Anywhere but Nowhere *

shoutout to the person in my building that left their halloween skeleton on their balcony and proceeded to dress it up for other holidays

This has to be one of, if not, the most unique way of both showcasing the trope/narrative concept of "selling your soul" as well as the insidious nature of evil and the power of corruption and all the ill gains it nets you in a fine selection of stills from an episode of a show that is 60 years old!

“So soon, boy? It isn’t a month,” Lord Iron said as Olaf sat on the cool stone rail. The moon high above the city seemed also to dance in the water, lighting Lord Iron’s face from below and above at once. “There was no need,” Olaf said. “I have your answer. But I will have to make something clear before I deliver it. If you will permit me?” Lord Iron opened his hand in motion of deference. Olaf cleared his throat. “Wealth,” he said, “is not a measure of money. It is a measure of well-being. Of happiness, if you will. Wealth is not traded, but rather is generated by trade. If you have a piece of art that I wish to own and I have money that you would prefer to the artwork, we trade. Each of us has something he prefers to the thing he gave away; otherwise, we would not have agreed on the trade. We are both better off. You see? Wealth is generated.” “I believe I can follow you so far,” Lord Iron said. “Certainly I can agree that a fat wallet is no guarantor of contentment.” “Very well. I considered your problem for the better part of the day. I confess I came near to despairing; there is no good data from which to work. But then I found my error. I assumed that your soul, my lord, was valuable. Clearly it is not.” Lord Iron coughed out something akin to a laugh, shock in his expression. Olaf raised a hand, palm out, asking that he not interrupt. “You are renowned for your practice of evil. This very evening, walking through your house, I have seen things for which I can imagine no proper penance. Why would Satan bother to buy your soul? He has rights to it already.” “He does,” Lord Iron said, staring into the middle distance. “And so I saw,” Olaf said. “You aren’t seeking to sell a soul. You are hoping to buy one.”