There was an old record playing in the background, the vinyl disc turning in circles as soft music filled the room. A mixture of musical sounds and the dark choir calling for his unholiness. The special room was lit with hundreds of candles, quietly simmering in the darkness.
Vivienne was standing in the middle of the light; standing, never kneeling, with her red silk dress which hardly covered anything at all and a hood draped over her head.
In nomine Dei nostri Satanas Luciferi excelsi.
Her voice was quiet, yet echoed clear in the mids of all the sounds coming from the record player. It was her time for her prayer; it was her time to talk to the one her entirety belonged to.
Akephalos, Shine through me, Come forth in war, Come forth in peace. Bring down the sun; Extinguish all the stars; Let me remain; In splendor of thy light.
In her hands, she held her sacrificial knife, and only her lips were seen as moving. Her breathing hitched as she closed her eyes, repeating the incantations she had a million times before. There was an old drawing if him in front of her, the unholy beast, the one who had always been in the centre of all her desires.
Bornless One; As darkness bright; Found not in tongues; Found not in light. Bring down the rain; Drain waters of Styx; Faustian luminary; Redeem; Blaspheme.
The knife lifted in the air before meeting the palm of her hand, the sharp edges cutting across her skin like butter, her hot blood seeping from her wound. Vivienne's eye's opened, as excitement shone through them. She felt alive, she felt as if his presence was there with her with each drop to the floor.
Like a day without the dawn; Like a ray void of the sun; Like a storm that brings no calm; I’m most complete, yet so undone.
The hand which was dripping with her blood now lifted to her face, as she smeared her fresh blood over her features; across her forehead, across her eyes, her nose, lips, and neck.
Agathos Daimon; Of plague and fever; Thy name is Nowhere; Thy name is Never. Liberate me; Ignite the seeds; Bind not to guilt; Ignis Gehennalis.
Her tongue traced the blood from her lips, as she dropped the knife to the floor. Then a chuckle left her as she spun around, walking through the candles as if she held the power within.
Hear me, and make all Spirits subject unto Me; so that every Spirit of the Firmament and of the Ether: upon the Earth and under the Earth, on dry land and in the water; of Whirling Air, and of rushing Fire, and every spell and scourge of God may be obedient unto Me.
It was the thing she was muttering as she made way through the halls, as she echoed through the statues of her beloved. Vivienne knew where she was, she knew where she was going. If the other girls weren't doing the same, if the other girls feared her, as they should have, this was no place for them. They didn't deserve the gifts bestowed upon them.
She stopped when she heard Serephina, curious about what the woman's offer was. "A gift?" Vivienne stepped out of the shadows, smiling at the woman in her own sacrificial state. "I'm not hiding." She noted as she walked up to the Supreme, and traced her bloodied fingers across the other witch's face.
"What's his gift?"
The crumbs in her hand stilled as she turned fully. Something like this was personal to her. Her tradition being one of them, there were other things she wasn't willing to share, not with anyone but their lord, their saviour.
Occultists, some would say, but she preferred the term Satanist.
"And you look like you've just — Vivienne, I know contouring can be tricky, but this is...a bit much, even for you!" Serephina didn't flinch, not when Vivienne's bloodied fingers traced the contours of her face, leaving reminiscent of age old tradition, not when her own visage depicted the art of a madwoman: bloodied, but hailing to their fallen angel. No, they were not vampires, blood used in traditions long ago. Instead, a slow, cathartic smile spread across her lips, meeting Viv's eyes with that renowned
"The gift, Vivienne," reaching up to touch the blood to white finger tips, she sighed as a brow arched. It was Vivienne. She was used to it. And there was a reason Serephina had kept her close all these years: her loyalty knew no bounds, "is not something that can be seen or touched. It's the breath of life itself, the connection we share with the earth, the very essence of our being as witches. It's the power that courses through our veins, the bond with the elements that makes us who we are — his gift is us." though, that wasn't the true gift. There was something, especially in prayer and thanks, was meant to stay between her and their divine.
"I, like you and everyone else at this school and out, seek his guidance, protection for our coven. Each day, I offer a piece of myself, a symbol of my dedication, of my loyalty, in exchange for his blessings." Pausing, she took a short glance around the gardens, the quiet, the calm: she imagined it drenched in hellfire momentarily. If it pleased their lord, then it pleased her.
"Now, tell me, were you practicing face painting, or is this a new ritual you've found yourself interested in?"
