Maeve knelt silently in the corner of her room, facing the altar with closed eyes. It was a humble oak table topped with an assortment of items, among them bones, wands, a dagger, exotic feathers, pentacles, and other such weapons of arte as were germane to her endeavours, all surrounding the central piece of the setup: A misshapen clay pot sealed with beeswax and inscribed with divers insignia. Looming over the altar was a framed sketch of a constellation.
She sat without a word, but inside, she was absorbed in the hallowing of her kingdom, shouting forth the formulae to the ends of the universe. This was her daily affirmation of commitment to the sorcerous life.
Maeve stood up, revealing just how tall she truly is. She was a young lady of considerable stature, with long, copper-coloured hair, a startlingly pallid complexion, hazel eyes, a long face, and a crooked nose. She has no memories of her mother and was raised by her father before his death placed her in the care of her grandmother, a hag firmly rooted in rural Essex.
"Alshujah, Alshujah, Alshujah.", she chanted, pointing repeatedly at herself with the dagger she took from the altar. Her voice was rather low-pitched for a woman's. "Alshujah, Alshujah, Alshujah." She placed the dagger back and closed her eyes once more, quickly whispering her way through the spell.
It was time to head out. Maeve approached the altar and carefully took the clay pot off it with both hands and unloaded it into her bag. She left the house and got on her bicycle. Summer has already passed its zenith. The cherries that grew on the trees along her route were gone, but the apples already began to redden and ripen. Maeve would occasionally pick fruit while on her way, but was otherwise not much of an eater. She grew up a sickly child, plagued by seizures, fatigue, and pain. She was also prone to nightmares and venereal dreams. In her case, there was often no distinction between the two. Her nights featured recurring characters and one in particular has been especially persistent over the years.
Maeve's destination was a spot in the forest at the outskirts of her village. As always, she placed her bike just outside the forest before entering into the thick of the woods. Stomping across dirt and leaves and roots, she made her way to the tree-guarded locale where three familiar faces were waiting to receive her. "Maeve", a voice exclaimed with a pinch of delight. It was Alexander. With him were Elizabeth and David. It was afternoon and the rays of the sun shone intensely in-between the shadows of the trees, adding a glow to Maeve's hair where they happened to touch it. Behind trunks and bushes, daytime clothes were exchanged for simple robes, brown and wide-cut. The four approached their established spot of congress, consisting primarily of two circular demarkations, a pyre, and a large branch in the likeness of a trident, driven upright into the earth. The pyre was lit and each attendant placed their clay vessel at a designated spot around the circle of the work. As this season's overseer of the procedures, David stepped forward. He was the least talkative among them, but delivered all orations of duty with passion. "Our venerable coven has assembled for the opening of the mystery of agape, the knowledge of thy coils." Baroque recitations followed, dragging on for almost an hour. "Mystery of mysteries..." The process eventually culminated into a mantric invocation of names. The four grabbed each other by the hands and formed a circle, walking clockwise around the burning pyre, at first, slowly, but the pace steadily increased. "MAHAZAEL, MAHAZAEL, MAHAZAEL!" Their circumambulation reached a dizzying speed. "LILLITU, LILLITU, LILLITU!" The minds of the four were settled deeper and deeper into a state of monomaniacal devotion. "MAHAZAEL!" "LILLITU!" "MAHAZAEL!" At once, the circle broke. Alexander was assailed by pain and cried out in agony before falling to the ground. His spine and head were seething with burning pain which quickly swept throughout his entire body, penetrating his bones and reaching his skin. He opened his eyes and looked up, seeing Maeve stare at him expressionlessly.
Her strange features have often wormed their way into his dreams, soliciting libations from his sleeping body. From down below, she had something imposing. For a moment, it seemed that the pain was going to dissipate, as if soothed by the sight of her, but suddenly, he witnessed her face contort and the forest darken around her. He saw her face getting longer and longer, her eyes shrinking, and her skin losing what little hints of colour they still had. The pain immediately resurged and his body began to shake uncontrollably. The three looked on, but didn't intervene or speak a word. It winded down and Alexander began to groan slowly. A strange urge overtook him. With half-open eyes, he began making unintelligible vocalizations, his voice assuming a pitch and quality it has never displayed before. "Amom... ovim... gramadr... obl... ob... obloch... tel... ciftias..." This bout of glossolalia continued for about three minutes before Alexander broke out in coughs. He coughed violently and uncontrollably, as if made to inhale smoke. He desperately gasped for quips of air before gazing at Maeve with a look of horror. The coughing stopped, but Alexander was exhausted to the core. His vision faded to black and he passed out. Elizabeth rushed to check in on him. He was alive, but wouldn't wake up. His forehead was hot to the touch. David, meanwhile, closed his eyes and continued to invoke on his own.
Maeve's hair stood up on her back. This was a familiar presence. She felt hands touch and rub her all over. A stream of thoughts made their way into her mind. Amorphous and vague at first, they grew ever more intense until vaporous thoughts condensed into a fully-fledged voice. "Maeve" This was his voice. This was the one from her dreams. A torrent of licentious memories, all recorded in obsessive detail in her dream journals, came rushing back up from within her. "Maeve" A sensation ensued as if a python were to wrap itself around her. She sensed kisses moving up her spine, then all around her neck. "Maeve" She closed her eyes, her hand gliding down beneath her robe. A foggy silhouette took shape before her, with two bright pearls of light for eyes. Maeve noticed that it was no longer just her hand that was lingering beneath her robe. Her knees began to shake and her breath quickened. She was panting and perspiring. "You are of our kind. You are of my seed." Maeve moved her hand more vigorously. "My daughter." Moans began to escape her lips. She was bewildered, but too absorbed in pleasure to think clearly. "What do you mean?", she thought. A scene emerged from within the silhouette and drew her in completely. It was a woman in bed, naked, moaning, and moving about. Maeve recognized that face from old pictures. It was her mother, surrounded by what looked to be a cloud of black smoke. Maeve was about to pull her hand back up, but felt it being held in place forcefully. The smoke took on the shape of a serpent and entered between her legs. The woman let out a wild moan and the vision dissolved. "Maeve, I only needed her to make you." The kisses intensified. "Your name, too, was given by me. You are special, Maeve. I only have eyes for you." Maeve was approaching release, but felt her hand being pulled back up. "I made you perfect, Maeve. Return home now." With shaky knees, Maeve moved to the circle and picked up her clay vessel. Without even putting her clothes back on, she left the forest. Elizabeth and David cleaned up the space. They took care of the remains of Alexander's clay vessel which shattered and spilled its ashen content when he collapsed in pain and knocked it over.