Her black stilettos clicked audibly against the dull, dusty floors of the abandoned warehouse, punctuating her every step as she approached the chalk-drawn symbol. The repetitive sound echoed, carrying on and upward, traveling up the high vaulted ceilings, bounding off the walls of the hollow space. Only debris was left behind. Beer bottles gleamed in the silvery light of the moon and stars that shone through the windows. In the gentle breeze that passed through the shattered glass, stained with weather-worn graffiti, the trash that littered the ground rustled. The forsaken place was a haven for the homeless, and it smelled faintly odorous like must with hints of booze. The mildly foul scent appeared to be no bother to the raven-haired woman, now standing outside the eerie pentagram. Etched in the center and at the five points of the dark star were strange characters, humming with untapped, unharnessed energy that electrified the air around her. She took a breath, hands dormant at her sides as hesitated. What she was doing—what she was about to do—was an offense punishable by death. The act alone on her part could bring her family name to shame and destabilize the leadership within the organization she had served and devoted her life to. She had to be certain, and as her thoughts wandered to the ceremony that had taken place months before her resolve seemed to strengthen.<br/><br/>The anger was like a cancer, an ugly, nasty amalgam of bitterness and hostility that had been festering inside her. It had been threatening to consume her for some time now, and it was taking over little by little. It didn’t help that she was haunted, tormented by the memory of the greatest betrayal she had ever known. Vivid images of the grand ceremony played out like a movie in her head, where she and her brother stood shoulder-to-shoulder on an ornate dais. Proudly they looked upon their father as he willed the strength to stand on his own two feet. Though his complexion was a pale, sickly shade, he managed to possess the same regal air he once wore in his prime. As he addressed the prestigious order of hunters he appeared equally as proud, pleased as ever to name the successor of the Accolades.<br/><br/>Boastful were his words in reference to his selection. They were the kind of descriptors that she, as the devoted and faithful right hand, felt were in her favor. In her mind, they were words meant for her as recognition and praise for her loyalty, hard work, and dedication. At the sound of the name that fell from his lips, the world around her went silent. Even though thunderous applause filled the room Vanessa heard nothing as she proceeded to have an involuntarily out of body experience. From above, she could see the light in her vibrant green eyes fade—how visibly stunned she was. Quite desperately, she wanted to fix the blank expression that was the window to her disappointment.<br/><br/>Slowly, she came to her senses and forced a smile onto her lips. Though her hands felt heavy, like bricks, she managed the façade of enthusiasm by joining in on the applause. Vanessa looked to her brother, able to see that he too was shocked by the reveal. Deep down, he knew he didn’t deserve the highest title of the order. And yet, he was quick to embrace the limelight to deliver an ill-prepared acceptance speech. She was humiliated for him, but more than that she was humiliated for herself—a feeling she hoped would wane with time. Her trust in the organization was so unwavering that she assumed that the council had good reason for his appointment, that perhaps they saw something in him that they didn’t see in her. In the days that followed, her assumption proved to be far from the case.<br/><br/>Not only was Callahan incompetent as a leader, he was also heavily reliant on her guidance. But his unworthiness was tempered by his charismatic nature. Vanessa saw his shortcomings for what they were; mistakes for mistakes, failures for failures. It was only a matter of time before he made a mockery of their name, and with each passing day her love for him soured. Even her father, who she worshiped like a god, had fallen from grace—so far that her thoughts turned dark and twisted. At first, they frightened her, made her believe that there was something genuinely wrong with her. But when her fear turned to satisfaction, Vanessa began to entertain her cruel thoughts.<br/><br/>Imaginings turned to intent, intent turned to plans, and plans turned to action.<br/><br/>She pulled a dagger from her black coat, taking the sharpened blade to her palm. Through her teeth she sucked in a sharp breath, wincing as she clenched her hand into a fist to squeeze droplets of her blood into the circle. Her lips parted and she began to recite words that harnessed the power that emanated from the pentagram. The foreign commands forced the energy to pour into the symbol, turning the chalky outline crimson. It became searing hot, creating smoke the coiled up from the satanic runes. Those subtle notes of stale odor were replaced with the scent of brimstone, a sulphuric smell that was far more pungent. With her words and the offering of her blood, a demon would answer her summons. Volatile and untrustworthy, she knew it was a risk. Vanessa was on edge as she continued to chant, holding the dagger tight.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="1616" data-username="@Ottered" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/1616/">@Ottered</a>