Chapter 1: A Desperate Ritual
This is a work of FICTION, made by and for adults 18+. The following chapter includes depictions of severe trauma (panic, dissociation), light cutting, minor bleeding, and unintentional suicide through ritual sacrifice. Reader discretion is highly advised.
The waning moon shone above the trees in the near-dark of twilight. A young woman swiftly turned—disturbing her untamed ginger spirals—towards a faint glow in the distance. Elva peered through the thick brush of the pine forest and wondered,
'What is—'
The smoldering flames of torches barely let her discern several tall figures. Finally hearing the chorus of men's shouts, she stared in panic and her heart stopped.
'No— How are they inside the ward?!'
Elva dropped her foraging basket and sprinted to her grandmother's home—hidden only a little further in the woods. The branches snagged her patched dress and scraped her cheeks while pine needles stabbed into her soles with every step; but she ran still.
Relief set in when she spotted the hut.
'There it—!'
Her foot caught on a root, throwing her into the mossy ground and shocking her still. As she squinted in a daze, Elva saw a blurred cottage before it cleared with a few blinks. With a grimace, she grasped the grass to pull herself up and finish her flight. She desperately disregarded the ache in her toes before banging into the familiar wooden frame, throwing the door open and then slamming it shut.
Her trembling legs gave out and Elva fell to the dirt floor, sobbing as fear overtook her.
'Móra, please, help me.'
She hugged her knees and wept into her coarse skirt. The scorching fire that carried away her grandmother's final screams tickled her skin, while the twisted cheers of the hunters as she burned at the stake deafened her ears. Dread quickly filled her of the men storming into her home and dragging her to the same fate.
With a few deep breaths, she wiped away the tears and willed herself to stand.
'I— I'm not safe here.'
She sullenly stepped to a small table of polished pine, upon which her grandmother's grimoire sat on a squat oak pedestal. After opening the wrinkled leather cover, she carefully read over the descriptions of the spells in her native tongue and the strange glyphs that followed.
"'Wards.' They're already through the ones Móra put in place, so that's no good," she contemplated as she turned the pages. "'Divination...' I can't even read the rites. 'Potions,' not helpful, either. 'Healing,'
no!
Where is—" Elva flipped more desperately until she found, "Finally! 'Summoning!'"
'Móra forbade me from reading these spells.'
She shuddered upon recalling her only scolding some ten summers past,
'I remember her warning me about demons
especially
, but... I'm sure whatever could go wrong couldn't be worse than—'
Elva glanced to the door before bracing her spirit. "I'll just have to be careful.
"Let's see... 'Faeries.' They don't sound very kindly, but— one might be better than no help at all. The rite is... Oh, that's—" She darted across the glyphs.
'It's only the first one and it's so complicated. I— I can't perform that.'
She turned the sheet.
"'Elves.' They sound friendlier, at least. What about the—" Her breath caught. "I— I don't— even know how to
read
some of these glyphs." She sulked upon realizing the futility of her task. Before the welling tears could fall, Elva wiped them away.
'You can do this. You
have
to.'
She took a deep breath and turned to the next page. However, she held her mouth in horror as she read the terms of vampire contracts.
'I can't sign that! My heart might stop just
Thinking
about it! Or I'll get sick at least...'
She hurriedly skipped to the next entry without reading the rite.
"'Demons,'" she shivered.
'Please be helpful at least.'
"They sound strong... and— not
un
friendly. 'Some additional biological differences between the males, incubi, and the females, succubi...' 'Contracts— Consume the magical and physical energy of those they contract through...
carnal
acts.'" Her lids fluttered.
