In a room dimly lit by the light of the moon, a lone figure kneels. From within the darkened folds of its robes, a jagged looking implement is withdrawn. The pulsating glow of the object begins to fill the room and reveals it to be a wickedly curved bladed weapon.

He stares lovingly at the weapon while he holds it out in front of him. The blade’s light begins to pulsate rapidly as a single drop of crimson-colored fluid forms at its tip. Drawing a small circle on the rough wooden floor, the man murmurs almost imperceptibly. He raises the weapon higher in the air and more of blood flows from the weapon, completely filling the circle…

The man returns the blade back into his robes and pulls out a bloodied skull and a tuft of hair. After placing the skull in the blood pool’s center with the hair atop it, the man extends both arms and utters a short prayer.

“For the Red Lady…”

Slowly, ripples form within the small pool’s surface, leaving the skull undisturbed. Rippling turns into bubbling, which in turn becomes a turbulent churning. With a will of its own, the blood pool quickly flows towards the skull, crawling over its surface. A small blood tornado spins, turning inwards on itself atop the skull’s crown. The spinning mass slowly congeals into a cylindrical shape.

A violent, ruby flame bursts into existence. The cursed light burns fitfully from a single, crimson colored candle.

The blood-red flame dances seductively before the eyes of a lone supplicant staring intently at it. He is a man in his later years, with a lean build hidden within his robes. As the candle slowly burns, he barely notices any discomfort while kneeling in obeisance. The tempo of the fire’s dancing varied in time with the pace of the supplication; slowly and quickly, quickly and slowly.

“I offer this sacrifice in completion of my vows.

To the Red Lady…

To the Crimson Hunger…

To the Scarlet Maw…

To Mother Murder…

To the Ever-Thirsting One…

Make me strong to the Slaughter.

Make me cunning in the Killing.

Make me talented with the Torture.

Accept this morsel and be pleased, I pray.”

Just before the candle burned out a large gout of fire erupted from the wick. Writhing luxuriously in the blood-tinged flames, is the image of a shapely woman’s torso dancing within flowing locks of congealed blood. The figure turns to face the supplicant and gives an inviting, mischievous smile before a blinding flash of scarlet light fills the room. In the aftermath, silence and scorch marks.

The Goddess is pleased…

Find the inspiration for this HERE!