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Good girls go to Hell
For the last twelve years, I’ve spent All Hallows Eve hunting the Devil on a dancefloor suspended over the pit of hell.
Those of us considered saints dress in our funereal best and are transported into the hands of sinners disguised as devils. We are their only hope for absolution.
One kiss can seal two fates, for a saint’s lips will save the sinner.
But the Devil lurks among the dancers, and his kiss will damn even the most innocent.
This year, I plan to make him mine.
