@kingichor but tagging isn’t working so @stratagemichor
“I summon thee, o dark Lord.” she spoke calmly, her voice unshakeable despite the frigid winds whipping around her whispy form. A lone witch stood upon an ancient stone altar illuminated only by the light of the full moon. The colour of her soul stained by the wroth of a woman betrayed by man. “Everything I am, I give unto you.”
Upon the altar lay four bodies wrapped in cloth. The white fabric had stained, the bloomed fluid drying as a sickly brown. Witch-accused. All four had been wrongly burned. Learned women of the land with the knowledge to help the sick through native plants and tinctures.
“This body. The blood in my veins. The heart beating in my chest. The very soul that binds me here. All of it, become yours. Arise, dark Lord! Answer my call.” Aerith’s nose wrinkled in anger. “I SAID ANSWER ME!” her voice boomed.
Distantly, some few torches could be seen making the long ascension up the mountain. It was no easy task to bring four bodies up to the summit. Let alone to do so in complete secrecy, when she had been forced to rob the paupers grave where Circe, Hazel, Nova and Willow were carelessly laid. Incensed, she glared into the silence. Hand closing upon the hilt of her dagger, a tool often used in foraging the woods. She had nothing else to lose. Should those torches come to shine upon the alter, she would not be taken alive.












