???

Gloom.

Pitch black, suffocating, midnight blackness that engulfs and smothers everything around me, the
dimly lit candles occasionally flickering, only offering small spheres of refuge from the inky darkness.

I shift uncomfortably on the makeshift throne, the obsidian blade is heavy on my lap, the shifting of
my hand digs the thorns embedded into the handle and hilt deeper into my flesh feeding the
wretched thing more of my blood, the thorns growing slightly and pushing further out of the back of
my hand.

The doors creak open slowly as I gradually rose from the throne, brandishing the instrument of my
damnation in my left hand. Another sinner, another battle, another end to a another’s journey.

A mother, A father, A son, A daughter, A brother, A sister, A twin, it matters not to my duty, my
repentance is to kill them. So I’m eternally trapped in a cycle of sin and repentance.

‘thou shalt not kill’

But what if their trying to kill me? What then? Thus I’m trapped in this cycle, kill to not be killed. The
thorns on my blade grow ever longer. Before me stands a stocky man. A sinner of one kind or
another, it doesn’t matter. The job is always the same. Kill the sinner who passes through the
doorway.

I shake my limbs to get my still blood flowing again, my heart starts its cursed beat again to get me
moving, to fulfill my purpose. The light from the outside, however grey and diluted, is welcome.
Though it doesn’t reach the throne. At most it reaches three steps in. The man, My target (prey,
enemy, victim, sucker, fool, scapegoat) steps warily further in. It makes sense he would be worried
down here. But he also oozes a sort of confidence. The kind of confidence that carries you
throughout this wretched place and to the very gate house that I guard.

I lunge out at him, my blade pierces through the darkness and plunges into the man’s flesh. Catching
him off guard while he’s adjusting. There’s less fuss this way, less begging, less of a hassle. He grabs
my arm as I step into the light, the thorns of the bramble that has creeped up to my elbow spearing
his hand and furthering his agony. I plant a foot on his chest and brace.

“Sorry, but we do what we can to survive down here…”

I push with my foot and pull my blade out, sending his body tumbling down the stairs that lead up to
the chapel, joining the growing pile at the base of the stairs. I sigh as I turn around and sit back
down, the scale behind me ticking one more time, counting how many more I need to kill before I
had paid the toll to leave.
 Rosaline

Candle here, incense there, recenter the skull. The diagram was coming together. A smile crept onto
my face as I prepared my first ritual.

My mom knocked on the door. “Rosaline! Its time for lunch~”

A groan escaped my lips “Busy mom!”

“Will you come out to eat with us?”

“I’ll try mom but I’m in the middle of something!”

“Okay, Okay”

I wait for her footsteps to go down the stairs before I continue. Chalk here to complete this circle,
overlap it with this triangle. Put pig blood here, here and here. Glancing back at my grandmothers
note every time. Grandma had left me with a note when she died, explaining the world she lived in.
Mom thought it was bogus but…I was curious. Now here I am. 2 months later after all my
preparations. Getting my first ally like grandma suggested, apparently it wasn’t something human.
Something from beyond this world. A gate keeper she called it, It sounded exactly like something out
of one of my books! The thought of it almost made me laugh as I finished the last part of the
diagram I had spent so long hiding.

I quickly double checked the letter and moved everything where it should be, ending in myself.
Sitting down directly across from the main circle I pricked my thumb and let my blood hit the circle. 5
drops, just like what grandma said.

And then I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Aaaaaand waited some more.

. . . Maybe grandma was crazy.

. . . Maybe I should just go have lunch.

I stood and carefully stepped around the circle and went down to have my lunch.

Aaaah grandma. Why did you get my hopes up with such an odd ritual.
 ???

The doors behind me opened… that was new. They never opened before so I was on guard, blade at
the ready and my body wound up like a spring…

But nothing happened.

Nothing stepped out.

No ordinary joe, No angel, No demon, No hag, No witch, No DnD geek.

Nothing…

I cautiously stepped towards the door, glancing back just in case it was a trick.

Nothing stirred in my chapel. All was how it should be…

I took another step, moving extraordinarily slowly. This place was Infamous for getting your hopes
up just to dash them. Usually by killing you. It took me a couple…Minutes? Hours? Seconds? I
couldn’t tell. Time seemed so foreign to me now.

With an unnecessary breath to calm myself, more out of some long lost habit than need, I stepped
over the threshold, momentarily blinded by the radiance of the light that was coming through the
door.

When I opened my eyes I was standing in the middle of a room. More specifically in the middle of a
very complex diagram. Before lay the circle where I assumed my summoner should sit, an open
letter beside the circle. A bookshelf filled to and past capacity, the books shoved in at what I could
assume was no particular order. To the left a bed with the blanket hastily thrown on. The entire
room was illuminated only by candle light. It was gloomy, but even that light was welcome after the
darkness of the hell I was in.

Another check revealed nothing more of interest. A desk with some papers haphazardly arranged on
it, a box that was sealed shut, various pictures hung on the wall of an old lady.

Still no sign of the summoner…

I tried to step out of the circle but it does its job and kept me inside. And swing to stab at it but end
up punching the barrier, the whole thing shimmers prismatically, rippling from there my knuckles
made contact. It’s a surprise, the sword is no longer embedded in my hand…I turn my hand and
examine it in the candle light. My hand is entirely black, like its and inked out night sky on a painting,
once it hits my wrist the blackness spirals outwards in the shape of the brambles that where once a
part of me, thinning and ending at my elbow. It looked like a well done tattoo all in all. I turn my
hand over and down the middle of my forearm is a white space, the same dimensions of my blade.

Ah, that’s where it went.

I place both my hands on the barrier and try to find leverage, trying to find something to dig my
claws into and tear but fail to find purchase. A waiting game then. A sit down and wait, collecting
what little essence leaks through the barrier and strengthening myself.
 Rosaline

I hurry back up the stairs just in case, my expectations are low but…grandma wasn’t the kind to play
this kind of prank on me, not in her dying letter at least.

I sigh as I open my door and…

Was that person always there?

A person sits in the middle of the circle I drew, chin length raven hair and piercing jade eyes that
examine me as I stand in the doorway, flabbergasted.

“Are you just going to stand there?”

“i-I uh, wh-the letter- “

“Why don’t you come in and explain to me what happened, and why you opened the door for me.”

I shut the door and sat down across from the…person? Demon? Entity?

“I uhm…my grandma left me a note