Seated in the centre of the pentagon drawn with blood, in a circle. Lyzebel gingerly lit the red candles all round the circle without standing up.
She then turned back to the hand mirror in front of her. Lifting the knife in her right hand, she brought her left wrist close to the sharp end of the blade.
"Wétsau deawub jïtgsã vcuīkbs koōlbf", she mumbled—pulling the blade swiftly across her wrist. Blood quickly oozed out, with enough drops landing on the handle of the hand mirror.
She clutched her fist, dropping the knife and as she held her hands in a beggar pose.
She continued to mumbled, "Græjyj basjhi lœdza ësftubaf qredavò ühsfin". The candle lights began to shift and flicker.
"Yúseaj tvsiî ndēa cczì lliggā vhewuô ci ngaeyj mavai". An unnatural breeze swirled across the room, havi
