If lies have a colour, they are the exact shade of red lipstick the woman they called Wrath wore the night she settled her wager with the devil.

She dressed in colours like a rattlesnake, dark jewel tones of green and red and purple, a viper bleeding venom from her tongue; she posed a dark, barely-there silhouette against the wide grey window of the restaurant, through which the crescent moon could be glimpsed. And her lipstick was dark indeed; darker, even, than the red wine swirling like smoke in the fluted glass she raised slowly to her mouth and sipped languidly, waiting for a response from the man opposite.

The devil was not unhandsome; he wore the glasses of a blind man, the dark surface reflecting the dancing light of the candle on the table between them. Ragged nails beat out an uneven tempo on the table as he mulled over this latest offer - he did not smile.

"You've grown brave, Wrath," he said and she did smile, showing very white, very even, very sharp teeth. She had not always been called Wrath; that was a skin she wore and discarded at will. She had lost her true name long ago, too long ago to remember, in precisely one of these wages - but that had been in the days when they had haggled over bowls of incense in a kasbah's wasteland, when they had met by ghostlight in an abandoned church with broken stained glass windows, when they had stood on separate sides of a summoning circle at a crossroads by night.

Those days were past. Now they dealt like civilised creatures, speaking over glasses of wine and candlelight while mundanes murmured softly around them, their words and the blare of sirens fading into the soundtrack of the urban landscape, and the city lights of traffic and offices blurred into novas beyond the window.

"I have always been brave," Wrath said. The loss of her name had been the first of these wafers that she had conceded; it had not been the last. "Perhaps now I am arrogant."

Would she lose this time?

And so, the bet.

"Five," the devil said.

"Ten," Wrath said, daring, and took another sip of her wine.

He looked amused. The half-laugh that escaped his lips was warm, affectionate.

"Seven," he said, and she let it be.

Seven, then. Seven was a good number indeed. Seven was a powerful, magical number. Let it be, then.

She put her chin in her hand and gazed across the table at the demon. The world continued around them, heedless that fates were being crafted, painstakingly, only a few inches away.

"Seven months," the devil continued. "I doubt it shall take that long anyway-"

Mocking. Was he mocking her?

She smiled against the palm of her hand. "Have a little faith."

"Faith is what placed me in this uncomfortable situation," the man-who-was-not-a-man replied. "Faith and providence. You have, I presume, selected a venue for our game?"

"I have," she said lightly. "The hallowed ground - the sacramented land - the Institute of New York."

Now the devil did smile. It was a frightening expression, to be sure. "Choose your gladiator wisely, darling," the devil said. "I don't think you'll survive another one of my victories."

Hello! And welcome to my SYOC!

It is set in New York, post-Lady Midnight but hopefully spoiler free, and will follow a small group of Shadowhunters at the Institute who become embroiled in a wager between the devil and a woman they call Wrath. What is the wager? Well, that's the mystery, isn't it?

I'm looking for four main characters (two boys, two girls), with four supporting characters also due to appear (two boys, two girls). Characters will be selected based on three factors: how interesting they are, the story options they provide, and the detail shown in the submission forms. Please PM the following form to me with the subject line of your character's full name.

Thank you so much, and I hope you all submit an OC.

NAME:

AGE:

GENDER:

PERSONALITY:

GREATEST FEAR:

GREATEST FLAW:

APPEARANCE:

TYPICAL CLOTHING:

PREFERRED WEAPON:

BACKGROUND:

HOME:

FAMILY:

SEXUAL ORIENTATION:

PAST ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS:

SKILLS:

OPINION OF DOWNWORLDERS:

OPINION OF THE CLAVE:

WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM IN THE DARK WAR?: