If you listened carefully, you could hear the screaming. And he did, listen that is, because the musical lilt of terror sounded like justice to his ears. Fire crackled from the lit sconces affixed to the walls, fledgling footsteps thundered on the flagstone and the screams, they sung, melodious as songbirds, echoing faintly throughout the makeshift chamber. He smiled. No greater symphony could have accompanied the moment.
He placed his hand gently upon the volume, worn and withered from the touch of countless others before him. As his fingers brushed the cover, he could feel the power thrumming softly beneath the paper and the ink. Tangible; it hung heavy on his tongue and the bitter taste of it, he thought, was the sweetest of all things.
The proctor gestured for him to begin. This was his moment. His reformation. His inauguration into life itself! Eagerly he stepped into the circle, into a millennia of ceremony the weight of which ground into his frail soul, and he recited the solemn vow. His voice was careful as he read with a deliberate cadence. And all the while, flooding his mind: visions of red.
YOU ARE READING
The Ninth Circle
ParanormalGirls are being murdered and no one can figure out why. When the detective on the case disappears, it’s up to her daughter to find the murderer and save her mom – Only Fliss could never expect what she is about to uncover: A world where Vampires, Wi...
