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This is a work of FICTION, made by and for adults. The following chapter includes depictions of trauma, cutting, minor bleeding, and unintentional suicide. Reader discretion is advised.

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As the waning moon rose in the near dark of twilight, a young woman turned her head swiftly towards a faint glow in the distance, disturbing her frizzy, ginger locks. As she peered through the thick brush of the pine forest, the dim light of the setting sun barely let her make out torches and flickering red flames, followed by the distant shouting of men.

‘*No… How are they inside the ward?*’ Elva’s eyes widened while her heart stopped as she dropped her foraging basket. Turning swiftly, Elva sprinted to her cottage, hidden only a little further in the woods. The trees and branches seemed to grab her as she ran, snagging her dress and scraping her cheeks while rocks stabbed into her feet with every other step.

Just moments later, Elva spotted the wooden hut; she breathed a sigh of relief before her foot caught on a root, throwing her to the forest floor and knocking the wind from her with a huff. As she raised her head in a daze, Elva opened her eyes to see the cottage in a blur before coming into focus after a moment.

Elva grimaced as she grabbed at the grass and pulled herself back onto her feet to finish her flight, trying her best to disregard the pain in her toes. Practically running into the wooden frame, Elva threw the door open before quickly closing it behind her as she crossed the threshold.

Her trembling legs could no longer support her, and Elva fell to the dirt floor in tears, sobbing as fear overtook her mind. ‘*Móra, help me…*’ Curling her knees up to hug them, Elva wept into her skirt as she remembered her late grandmother. The scorching fire that carried her screams away tickled Elva’s skin while the shouts of the hunters that cheered on her demise deafened her ears. Dread filled her mind of the men with torches finding her too and meeting the same horrific fate of ten summers past.

After a few moments, Elva willed herself to stand up slowly and wipe the tears away from her eyes. ‘*I… I’m not safe here any more,*’ Elva sullenly wondered as she made her way to a small table of polished pine where her grandmother’s grimoire sat on an oak pedestal. As she opened the cover of the leather-bound book, she carefully read over the descriptions of the spells in her native tongue and the strange glyphs that followed.

“Wards… they’re already through the ones in place,” she wondered aloud as she flipped through the pages. “Divination… not that I can even read the rites. Potions, no. Healing, no! Where is it…” Elva began to flip more desperately through the pages until she eventually found what she needed.

“Finally! Summoning!” The last passages of the grimoire detailed how to summon immortals, spells that her grandmother had forbidden her from attempting. ‘*I’m sure whatever could go wrong couldn’t be worse than…*’

Elva shook her head to clear her thoughts before she tried to focus on the details of the spells and the specific warnings of signing a contract with demons. “I guess I’ll just have to be careful… Let’s see… Fairies… they don’t sound helpful… but maybe better than nothing. The rite is… oh, that’s,” her eyes darted across the glyphs, trying desperately to figure out the syntax and flow. ‘*It’s only the first one… and it looks so complicated… I don’t know if I can perform that,*’ she forlornly wondered as she read the details and the complex rite she had to recite.

“Next page, I guess. Elves… a little better; friendlier sounding, at least. What about the…” her breath caught as she tried to figure out the rite. “I… I don’t… even know how to read some of these glyphs…” Her head fell as she realized the futility of the task she’d set herself to complete. Before the tears welling in her eyes could fall, Elva clenched her hands and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

‘*You can do this… You have to…*’ After taking a deep breath, Elva turned to the next page. “Vampires… No, I,” Elva raised a hand to her mouth as she struggled to read the description of vampire blood contracts. ‘*I can’t sign that… I might die just thinking about it… sick at least,*’ she decided not to read the rite before Elva hurriedly flipped to the next page.

“Demons,” she whispered as she recalled the warning Móra gave. ‘*Please be helpful at least*,’ Elva silently hoped as she began to read about the infamous immortal. “Incubi are males, succubi are females… Contracts… consume the magical and physical energy of those they contract through… carnal acts,” she blinked twice as her breath caught in her throat; her chest began feeling warm. ‘*What would an incubus…*’ As her cheeks flushed, Elva wondered about how lonely the last few years were, the feelings and needs she started experiencing that were never satisfied on her own.

Suddenly Elva noticed how hot her face and chest felt and realized her mind had wandered from her task. After shaking her head and clapping her cheeks lightly, Elva looked down again at the open grimoire. “Okay, the rite… That’s… not too hard, actually.” Elva breathed a sigh of relief as she quickly glanced over the rest of the spell. “Okay, components… I have all these on hand. Sigil, I can draw that. Finally, I found something useful. What are my other options?”

Elva turned the page, only to discover that the sheet was blank. She blinked twice before her breath caught. “Wait… four summons,” Elva quickly flipped to the next page as her breath became ragged. “That…that can’t be,” The next page was blank, as were the next few until she reached the back cover. “There can’t be **just four**! Maybe I missed one,” she flipped the pages backward. “No,” Elva paused as she reached the previous section detailing healing spells, her hand shaking as she turned the page forward again.

“Four summons… and I can only perform one of them.” ‘*The one that has a warning specifically against, of course*,’ Elva glanced at the door to her small cottage. The walls felt so close as Elva turned her head, and the small gaps in the door almost seemed to glow with fire. Her heart stopped while her eyes widened before she shut them and turned away in horror. ‘*They’re here…*’ her thoughts turned to panic while her legs trembled before her eyes peeked open again. The glow was gone, save for the faint moonlight trickling in.

‘*I’ll take my chances,*’ Elva wondered as she turned the page back to the last summoning. “Demons it is then,” she whispered as she began to study the spell and retrieved the components she needed from the nearby shelves and bottles. ‘*Five candles and cat’s eyes around the sigil, feather of a dove, two sprigs of rosemary, lock my hair, and… virgin blood for the sigil.*’

Having collected the remaining materials at the altar, Elva picked up a small knife from the base of the pedestal holding the grimoire. ‘*Mine should work, I guess,*’ Elva wondered as she trimmed a few short hairs from her waist-length curls to set apart. Her hand trembled as Elva held it before her. For a moment, Elva stared with unsteady eyes and ragged breaths at her finger before Elva slowly raised the edge to her fingertip.

‘*It’s just a prick,*’ she wondered as she slowly pressed the knife into her skin, failing to draw blood at first. “Come on,” she whispered as she gritted her teeth, struggling to pierce her flesh until her trembling hand slipped and pulled the knife across her skin.

“**Ah**!” Elva sharply exclaimed as she dropped the knife; she clenched her hand and closed her eyes tightly to dull the pain. Blood trickled down her hand as her finger burned in searing agony. ‘*Oh, I-I didn’t mean to… cut so deep.*’ She took a few moments to collect herself and calm her breathing. ‘*The sigil, Elva,*’ she wondered as she pried her eyes open, looking over the design and drawing it out on the smooth table with her bleeding finger.

“There…” Elva said as she finished and walked to the shelves to fetch a wrapping and stop the bleeding. “Ow!” she couldn’t help but exclaim as she secured the bandage around her finger and tied it shut. Elva clenched her hand one last time, trying to avoid looking at the blood collecting on the dressing. “Okay,” she said as she looked over the altar and placed the components in and around the sigil. After a moment, Elva began to whisper in Wiccacant, followed by the candles bursting into small flames, illuminating the altar.

“That should be everything,” she said as she nervously examined the arrangement on the table one last time. “Now the rite,” Elva clasped her hands together and closed her eyes before reading the passage. ‘*Oh, Brigit, help me… and please… let them be gentle.*’

She opened her eyes and began to recite the strange glyphs. As Elva progressed, the air in the cottage began to shift around the altar, flickering the candles and disturbing the pages of the grimoire. Elva paused for a moment to brace her eyes against the newfound wind before she continued the rite.

After Elva spoke a few more words, she found a strange glow forming around the sigil. Gradually, it overtook the light of the candles as a golden mist began to emit from the components that followed the flowing wind. Finally, Elva finished the rite and watched as a heavy, glistening fog burst from the sigil and began to fill the cottage. ‘*Oh,* please *tell me this is normal,*’ Elva desperately wondered as she closed her eyes, waiting for the ever-brightening glow to abate and the wind to cease.

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