Blood red moon shone down on us. I didn't know who the sacrifice was, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to know. Where I live everyone knows everyone, that's the way it was that night and the way it still is. So I stood there, part of the circle, waiting for the sacrifice to be brought forward.
We heard struggling coming from my left, so I naturally turned and looked, curious about who the sacrifice would be. The girl and her captor came into the light of the bon fire, both in black robes.
She struggled and fought, but he held held her tighter. Time to dress her. He striped her down, then clothed her in a white robe.
I stared. I couldn't help it. My mind froze for a few moments. My sister. Of all people, my sister was the one chosen. My hood fell back, she looked straight at me.
Sister to sister.
Her eyes became glued to mine, and I couldn't do anything but stare back. The hand of terror clutched at my mind, my soul, my will to free my own sister.
And I knew I could.
But I didn't.
And she was looking at me. She was staring. Her eyes looked into me, into the very depths of my soul. Her eyes pleaded, screamed, begged for me to help her. They yelled at me, telling me how I'd betrayed her.
Her eyes were torn from mine suddenly as she was tossed to the ground, then bound with ropes.
No one wondered why I didn't help. No one wondered why I didn't free her. They all knew I could. . .but I didn't.
They tied her to the park table after laying a black cloth over it. She kept her eyes on me, her face defiantly speaking out at me, telling me she loved me, telling me she hated me.
I stood, my legs wooden. My eyes wide. Someone pulled the hood over my head again, and I watched as they formed a circle, and the same person pulled me into it. The figure standing at her right side, opossite of me, began a chant, then a prayer to his master.
He was handed a dagger, a beautiful dagger. The silver handle was a rose, a vine of thorns was etched around the blade. The blade was thin at the handle, then widened out toward the tip. He raised the dagger and held it to his lips, then spoke quietly, slitting his lips slightly.
The blade turned, and began to move down. I couldn't hear, one second he was speaking, and then the next the blade was coming down and a chant had begun. But I couldn't hear anything. The crackle of the fire left me, but silence spoke to my mind loudly.
He stabbed, and stabbed again. Stabbing, stabbing the figure on the table. Blood spurted, the gown became blood stained.
My sister's blood splashed my face.
I stood, numbed at the sight. My sister's mouth was open and I could only assume she was screaming. Her eyes were wild as she beheld the shadowed face of her murderer.
She stopped moving. Her head turned and looked at me. My hearing came back to me as she opened her mouth and screamed.
There was silence moments later.
The ceremony finished after each person had tasted the blood of the virgin, the golden chalice was replaced beside her head. Her eyes were still on me, glazed over.
Her binds were cut loose an hour after she had been declared dead by her murderer. We left her, and surrounded the bon fire. Our heads bowed as someone lifted the chalice and spoke, then poured it into the fire. The flames burst higher, and blood poured from the fire. We stared as a pool of blood came from the fire.
I snapped my head up and looked at the figure with the chalice. Had she spoken the wrong spell? No. . . she looked at the pool of blood, her eyes shining from under her hood, looking slightly concerned yet curious.
I turned, glancing at my dead sister's body. We all turned and looked, watching, stunned, as she sat up slowly. Her pale face turned and looked at us, her eyes still glazed, the color drained from her skin.
She got off the table and moved toward us. No one stirred. We couldn't move, nothing like this had happened during a sacrifice in this coven. She stood five feet away, then she walked up to the person next to me. . .and hugged her.
And the person after that, and the one after them, until she came around the circle to me.
Everyone stared, fear pulsing through their veins.
And it was sister to sister.
She hugged me. But I still couldn't move. We watched as she walked away after dressing in her clothes again. We listened as she walked through the woods. We listened throughout the night, we all stayed there, standing, chilled.
For weeks after that we all walked around looking hollow. Insomnia racked us all. We don't know why either, we've seen people rise after being dead.
But she was different somehow.
My sister and I never spoke again.
She's married from what I hear, and has two children. I think of that night often, the night she died.
I think we all died that night.