Sarah rose early and gave herself to ritual. They needed to be strong and free to be who they were. This morning she had stolen away to her private sitting room and cleared the chairs away from the center of the floor. Here, on the wooden floor, she drew a fresh pentagram, then placed black candles on each of the five points. She poured salt around the outside of the symbol, then lay a soft mat and an ornate Athame in the very middle. Dropping her satin robe in a heap, she stepped into the center to sit cross legged on the mat. Leaning up, she began to chant, lighting each candle with the bare tip of her finger.  The Athame was used to slice diagonal across her palm, freeing the blood to drip across her naked flesh.<br/><br/>Although the room was shut tight against the outside, a wind began to circulate, swirling her black hair around as if she was floating in water. Any watching would have seen her eyes change to burning coals of fire and witnessed her smooth stark white skin glow with an unholy green light. Sarah called on the powers of hell, of the gods and goddesses of the underworld to bind to her, to use her as a conduit for their power. The blood that now flowed freely from her palms turned black as it stained her flesh and the wooden boards of the floor. She would protect her own.