Jonathan Schmidt was a brilliant composer. He and Wolfgang traded barbs and opening shots before young Motzart captured the crowds with his energetic symphonies. Jonathan would sit at his concerts and try in vain to discern what separated their talents.

He, like Motzart, was a prodigal son of the shining city of Vienna. His production matched his contemporary's furious pace. His weekly allowance from his tailor stock family barely covered the vast amount of paper needed for his new creations. Nary, a wet pot of ink, could be found in his study. And yet, the public passed over Jonathan's work without opening a single ear to it. All they wanted was Motzart. And Motzart duly obliged.

As the years pressed on, a rapidly aging and pessimistic Jonathan became desperate for recognition. A dark turn of fate found him between the dusty back shelves of an occult bookstore. The owner ensured customer privacy and let a few guests roam through the hidden store. Jonathan, left unattended by reason or company, found a cracked leather book with a picture of two identical snowflakes on it.

No title on the book, so he peeked inside. Written in old German was a spell to conjure a demon called "Doppelganger."

Jonathan parted with his meager allowance and dashed back to his home to dive into the dark promises the book hinted at.

A stormy night found him curled in bed with a lamp perched on his bedside, casting a warm glow upon the tanned pages. The book spoke of the Doppelganger being able to grant your greatest wish but warned of breaking the deal you must make for it.

A gust of wind howled as he thought of his greatest wish and how the wind should be the ravenous cries of a hungry audience. Hungry for his brilliant work and not of a man compiling ribald songs like "Lick my ass."

Jonathan would show the crowds what they were missing.

He waited a full week before peering into the book again. He wanted to make sure that he wished to go forward with the deal. Whatever that may entail from a demon. Or if anything would happen at all. Still, Jonathan found ample supply of motivation with every Motzart poster and corner conversation he had to hear as the public remained enraptured by Wolfgang's showmanship.

Now twenty-six years old and weary from a decade of failing to catch up to his once comparable rival, Jonathan readied himself for the ritual.

Bringing the spellbook to the old woods to the West of town, darkness crept forward every step he drew away from the city. Armed with a swinging lantern that squeaked and a modest black cloak, Jonathan marched until he found an old heart tree. The tree stood tattooed with carvings from young lovers proclaiming their undying affections and a grim reminder that only the bark remembered them.

"Rise and be found."

"Rise and be one."

"Rise and bond with me- so that your time can come."

"Come forth, Doppelganger, I call to you! Past dark reaches of Hell, I command you. Come forth!"

His voice broke with the last line. His yell became a yip as the woods swelled with shadows. Silence fell. No woodland critters made a peep. And Jonathan Schmidt stood alone in the forest for only a second more.

Before he watched himself step forward from the trees.

"You called for me?" the demon wearing his face said. It slipped forward, languid in its movements. Jonathan knew he'd never walked with such grace.

"I summoned you. I'm your master now. And I want to make a deal." Jonathan said. His pale hands shook as he clenched the book.

"Master, is it? Have you got a name?"

"Jonathan. Jonathan Schmidt."

"Full name? And so easy. Didn't your book tell you that names have power?

"It's not my full name, demon. And stop speaking like I've made a mistake. You're standing here- so I know I've done this right."

A smug grin crossed the Doppelganger's face.

"Mmm... you may yet be right. So, what is it you desire?"

"Recognition. I deserve to be known for my symphonies. I'm as good as Wolfgang, if not better. But all the people talk of is Motzart, Motzart, Motzart. He's not some musical God. He's just a composer. Just like I am."

"So you want the same attention that he gets? Is that what you want?"

Jonathan let out a heavy sigh. His shoulders slumped, the book dangling from his fingers. "Yes, I want the same attention." he said.

"And what will you trade for it?" The demon said. Black sclera flashed at Jonathan from his own face.

"My talent, it should have gotten me the attention by itself. But here I stand in the middle of dark forest with a demon. So, yes, my talent. I have no use for it anymore. But you will."

"Usually, I'd bargain for a little more. But it's been an awfully long time since I've gotten to play. I'll take it. Your talent is mine- henceforth and forevermore. Break our covenant, and I will consume your soul. Deal?"

"Deal." Jonathan said, stepping forward to clasp the demon's hand. They shook, and a burst of dark smoke poured forth from the demon's mouth and pressed into Jonathan's. He struggled in vain to stop it and collapsed on the ground.

"Now then, we've got some music to make." The demon snapped his fingers, and the two of them disappeared from the woods.

Months passed, and the city of Vienna fell in love with an upstart composer named Jonathan Schmidt. Fans said his brother came and watched every single performance he had. Twins weren't common, but they seemed a rare pair. Rarity aside, the audience focused on the bombastic symphonies Jonathan produced.

Words fell away with each progression of his works; you couldn't describe them in earthly words any more than you could detail the outlines of God.

Salvation echoed from the concert hall, and Jonathan stood ready to guide them.

Soon, years passed, and the composer found himself on a lavish estate. The gilded walls were a far cry from his leaky apartment and meager allowance.

But not everyone found joy at the abundant success. His twin brother drifted around the grounds like a specter. Despair seemed to emanate from his very being.

The real Jonathan learned the cost of his deal with the demon years past when he stood in a private study with Wolfgang. He asked Jonathan to play him a sample of his newest symphony, as Wolfgang found himself as captivated by the unique and bold progressions as the rest of the audience. But, Jonathan couldn't oblige his request. The keys felt stiff and unyielding under his fingers. His deal had robbed him of even the ability to play simple scales. Jonathan made an excuse of aching hands to Wolfgang and promised to play it for him another time. Afterward, Jonathan sat alone in a far corner of the estate and played the scales until the scar tissue broke under the repeated tappings of an insistent spirit.

More years followed, and so did his secret sessions where he rejoiced in his ability to make music once again. The fame and wealth were thin substitutes for the warmth of artistic growth. The shifting melodies let his heart soar higher than it ever had.

So high that he forgot to play quietly, and an old deal still rings true if both sides are around to benefit.

A furious clang broke through the room as a fist descended on the keys beside him.

"YOU DARE DECEIVE ME!" The demon howled as a fire, lit his eyes.

"Wait, wait! I was only playing for myself!" Jonathan said, scrambling away from the piano.

"Our deal was for ALL of your talent. Now, who has been a tricky human. You've gone and regained it, haven't you? After all I've done for you." The demon waved at the glamorous room. "You're trying to get rid of me."

"No! I just wanted to play again, that's all. That's all I wanted."

"NO. You wanted all of this. The fame, the wealth, the women. You wanted that all too. Don't lie to me."

Jonathan started crying as he pawed at the demon who had stepped in front of him.

"Didn't mean to-"

"Doesn't matter. A deal broken is a deal broken. I will collect what I'm due."

"You can't kill me. I did nothing wrong!"

"Kill you? I'm going to erase you. John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt." He hissed. "I've discovered your true name. And I will ensure I'm the only one who ever remembers you."

Jonathan opened his mouth to cry once more, and the demon spat a spark into his mouth. The old black smoke he poured in years ago had become a dark, viscous oil and caught flame.

The demon stared at the immolated man and began to hum a tune before finding the right words.

"John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt. His name was my name too."

And with that- the demon broke free from their contract and into the world. A world that magically discovered the jingle of a name that felt familiar yet fuzzy. The doppelganger broke loose into a world that contains consequences for actions, no matter the intentions.

"So when I go out, the people always shout 'John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt' La La La La La La La La."