The cut on Dahlia’s palm throbbed in pain. The incision she had made was already spilling red blood.  She watched intently as each drop fell into the round, stone basin below.  The red orbs blending with the dark liquid.

  Wisps of thin smoke mingled in the crisp, cold air.  Her concoction had begun to boil.  All the ingredients were mixing together in a nice brew.  Soon it would be ready and the Call would begin.  The possibilities of it working were slim, but there was enough hatred burning in her heart; enough grief and pain gnawing at her insides.  This was sure to appeal to their senses.

  Dahlia closed her eyes; the waiting would begin.  The Call would begin.

~

            When Dahlia opened her eyes the grey light of morning was peeking through the windows.  She had lost her concentration and fallen into a deep sleep filled with horrifying gargoyles, blazing fires from hell, and bone chilling screams of the condemned.

  Their screams alone were enough to fill her with sheer terror.  The light did not settle her uneasiness.  She could feel eyes watching her.  Cold, hard eyes that show now mercy or compassion.

  Slowly, Dahlia straightened her arching back.  She spotted shadows shifting in the far corner.  A lump developed in .  Dahlia gripped her dress.  This was no time to be scared.  They couldn’t hurt her.  Not yet at least.  For now, she must be strong.  When her deed was done, her soul would willing be theirs.

  Taking a stand and turning, Dahlia let her gaze fall upon her ‘knights in shining armor’.  There they stood…

Seven Devils.