Wednesday, December 12, 2012
I didn’t know if I should leave or start the ritual. Nate was quickly turning into something… not-Nate. No time to waiver.
Circle scrawled in hasty charcoal, only the meeting of the seams precise. Sigils followed with words from my mother’s book, voice weary, spell accurate. No time to falter.
Reaching for the needle, I looked too long on my brother, saw the animal in him rise. No time to avoid the punch.
Brain rattled, I returned the favor, aim true. His blood free flowing, I shoved him into the circle, magic etiquette be damned. No time left at all.