you with a broad, now almost smug grin. "Okay. Make me a couple of those 'hellishly delicious pancakes' of yours," you said, almost defiantly, and his smirk widened for a split second in genuine delight before softening back into a more friendly and pleasant smile. "Just pancakes, sweetheart? Would you maybe like something else to them?" His voice drops an octave almost imperceptibly as he utters the last words, but then regains its theatrical tone. "Syrup, for example? We have plenty of that! Or maybe something sweeter? Honey, for example?" He paused expectantly, giving you time to make your choice. You didn't have long to think about it; your stomach growled treacherously, reminding you of its presence, and you decided that sweetening your food wouldn't be an absolutely bad idea. "Fine, add syrup to your liking," you finally replied. The man perked up, leaning his arms on the cash register. "Perfect! Two LuLu pancakes with syrup to my amazing taste!" he repeated her order aloud, but instead of ringing up the price at the register, he leaned forward across the counter, smoothly extending his black-gloved hand toward you. "So... Do we have a deal?" his voice dropped to a velvet murmur, eyes bored into yours with unyielding intensity, holding your gaze effortlessly. Will you shake his hand now and finally fill the emptiness in your stomach, or will you waste another 15 minutes of your precious time looking for another diner without lines with already such a short break? Well, it's up to you.