[u][b]Mary Hawthorne - Museum of Witchcraft basement - early morning[/b][/u]


The Cultist groaned as he yielded to Mary's skilled ministrations and finished. After a moment, his grip on Mary's shoulders relaxed and she looked up at him.

"Satisfied?", she asked. 

"I'm done", he said, nodding reluctantly. He then winced in pain as his stomach began to growl again. "You held up your end of the bargain, I'll grant you that. Now get it over with."

Mary gently pushed him back, off the wet area of the floor where they were onto a dry section, and then got up off her knees and stood facing him, and recited the reverse of the spell she had used earlier. 

OGTHROD AI'F
GEB'L—EE'H
YOG-SOTHOTH
'NGAH'NG AI'Y
ZHRO

As she recited the spell, the cultist froze, his features contorted with fear and pain, as a terrible change came over him and he literally crumbled into dust where he stood. By the time she uttered the final word of the incantation, a pile of ashes sat where a man had stood moments before. Mary sighed, then moved around the pile, picking up a battered old dustpan and broken broom sitting in a corner, along with the mason jar, and returned to the pile and knelt next to it, and carefully began to sweep it up, emptying it into the jar. Once satisfied she had collected everything, she picked up the lid and began to screw it into place. 

"You can come out now, Shelby", Mary said as casually as if she were ordering dinner, screwing the lid down securely and patting the lit for emphasis, "I know you've been watching."