Lucifer watched, his eyes reflecting the fire within, and the bonfire that fainted in comparison. His women gathered in a large circle around him, unable to touch with the distance between them. Blood had been painted along the ground around the large tree in the center, making a mural out of the ground. Seven women stood like moving statues around his circle, and in the center he stood. He admired their bodies, each and every one being appreciated equally by him. The circle was miles wide – he was sure of it. Rather, pnly hundreds of feet stood between him and his own. A large fire built with tree branches as long as ten or eleven feet glowed wildly at four corners of the five-point star. Veneficas had ensured each fire roared tall. At the top point of the star stood a larger gap in bodies than anywhere else in the formation. Along the ground were rose thorns, beginning at this point, paving a trail leading back into the tree line.

Lucifer welcomed the virtue of patience: and so he waited.

Tempest stood immediately to his left. Her sweet, slender figure reminded him of the girls he used to chase in rudimentary school. Her breasts were small, as petite as the rest of her. Still, she was to his chest in height. One of the tallest. Her pouty lips mocked him as she came to the consciousness that he was watching her. Her mouth curled into a smirk as she put her hands at her protruding hip bones, standing up straighter. He smirked at her with dark intent, remembering her own initiation. How she cried when he whipped her, as if he had sympathy for any. Tempest made him pay for his aberration when decorating her quarters: the most expensive room yet to be crafted by his coin. The gluttonous blonde tousled her hair from her back to her chest, covering her skin down to her abdomen with the tangled tresses. Her eyes bounced back and forth between the others and the points of the star. Air.

A hundred feet to her right, and to Lucifer’s left, stood Evelyn Redwood. She had lighter blonde hair and it was adorned with the roses: the ones who had been raped of their thorns that lay on the ground. She was slightly shorter than Tempest. The two seemed close, especially over the past few months. He caught them together several times, though never in bed. Her body was several angles curvier, with a fuller chest and a thicker bottom. Her feet seemed too big for her body, but Lucifer only noticed when she was naked and he wasn’t able to touch her. Times like these. The Devil had caught wind that the others were more envious of the Treacherous than any other, but he rarely conceded hearsay. Even if it had truthfulness. Her full lips blanketed a tongue that lapped up a wound on her wrist, a deep cut that sent forth crimson quite generously. ’Leave it’, he thought. Air.

Fidelia stood to the right of Evelyn, and they had the second largest gap between them. Lucifer had to turn his body to see her. The antler tattoo on her forehead was always the first thing he noticed - she was very proud of it. He knew she’d be bathing in dirt, basking in the bite of insects until sunrise if she'd let him. Miffed, she stood, arms crossed low enough to show an ample, perky chest. Her abdomen was tattooed with the five point star, her naval being the center of it. The ends of her hair met her upper arm, it was straight and flat to her head. She had every demon in hell fooled, even Lucifer himself. Even with a general quest of seeking out idiots and being delivered from stupidity, no soul saw the Fraudulent coming. Earth.

Further spinning his body, Satan laid eyes on the majestic Isidora, Grim as he called her. Despite her namesake as a violent creature, she was as one with nature as Fidelia. She had broad shoulders, but concealed the lack of femininity with a fine jaw bone and voluptuous curves. Her lips, her chest, her behind. Her wavy blonde hair reached her elbows, moving not just with the wind, but with the motors of her mind. Her cleverness drove him to folly. He found her bringing out his curiousness more than any other. Air.

Ariel was next. He called her his mermaid, and this is how the legend came about. She kept to herself, and over the years most of her coven had been driven to the perception that if Lucifer wasn’t around, she would never speak again. Her Master wasn't aware of this, he could not fathom a world without himself, he just thought her odd. She seemed to have an aversion to the vibrations of others. Ariel was the driest of his creations. He recalled her not shedding a tear during her whipping. He appreciated her quientness, though. She never bothered him with the trivial. What went on in her mind? No one knew of her memorization of the Bible. Backwards. She recited it to herself often. Lleh ni ydob dna luos htob yortsed ot elba si hcihw mih raef rehtar tub :luos eht llik ot elba ton era tub ,ydob eht llik hcihw meht ton raef dna. she whispered to herself over and over, ignorant of Satan’s cryptic gaze on her heretical nudity. Water.

Medeia came next. She had worn a corset since she was a child, before puberty. Whether she continued this practice when her Master wasn't around, he couldn't be sure. Her body was something of an Eastern definition of beauty. Her waist was the thinnest he’d ever seen. She was thin everywhere aside from her chest which was on the large side. Her eyes seemed distracted often times, as if her mind was in heaven, trying to break free, and her body was here, trying to break free. But she had intentions of grandeur greediness and they had no rivals. Fire.

Clarissa was the last in the formation. She stood directly across from Tempest, a few hundred yards apart, with Lucifer being their approximate mid-point. Her dark eyes rivaled her Master’s. She was the one always most interested in the politics of His domain and he appreciated her insight into different matters. While she was so grounded and loyal to the death, she had an angry calefaction within her that rivaled the inner most circle of Hell. Fire.

It was now that he caught Ather’s scent, somewhere just behind the boundaries of trees her hair reflected the sky’s light.



It was somewhere near midnight with clear skies on July 10th, 1691.

“Huc Ather constituit adducite vobiscum,” he summoned forth the youngest of the Veneficas. She was naked with the rest of them, her body barely finished with its growing. She was short and thin. Ather was the newest addition to their family: the newest in centuries. Every few millennium, a Venefica formally requests to step down, but she is stripped of her youthfulness and is usually dead within the cycle of the moon. Traditionally, you don’t reject Lucifer and live long enough to feed the Heavens the information it so desperately desires. Satan makes sure of that. Ather was a new case, pleaded to him by Evelyn. She felt very sisterly towards the child and went so far as to ask her Master to change the tradition and save her chastity until she was of age. Of course, he jumped on this opportunity to spite God, and routinely initiated her, intercourse and all. Evelyn seemed grateful enough that he changed the course of the universe and created a position in Hell for Ather. If Lucifer ever felt fatherly warmth rather than carnal fire, it was because of that little girl. They hadn’t been intimate since her first night, almost a year ago. Rather, she decorated his belongings and danced for him.

Ather’s gait was more of a dance, her feet covered in protective leather. She moved slowly, with a beat in her mind’s eye. The blonde looked over her shoulder, feeling impatient. Finally she had reached the end of the trail of thorns and found herself in front of Lucifer. She kneeled before him with a smile, bowing and kissing the tops
of his feet.

“Tenebris noster qui es in inferno celebratus sanctificetur nomen tuum,
adveniat regnum tuum,
fiat voluntas tua,
sicut semper,
bonam mentem cogitare da nobis hodie,
et dimitte nobis peccata nostra cognoscimus,
ut auxilium ab aliis sua,
et ne nos inducas in ignorantia et hebetudine nos,
Tuum est enim in libertatem,
Et per consequens electio,
per ómnia sǽcula sæculórum.

Ave, Satan!”

Ather murmured her prayer to him and rose on his command. With his nod she moved to the space in between Evelyn and Fidelia. Air.

Lucifer felt the heat of the fire now, combined with the smothering Salem summer. He saw the glisten of sweat on the pale skin surrounding him, highlight of every crevice and curve of their bodies. They were holding their breath.

The coven heard her before they saw her. The flinch of her mouth was heard first as she stepped over the thick ground of thorns, not daring to step a toe out of line. Her walk was slow. Not yet had he seen her, her face or her body. What was her name?

Anastasia Caligari. Her long dark hair was in contrast to the majority of blondes behind and beside him. Her eyes were the same shade as her hair, he realized her striking beauty as she stepped out from the shadow of the tall trees and into the bright light of moon and fire. Her body was long and thin with a large bust and wide hips. She was more focused on walking as she tried to hide her flinch from the group so intent on assessing her every move. Anastasia walked on her toes as most others did. The bloody soles of her feet defined her becoming one with the earth, while arousing Lucifer’s thrill of pain. Satan never got tired of women, and he was elated by the presence of this one. The woman reached the end of the trail with a sigh of thankfulness. Soon physical pain would be something of her past life and she would rarely know it again. She would be above it, an accessory to Satan and his eight goddesses.

Patience is a virtue, Lucifer grinned as he recited the phrase in his mind. He didn’t want to wait for her but he was as set in his ways as any. Especially when they were his ways. The maid reached him, her eyes level with his mouth. He could tell she wasn’t sure if she should look up at him. His toughened hand reached her chin, raising it to his eyes.

“About, puer,” he spoke to her in Latin, his hands raising to the skies and signaling His to come forth. The Veneficas rushed to the pair, large grins on their faces as they ripped her from the ground she stood on and led her to the large tree trunk in the center of the star. The witches bound her tightly with rope, wrapping her by the neck, the behind, and legs as she hugged the tree. Her back was free of rope, the sheerness of market cloth the only thing shielding her unscathed skin. The Dark Lord picked up the small leather whip at Anastasia’s feet. The Veneficas stood in a circle closer this time, in between the fires and the two in the center. They held hands, starting to spin counter-clockwise. Lucifer leaned against his bride, pressing the front of his body to the back of hers. He comforted her with a silent touch, brushing her hair to one shoulder as he took his stance behind her.

The first whip came quickly and harshly, but it was the second whip’s anticipation that coaxed the biggest flinch from her. The witches surrounding them kept count while chanting their prayers in allegiance. The sky began to brighten with direct moonlight as he whipped her over and over and over.

“One hundred and eighteen!” he heard Ather’s voice above all.

“One hundred and nineteen!” he heard Evelyn’s voice above all.

“One hundred and twenty!” he heard them equally and stopped, breathless from the exertion. The back of her nightdress shredded into sweaty, bloody remnants. Her body was limp in front of him as he cast aside the scourge. Eight Veneficas loosened the cords around her, letting them fall to the dirt but helping Anastasia to kneel in front of the Master.

"In ancient times our Lord, the Horned One, was, as he still is, the Consoler, the Comforter; but men knew him as the Dread Lord of Shadows -- lonely, stern, and hard. Now our Lady the Goddess had never loved, but she would solve all mysteries, even the mystery of Death -- and so she journeyed to the Nether Lands. The Guardians of the Portals challenged her. 'Strip off thy garments, lay aside thy jewels, for naught may ye bring with ye into this our land'. So she laid down her garments and her jewels and was bound, as are all who enter the realms of Death the Mighty One. Such was her beauty that Death himself knelt and laid his sword and crown at her feet and kissed her feet." Lucifer spoke boisterously. He recited as any other initiate would, yet speaking of himself as the Dark Lord. Upon conclusion they peeled her dress away from her. Her last barrier.

"Repeat after me, saying, 'I, . . ., swear, by mine honor among men and my brothers and sisters of the Art, that I will never reveal to any at all any of the secrets of the Art, except it be to a worthy person, properly prepared, in the center of a Magic Circle such as I am now in. This I swear by my hopes of salvation, my past lives and my hopes of future ones to come and I devote myself and my measure to utter destruction if I break this my solemn Oath.'”

As she spoke, he felt her voice reverberate through the depths and the crevices of Hell and through the corners of his soul. Lucifer raised his head to the skies, his arms outreached. "Propitius esto, pater, nos enim peccare in aeternum." This translated to "Forgive us father, for we are going to sin."

Satan mocked the heavens.

Fire. She was fire.

Sacrifice. It was the one and only word that truly did mean something to Anastasia in this very moment. The rapid beating of her heart, the sharp stab of the thorns beneath her bare feet, the soft breeze that caused goosebumps to raise along her naked flesh- all of these feelings were dull in comparison to the yearning she felt to be one with Lucifer and His own. The heat of the ritual bonfire increased as she neared the end of the trail of thorns, now a thin sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead- whether it was from anxiety or exertion it was hard to tell. She had not yet dared to meet the gaze of any of the figures watching her, in fear of perhaps crumbling and losing her chances of being the woman she so wanted- no, needed to be.

It was with her last step on the bed of needle-like barbs that her gaze finally lifted, slowly gliding over each and every one of the maidens surrounding her. Her eyes, black in the night's cold illumination, first fixed onto a blonde- the furthest away from Him. She was one with a feral look and untamed hair, a fixed superiority about her that screamed intelligence and challenge. If she properly concentrated, Anastasia could pick out their circle with ease. It was as if the blood running through their veins called out to her their purpose. The Violent.

Next was a less prominent figure, one that seemed to belong in the shadows. Her hair, unlike the one before, was Raven black and her eyes held a mild curiosity. She seemed to be the most calm there, a tranquil quality to her that stood out from the others. Anastasia was three steps away from the trail of thorns when she placed a name for this one. The Heretical.

Savouring this distraction, her gaze made its way to slide past each individual contributing to the ritual. The Angry. The Greedy. The Gluttonous. The Fraudulent. The Treacherous. That left one more. A strong brow twitching in curiosity, just as she was a few paces away from where she was heading, she attempted to analyse that last Sister. She was visibly younger than the rest, built with more grace and clearly still growing out her youth throughout her body. Preparing to make her last step, with a tiny twist of reluctance, she forced her gaze to rest straight in front of her to look at Him. Lucifer.


All at once, a fire lit inside of her mind- an exploding array of questions and answers and a whirl of emotions ranging from joy to heartbreak, from anger to lust. It suddenly became perfectly clear why the Veneticas were so devoted to Him, why each of them looked at Him as if He was their only reason to live, to breathe, to exist. He was.

His touch knocked her out of her trance, tilting her head up so that her eyes met his. From them, she read danger and anger and fire- she was sure that if she went any closer then they would burn her.

The feeling of being dragged away allowed her to finally shake the cobwebs from her mind. The trunk of the tree she was pushed against soothed her burning skin, giving herself an excuse to refrain from struggling against the rope being wrapped around her. She did not feel nakedness as she had formerly expected, instead she felt an eeri calm while the ropes were tied. It wasn't until she felt a strong body pressed against her own that her peace was disturbed. Again, her nerves tingled with heat and a small, almost inaudible sigh pushed past her lips. It was this feeling that her mind fixed on as the lashings rained upon her, each one more straining than the previous.

Despite the cold, harsh agony- she did not scream. A moan would come from her throat every once in while, a moan that anyone could mistake as one of pleasure as opposed to one of pain. The last whip summoned a small smile to appear on her lips, streaked with scarlet. At some point she must of bitten down on her lower lip because a trail of blood dribbled down her chin, coating her teeth with red and making her pale skin seem white in stark contrast to the Crimson.

It was somewhat a relief to have the ropes peeled away from her red, raw flesh- but her satisfaction did not show. The pine needles and stones and fallen branches cut into her knees as she knelt before Him. Her ears rang with every word He preached, each syllable as sharp as glass in her minds eye. Anastasia did not attempt to hide her body as her ragged garments were removed, instead her spine straightened as if prideful of what she possessed, body and soul.

Her voice did not shake as she recited the words she was told to. Everything seemed to be sharper, far more clear now than they had ever been. She could hear the thrumming heartbeats of each of the women surrounding her, she could smell their excitement and she could feel the overwhelming need for the darkness pushing itself through her veins. Her gaze travelled upwards as His did as He mocked whoever was watching from above and she grinned a grin of pure bliss.

"Ignis est cor meum. Domi ego sum."
My heart is on fire. I am home.

They were magnificent, all of them. They made him feel such fulfillment and these spectacles reminded him of the victories he’d won over his rival. He was the victor over Christ, and he was reminded of this as he watched them dance. Ather was the first to run to Anastasia’s side. The younger girl helped her to her feet, grabbing her hand and including her in the dances. All of the women roamed around each of the four fires as Lucifer wiped the saliva from his mouth, watching the naked women dancing in glee and in reverence of their master: Him.

Lucifer rarely danced with them. He watched them praise and gallop through the expanse of the hours, through the night and into early hours. While some were closer than others, and some were more distant towards others, they all so selflessly recognized their purpose of enlightenment in these dark times. The Veneficas danced, laughed, giggled, kissed and smoked in light-heartedness.

An hour or two before the sunrise would peak through the little blades of grass, preliminary to overstepping the tops of the large trees, Satan found Anastasia near the center of the formation, chanting and skipping. He could see the wariness on her face from the wounds and the extravagant celebration. She was still unknown to him, and he had intention to change that before the sun rose.

“Mistress,” he reached for Anastasia’s hand, as she had begun another dance, and her partner Evelyn gazed at him with a knowing, confident eye as if to remind him that she wouldn’t be forgotten, he knew she might whisper “Think of me when you are inside her”. The girls separated their touch, and the new Venefica came with him willingly.

Her Lord took her back in the direction of the trail of thorns, and in the dark they were careful to avoid it with their flesh. Her arm was hooked in his as he led her towards their seclusion for the night.



Fidelia had been waiting for the moment that her master might run off with the new addition. She would be free of his prying eye, at least. She brought one of the pipes of Opium from the fire of water towards the bonfire of air where Clarissa laid flat on her back, watching the stars. Her labored breathing told Fidelia she'd only just begun resting. Not here. She couldn't touch her with Tempest's eye.

“Stars are there forever. Sometimes you just cannot see them when the sun is awake.” She sat near her friend's head, bringing her knees up to her chest and pressing her breasts against the tops of her thighs. Clarissa took the pipe when passed, puffing on it with intent to rejuvenate the fading euphoria. The high spun Fidelia around, and when she flew with the stars she often felt more grounded than when sober. While she felt weightless like a bird, she felt as if she was a Siamese twin to the earth, bound together by flesh. One hand hugged her knees and the other stroked Clarissa’s dark hair back from her face. They both had sweat on their foreheads and their bodies were warm and wet with the jubilation of partying.



Tempest had left the company of Evelyn’s control and found her way silently into the trees. She leaned against the coolness of the tree, relieved by the coolness of the night air away from the intense heat of four raging bonfires. The brunette appreciated the warmth, but for hours her temperature had been rising and she desperately craved reprieve. Her naked body reflected the light of the moon and she sank down into a seated position against the trunk.

“Domine, propitius esto mihi super contritione regnum fero,” she recited, asking for forgiveness for her mistakes. How had she gone from never dreaming of treachery, to rivaling Evelyn the Treacherous with her sins? How had she become something so different than the witch she’d fancied herself as?

“Beliel,” she whispered, her eyes closed and her hands clasped in prayer. “Lover.” Tempest welcomed him, hearing his distant, passionate, and youthful step.