Fiammenta paced restlessly, her ebony robes swishing angrily around her ankles. Striding to the stone balcony, she glared at the moon, as if doing so could speed it up. It was almost there, just a little bit longer...
Whirling on her heel, the Dark Priestess strode off the balcony and surveyed the stone room, a small smile lifting her lips before they settled back into an annoyed frown. It was large, with an arching ceiling that disappeared into shadows. Magical emanations radiated from the black, stone walls, comforting Fiammenta, but further terrifying the prisoner.
Tied to a pole in the center of the room and surrounded by firewood, her matted blond hair fell about her face as she watched Fiammenta nervously. Still, there was something about her that irked the Dark Priestess. Not being able to put a finger on it, she dismissed the feeling. It was of no consequence; the girl was to die soon. Still, it further blackened her mood. She hated this infernal wait, this unsatisfied anticipation.
Checking the moon once more, Fiammenta strode over to the sacrifice. Whenever she did this, she always felt compelled to talk to her victim.
"Come to torture me beforehand?" the girl spat acidly, causing Fiammenta to smile viciously.
"Of course, what did you expect?" the Dark Priestess replied lightly. She wasn't going to damage her sacrifice, but terror often strengthened their soul.
"Well, you'll get no screams from me, Dark Priestess," the girl said scornfully. "Sorry to disappoint you," she added, sarcasm heavy in her voice.
"Oh, I believe I will. All the others said that, and the all ended the same way." Fiammenta placed a hand on her chest, smiling again.
"Oh, you're so weak you have to torture others to live. Funny, the rest of us manage. You seem to be out of date!"
Wishing with all her might that she could slap the insolent girl, Fiammenta turned and returned to the balcony.
Sometimes it haunted her, what she did to her sacrifices. Some shred of compassion kept her up at night, repeating the screams and last words to her. Another part of her reveled in their terror, their agony, the strength their death brought her.
Checking the moon again, she returned inside and stood at the edge of the pattern on the floor. Slowly the Dark Priestess went around, lighting the torches as she went. The prisoner watched, no doubt knowing she would die soon. They all knew, or guessed.
Once the eight torches were lit, Fiammenta stood in the center of the pattern, before the prisoner. Raising her arms, she called the fire to her. It raced to obey, lighting the other torches in the pattern. Eight balls of light merged above her head to form a ball of flame. The Dark Priestess held it there for a moment before throwing it down, igniting the wood at the prisoner's feet and inciting a hiss of terror from her. Fiammenta ignored it and started to chant.
As she chanted, the harsh words flowing from her lips with practiced ease, the room darkened. The fire gradually changed from red to black, as did the flames in the torches. Shadows reigned in the room, dancing around the still figures of the prisoner and Priestess.
As Fiammenta finished her chant, the fire roared up, engulfing the sacrifice and casting an odd light that illuminated Fiammenta. True to what the Dark Priestess had said earlier, the sacrifice began to scream, the sound echoing around the room.
Her eyes alight with anticipation, Fiammenta reached forward into the black flames and held her hands on either side of the girl. Slowly the screaming dwindled, as if it was being heard from a great distance. When Fiammenta drew back her hands from the motionless girl, there was a bright light between them. The glow writhed and twisted, but couldn't escape her grasp. Raising her arms above her head, the glow separated and ran down her arms to envelop Fiammenta.
Surrounded by the glow of the girl's life force, the Dark Priestess inhaled, drawing the soul into herself. Lowering her arms slowly, she savored the dark ecstasy of another's soul. Suddenly her eyes shot open in horror.
Something was wrong.
Instead of melding with her own soul, enhancing her power and strengthening her, the other soul attacked it. Drawing on her reserves of power, fueled by the energy of hundreds of other captive souls, Fiammenta battled the invading life force, but to no avail. Letting out a piercing scream, the Dark Priestess fell to the stone floor. Darkness, where her power reigned, fell, but it gave no aid. Losing the battle to protect her soul, Fiammenta fell still, her eyes open wide in unseeing terror.
In the darkness of the still room were two figures, still in death. On the lips of one was a smile. She had succeeded; the mighty had fallen.
First term, Gr 9, 2003