The Legend of the Devil

After 5 centuries of living, she's tired of being good. Of seeing good. She's tired of giving humanity a chance and decided to forget all the rules and live on her own rules. A few more centuries later, in an alley way, a man grabs her, a knife pointed to her stomach, drawing blood through her clothes. The man's hand is shaking. Dirt caked all over his hands, and smelled like the streets. With one hand the man started checking her pockets for something to steal. Maybe something to end his miserable circumstance? But who knows, she stopped caring long ago. She let him take what he wants, so long as he's quick about it and she can get on her business. A purse with lose coins in her belt, a knife in her thigh, another in her boot, the scarf from her neck, a sharp pointed pin from her hair. Worldly possessions has stopped having value for her. She murmurs in a voice so gruff, you'd think it's the first time she's spoken in years, 'take what you want and go'. But the man has started whispering, panicking by the sound of it, shuffling from one foot to the another, the hand holding the knife getting slack, whispering over and over, 'no, not enough.' and having no humanity left in her, she turns and slits his throat with the blade hidden in her cuff. The body fell like a sack of grains, blood pouring all around her feet.

Leaving behind what the man took, everything on earth is replaceable, she started walking away, back onto the filthy crowded street. Out on the streets, people are still living their pathetic lives, shouting their wares, gambling their lives, begging for vices, haggling for flesh, and someone calling softly for their father-and a soft gasp 'papa'.

As frail as a little bird, bones sticking through thin sliver of cloth, pallid skin as dreary as the rainy skies. Wisps of hair sticking to her skin. She knelt where her father has fallen, drenched through with blood pooling around her father. With the same blood dripping from her hands, staining her spirit, and breaking her soul.

She turned. And walked away.

She walked in on the prison you now call Devils' Lair. The prison wasn't very infamous then. The city around it wasn't the safest before, it was the most notorious city where all the crimes imaginable could be witnessed at every alleyway. Where everything is punishable by law, and where every hideous criminal is free to roam. Where beggars are held in prison, and murderers eat supper across from it.

The prison was just the town prison then. They held petty criminals, it wasn't the world prison as you know it today, where all the worst criminal are kept. They even had guards before. But they stopped stationing guards a hundred years after she walked in.

Folks say there was a woman, with blood in her hands, went into the prison and demanded to be put in an isolation cell. She wouldn't answer any question, she couldn't be persuaded to leave. Not even with force. Nobody knew who she was, where she came from, what she did, or who's blood is on her hands.

She took a cell for herself, thrown out every prisoner inside. And nobody could persuade her to leave.

The day after she walked in, guards kept finding bodies of prisoners just outside the perimeter of the prison. No signs of struggle, it was like the prisoners were struck dead were they stood trying to flee prison. She never moved, never made a sound. She just sat at her self appointed cell. Legends suggest that no disaster has ever made her move from her cell.

But that was long ago., from a time long forgotten. The prison has already been rebuilt countless times, nobody has seen a sign of her for thousands of years. But there is still no one guarding the prison. Because from time to time, a body of a prisoner fleeing can still be found just outside the perimeter of the prison.