The match touched the wick, and the candle flared into life, the only light in the darkened room as the small flame on the match was snuffed into darkness. The tiny light flickered and waved with her breath, slowly beginning to melt the wax of the deep red candle. Silence pressed down upon the room as she set to work, dipping her index finger into the small bowl of vanilla oil. Slowly, carefully, she lifted the red candle and began to spread the oil, lightly dragging her finger along the top edge and watching the oil begin to glisten there. She then moved on to do the bottom edge, and drew four lines on each side of the candle, connecting the two lines. She then drew two more lines near to the center of the candle, horizontally across it. Once finished with this, she wiped her hand on the very edge of the black cloak she wore.

She lifted the candle once more from it's holder, setting it gently in the center of another, larger bowl, and then grabbed the bowl of rose petals. Without sound, she layered the rose petals around the red candle, making sure they were perfectly even. She then proceeded to grab the sharpened dagger from it's sheath on her waist, and held her wrist over the bowl which had previously held the rose petals. Tensing slightly, she set the tip to her wrist, and then slit a short, vertical line. It was decently shallow, but still bled freely, quickly beginning to fill the deep bowl. She watched in silence as the thick red blood pooled inside the boundaries of the bowl, a slight smirk flitting across her face. It was all about the color red tonight.

Once the blood was nearing the rim, she turned her wrist the other way, and quickly patched it up, re-sheathing the dagger. With careful, precise movements, she poured most of the blood over the top of the rose petals, soaking them and turning them even redder. The bowl was nearly empty when she stopped, setting it down, and once more picked up the candle. She tipped it sideways, pooling the wax that had already melted in the center of the bowl, then set the candle atop it again. She lifted up what remained of the blood, pouring it over the candle, making sure the flame stayed alive.

The entire time she went through this process, her mind was focused on his face. A dark smile graced her features, the only expression she had shown throughout the night. She sat back now, folding her hands in her lap, perfectly content to wait. The candle had, as it should have been, been quite short and wouldn't take very long to melt completely, especially not with the strong heat of the nearly all blue flame. Hours passed, nothing in the room changing except for the flickering flame and the height of the candle, until finally, almost all the wax was pooled inside the bowl. It was time.

She leaned forward, pulling the bowl into her lap, chuckling darkly to herself. He would die tonight. Her lips began to move soundlessly, lifting her head to the sky as she closed her eyes. Finally, after nearly ten minutes, the words she had been whispering became audible. "Aslak desnar blesk felam narfé..." The dark chanting continued, until the sound filled the room and echoed from the walls, the flame writhing at it's sound, the blood soaking the petals beginning to boil, the candle wax hardening to a solid. The spell was working, she could tell, as adrenaline began to race through her body, the cut on her arm burning almost as hot as the blood that had leaked from it. An ice cold breeze blew through the room, while no wind should be possible, the room possessing no windows, with a door that led only into an equally window-less hallway. She shivered slightly, her chanting continuing uninterrupted.

She could hear his agonized scream in her mind, could see him writhing and sobbing in pain. Oh, how his lifeblood would service her when his time was through. She could already feel it's warmth, the sticky wetness, on her fingers, running down her arms as she sacrificed his life to her Goddess. She could taste the delicious copper-salt taste that was always in fresh lifeblood, running down her throat as she drank, toasting to the divine, beautiful spirit that gave her life. And it would be all the better, as her hate for him would give it that sweet, strawberry-like taste that she so adored.

Her eyes flew open as the bowl began to burn her palms, letting out a low hiss of pain, and clenched her muscles to avoid dropping it. She had to endure this. The scent of burnt vanilla, rose petals, blood and candle wax mixed in the air, assaulting her nostrils. The vanilla and rose petals had an almost sweet scent to them, where the bloods scent was simply brutal and foul, like copper except more sour, and the candle wax had an almost fruity smell to it. The final ingredient was what must be added now. Shifting her grip to grab the small bag of the beans sitting beside her, she dumped them into the bowl, and instantly their burning scent mingled with the rest in the air, smelling nutty. There. It was finished. Her chanting had continued this entire time, never failing or stalling. And now she ended it. "Reskale!" she screamed into the air as her entire body convulsed, back arching and throat closing. Fingers clenching, stomach twisting. A sense of burning shooting through her. And then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Panting, she set the bowl on the ground, the heat slowly beginning to fade from it. He would be dead in a matter of half an hour. And his sweet blood would be hers.