"Oh god. My head… My stomach… My back." At 30 years old this mantra was pretty much Dola's usual anthem when she woke up, but on this particular day? This particular Saturday morning? The discomfort was much worse than usual. When Dola woke up it was to a thumping headache, blinding lights pouring through the broken blinds and a sore spot on her back from where she'd fallen asleep on her keys. Her head rang with the telltale signs of a hangover, her stomach felt like it was tumbling with every movement. Dola pressed her palm to her forehead finding no comfort in her own clammy touch, she started to roll forward promising herself yet again that she was never having another sip of anything stronger than cola.

Groaning, she groped around her, dazed and bleary eyed for her phone. What time was it. What day was it?

Having been so occupied with her aching back, aching head and lack of phone in her hand, the fact that someone was standing over her with a large delicious smelling steaming plate and an even larger toothy grin did not register with her.

And then that person spoke.

”Good Morni-!“

"Holy shit!" Eggs, potatoes and spray of ketchup flew across the room and splattered on the wall as Dola's foot made swift contact with aforementioned plate. Rolling from where she'd been lying and hating every stomach churning moment of it, Dola got shakily to her feet adrenaline pumping and grabbed the plastic butter knife from her takeout from two nights before. She gripped it hard ready to-well she wasn't too sure what she could do with that, but it was all that she had aside from insane nausea.

With breath labored from pure panic Dola took in the stranger before her, her fuzzy mind rejecting what she saw. Standing at least a head taller than her was a man with long candy floss pink hair that was pulled back into a neat braid, wide eyes such a honey brown they were almost gold, full pink lips, and angular angelic face that looked horrified. His hand shot to cover his mouth in alarm as he looked between her with the bent plastic knife in her hand and the spot where ketchup was staining her already thoroughly stained, beige rug.

What the hell was he shocked for? He was in her place! And why was he in her place? He was hot, she wouldn't have been creeped out by it if he hadn't been casually using her groceries and sneaking up on her.

"Oh! I apologize!" The man's hands shot up, his face flushed with innocent shock, "I must have startled you! I didn’t want to wake you, but I certainty didn’t mean to scare you, Mistress.” He rocked forward half reaching for her before she shoved the tiny flimsy butter knife at him and he seemed to think better of it.

Mistress???

”Who?!” Dola croaked, her mouth suddenly dry, because who in all of any possible hells was 'Mistress'?! Couldn't be her. No freakin way.

The stranger blinked, long eyelashes fluttering in shock as his mouth turned down and brows pulled together and his expression turned to what looked like disappointment.

What the hell was he disappointed about!?

”Mistress, could it be-“ his face paled as his hand went to his heart, he looked almost as distressed as she was feeling, “perhaps you forgot last night?”

”Last night?” She parroted back dumbly. If she's thought her mouth was dry before it was positively arid now.

Without much thought, Dola found herself looking down, letting out a relieved sigh when she saw that she was still in her clothes from the night before. In that moment it also occurred to her that she was in her living room, she'd been asleep on her couch. There was no scenario that made sense to her as to why she'd been asleep out here and woken up to a beautiful man making her breakfast while she fought to keep down her dinner from the night before.

Digging deep and really pushing her murky memory to its limits. She thought back to the night before. It had been yet another lonely, tired miserable night after a grueling nightmare of a day at Superior Mart where she was lucky enough to be one of their 'elite employees' aka; a manager. Her day had been filled temper tantrums, a lack of common sense and being a victim of other people's of entitlement and that was just from the people who reported to her. By the end of a day of cleaning up cherry pits and abandoned drinks hidden behind shampoo on the shelf, and her boss throwing her under the bus to their regional manager when her department wasn't making their numbers, all Dola wanted was a stiff drink and a plate of wings drowned in ranch.

If her unreliable memory served her correctly, she had gone out and gotten her beer and wings. It was pretty early on a Friday night, the bar was pretty empty, she'd been sweaty and still in her work uniform when she'd bellied up to the bar and next to the only other person there. That same guy from the bar who stood before her now. There was a vague memory of him asking her if she came there often, of her asking him if he wanted to join her, of them laughing, of her buying them a round and him offering to pay for her dinner.

Oh god.

"Did we-?" She pointed between the two of them, wiggling her eyebrows with an implication that he seemed to alarm him

"Heavens no! I would never think of such a thing with you of all people, Mistress!" His hand flew to his mouth, his eyes went wide and he stepped back looking utterly appalled.

The emphasis felt a bit rude. But okay. She had the answer to that at least.

Lowering the butter-knife, she sighed sagging her shoulders and letting the wall behind her support the weight of her aching body, "Then why are you here?" She grimaced. He straightened himself out before giving her an annoyingly sympathetic smile.

"Ah." he hummed, nodding sagely to himself in a way that made her want to smack him, "I see."

"You see what?!" She demanded, while he went on nodding.

"I understand that once the contract is complete it may leave the contract signer disoriented or leave temporary gaps in their memory. That mental fog should clear shortly now that you're awake, if not can clear it." He offered taking a step forward, delicate hands extended, aimed for her temples.

"Uh, no!" She threw her hands up, smacking his reach away, and they both stepped back looking unsure of each other . It seemed they were at an impasse. He seemed worried and Dola? Dola was on the verge of hyperventilating. The panic she felt was no longer because she didn't know why a strange man was in her apartment, but because she now suspected that she knew why he was here and if he was here for the reason she thought- Her hands were at her temples now, she groaned as her head pounded, as her memory cleared.

***

Her mind took her back to the bar. This man who now stood in front of her looking worried had sat with her last night. He'd looked a little different that night, his hair had been blonde, not pink and eyes less golden, but that angular face and unique accent that she couldn't quite place was the same. This man had laughed with her, listened to her crappy day, about how empty her life felt... he offered well timed empathetic words, and companionable silence when appropriate and by the time she'd been done talking she was sober and they'd been sitting so closely that she could taste the faint smell of vanilla and amber that wafted from him. In hindsight it was embarrassing beyond all measure, but in the moment all she felt was comfort, all she felt was the warm glow of something like hope. Hope for what she didn't know, but it had been short lived.

One moment they'd been tucked in close to each other like would be lovers and she'd said something that has made them both laugh.

The problem was that she'd been eating a mozzarella stick.

The bigger problem was that she'd choked on the mozzarella stick.

The biggest problem was that one moment she'd been sitting with this guy and the next he was standing over her and someone was asking if anyone knew the Heimlich.

No one knew the Heimlich.

And for not the first time in her life, Dola had to wonder if this was how things would end.Is this the story she would have to tell at the pearly white gates to get in? She died choking on a mozzarella stick after laughed at her on joke?

And then it happened. The pretty man she'd been talking to leaned down and asked her something as her vision blurred. He offered her his hand to shake if she agreed. It was an offer that she'd heard before. she might have laughed at the irony of it all if she hadn't been choking.

Dola shook his hand.

Then Dola woke up on her couch with her keys digging into her kidneys and the second worst hangover of her life.

***

"Ah! It seems you remember, Mistre-"

"Stop calling me that!"

"But-"

"Stop talking!" She barked and while he stopped talking at her command, but he didn't look thrilled about it.

This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.

But then again-

Maybe this was a dream? Maybe she'd wake up to the sound of her phone's alarm any minute and get ready for her crappy job and have a normal crappy day rather than whatever this was.

Any tentative optimism dried up as she heard the sound of a key in the lock of the front door. Dola's mouth went bone dry as the knob turned and the door swung open to reveal the very person she'd hoped not to see.

For a moment he just stood in the door arms full of paper bags overflowing with groceries. His tired, dark eyes swung calmly from Dolato the man who was stood a few steps away from her, to the eggs on the floor and then back to her. No one moved for at least a minute, all of them doing silent computations in their mind trying to figure out how any of this added up to making a lick of sense.

It was a little awkward to say the least.

"Dola." He started slowly with a tight calmness that she knew was measured, "What did you do?"

" It's not what it looks like!" She launched from where she'd been leaning on the wall, the movement making her stomach lurch. The pretty man next to her who's name she still did not know reached out to steady her and she found that she was too queasy to shoo him off this time.

"What are you doing here? How do you know Mistress?" He asked defensively, still holding Dola's arm as he kept her steady.

"'Mistress'? You're calling her Mistress? Dola you have him calling you Mistress? What the f-"

"Fylson! It's really not what it looks like! I was drunk! I don't know how this happened! It was an accident!" She fired off every excuse she could think of, each one a reminder of every failed relationship as she said the words. She was all too aware of how very guilty it sounded.

"An accident?" Fylson hissed tossing the bags to the ground and storming over to her, swatting the newcomer's hold on her arm away before standing between them, "Dola! You and I made a contract tied to your soul!" His hands tangled in his hair and his eyes bulged as his gaze bored into hers, "Weird that this happened twice, huh!?" She'd never seen Fylson like this. A few moments ago she'd been on the verge of hyperventilating and now it seemed that she wasn't alone on that boat.

"I'm sorry," The new man interjected with a raised finger and a calm smile that didn't reach his panicked eyes. "you already have signed a contract?" The newcomer turned to her, honey eyes growing as wide as saucers," I don't understand. How could this be?" His hand shot to his mouth just as quickly as his wavering smile fell.

"I don't know Eirlan." Flyson said through gritted teeth and a false smile. "I have a contract. I went away for a week I come back and now you're here cooking my contract eggs. Why don't you tell me what's going on here, because from where I stand; you're a thief." If looks could kill Dola wasn't sure weather she or this Eirlan guy would be dead first the way Fylson glared at the two of them. Could have been a tie.

Eirlan gasped so loud from the allegation that Dola swore she felt the lack of oxygen in the room for a moment. "I assure you I simply have no idea how this happened! I'm incensed that you'd imply that I did this on purpose!" Eirlan certainly looked incensed, he was somehow both pale with shock and red from the accusation.

At this point, Dola was just glad that no one was looking at her for answers.

"You!" Fylson boomed pointing an accusatory finger at Dola. So much for being out of it. "Why would you sign another contract if you had one already, you idiot!?"

"Don't speak to her that way!" Eirlan interjected, confused, but still loyal for some reason.

"Who else other than an idiot would sign their soul away twice?!" Fylson shot back, turning on Eirlan.

They all went silent for that. He had a point.

"Well I was drunk and I was mad at you!" Dola protested, rallying herself.

"You were mad at me!? I just asked you to do the dishes once and awhile and to help with the shopping and to assist me on assignments every now and then!"

"I didn't say I had a good reason to be upset!" Dola puffed up her chest, but any strength she'd felt in her argument left her as she stomach lurched again. She was going to be sick and the hangover had nothing to do with it. This whole situation was nauseating because it was her fault.

In the moment last night, obviously she'd wanted to save her life, but there was a moment where she genuinely hoped that by signing a new contract the one she had with Fylson would be null and void. She'd hoped to never see him again for no other reason other than feeling like she was letting him down on her end of the contract and she had no idea how to fix that. He'd met her at her lowest and offered her an olive branch and all she'd done is cling to that without ever quite getting back up. She always felt one strong wind away from peril and Fylson being there to see it all had been humiliating.

She hated herself for wishing he'd just go away sometimes, but she did. She'd wished it last night on that floor when she shook Eirlan's hand and thought that maybe this time, she could do it right.

So much for that.

Looking from Fylson who looked like he was about to blow a blood vessel to Eirlan who looked like he was about to have a nervous breakdown as he paced the room, Dola tried to think of what to say. There were no words that could fix this. She opened her mouth to try anyway.

"I-" She started, hoping the words would come to her if she just started, "I don't-" they both looked at her with baited breath as if they both were waiting for her to announce it was a prank, "I don't feel so good." And then whatever she'd actually gotten down of the mozzarella sticks the night before made an unwelcome reappearance on the living room shag rug.

***

The contract:

"You are at a crossroads. You are meeting an end not meant for you. For those like you there are those like me. Avoid this untimely misfortune and help others do the same. Use your worldly eyes to guide my unwordly powers and help others in this world. Agree and help shape a better world."