Blood Rite free porn video

“And with the blood of a virgin, the ritual is complete.”

A deep voice boomed out, echoing off the packed earth lining the basement of an abandoned shack. The ground level already sat partially collapsed, the elements taking their toll on the termite-infested planks that once held it all together. Pitch blackness surrounded it in the dead of night. Trees of an unkempt forest locked away its secrets deep within their scraggly folds.

In the basement, candles burned, dripping wax like a torrential waterfall in slow motion while hooded, cloaked figures moved in from the shadows, encircling a girl bound and gagged in the center of a chalk pentagram. Her navy pleated skirt rode up her thighs, baby blue panties peeking out underneath the hem. Arms tied in front, legs bound tightly together; white collared dress shirt pressed tight, buttons threatening to burst over her breasts— her innocent doe eyes quivered at the metallic glint of a knife catching the flickering candlelight.

She tried to scream, but only muffles escaped her school uniform’s tie, the maroon-tinted fabric stuffed unceremoniously between her delicate cherry-red lips. One of the figures, black muslin flowing shapelessly around their body read out from a leather-bound book— The Sanguinomicon. Gold embossed letters worn with years, no, centuries of use lined its thick spine.

Struggling against her restraints, she tried to crawl out of the pentagram, but dark figures blocked her. The knife drew nearer. Tears streamed down her face while she felt helpless, trapped.

The sharp edge grazed her cheek. Stormy grey eyes gazed emotionless from underneath the black hood of the knife-wielder, eyes that she knew. Sobbing, she replayed her short life through her head, bracing for the worst. The knife drew back, point directly over her chest. Silently, she tried to beg for her life. Her whole body trembled. She shut her eyes and prayed.

Her prayers were answered.

Above them, heavy footsteps could be heard. The Master of Ritual closed The Sanguinomicon's yellowed pages to see who invaded their sacred place of worship. Pounding on the basement door caused the other cloaked attendees to stop and stare, all eyes glued to the entrance of their holy ground.

With a bang, the basement door swung open. Strobe lights flooded the room while police sirens blared outside. Officers in SWAT gear, guns out, hands on the trigger, rushed into the basement of the dilapidated shack shouting:

“Drop it!”

“Hands up!”

Chaos ensued as the ritual stopped interrupted and incomplete. Candle stands toppled, extinguishing on the packed earth floor in plumes of smoke. Many hooded figures escaped into the night, pushing past officers in a flutter of shapeless black with The Sanguinomicon dropped in the confusion.

“Miss, are you okay? Are you hurt?” An officer removed the girl’s gag making her cough and sputter.

“What’s your name? Who did this to you?” Another officer cut the twine rope binding her and offered her a bottle of water. After catching her breath, she finally spoke simply and straightforwardly.

“I’m fine.”

“Can we get your name for the record?” An officer in a bulletproof vest took out a tape recorder.

“Melissa,” She said, once again, simply.

“Care to tell us why there’s a Satanic ritual going on here?” Two more officers surrounded her now, helping her to her feet.

“I need to go home,” She said, once again, straightforwardly.

“Give us a statement,” the officer pleaded from behind his helmet.

“Am I free to leave?”

“Legally, yes, but—”

“Then I’m going home.” And with that, Melissa simply stood up, straightened her skirt, and walked off into the night, rope burns on her wrists, ignoring the officer’s requests for her statement. She was a very straightforward girl.

~

Three in the morning. At least, that's what time Melissa thought it was. Her birth-donors banned her from owning a cellphone, even a shit one. Unlocking the front door, Melissa entered her quiet suburban home. Tiptoeing up the stairs, she treaded over the carpet, careful not to wake her sleeping parents. In small towns like hers, news spread fast. In her backpack, she carried The Sanguinomicon, saved (barely) from police custody.

Entering her bedroom, she locked the door behind her. Well, technically she wasn’t allowed to lock her door either, but fuck the rules. Pagan trinkets adorned her shelves, draped with black satin. Skulls harvested from roadkill, quartz crystals, and tarot cards filled every available space. And, of course, in the center of her teenage bedroom, a bright pink bed complete with pastel pillows and excessive frills sat smack dab in the center, standing out like a sore thumb. She hated her bed, but her mom insisted, and it wasn’t like she had the money to buy bedding that suited her eccentric tastes anyway.

Having celebrated her eighteenth birthday just a week prior, Melissa felt very grown-up. Adults wouldn’t understand. Fiddling with her lambert lip piercing with her tongue, she unbuttoned her blouse and lay down on the bed. She rustled through the musty Sanguinomicon, yellowed pages inked with calligraphy and occult symbols, cryptic and vast. A silver pentagram pendant on a chain hung from her neck, dangling between her cleavage while she perused the black magic between its leather covers.

The Blood Rite: the ritual that was supposed to happen that night. Melissa didn’t think they’d actually try to sacrifice her. She would have slept with Fred if she knew they’d hold her at knifepoint. Running her fingers over the vellum, probably made from sacrificed goats, she read and reread the ancient runes before drifting off into a troubled sleep.

~

In her angsty teenage dreams, images flitted across the great plane of her post-pubescent mind.

From the depths of her subconscious, a giant clawed hand with pointed nails burst forth, enveloping her, crushing her until she felt her breath leave her lungs. Pentagrams dripping with blood melted off the walls while the room shrank and shrank into nothingness, taking her with it.

Reduced to a speck, Melissa floated through the void. Ancient voices speaking in tongues teased her ears. She felt a tugging on her piercing, stretching her lower lip outwards and lengthwise until it stretched across the blackness, pinning itself to a pike in the distance. Being a dream, she accepted her new warped reality.

The clawed hand returned, dwarfing her in its presence. With a single flick of its gnarled index finger, her baby blue panties shredded, exposing her rounded buttocks. With lip pinned in the distance, she gasped as one giant demonic digit rubbed up and down the outside of her virgin slit. Flashes of goats with four horns and owls with six beaks taunted her eyes which were now sewn open, lids embedded in her skull.

The rubbing on her pussy became vigorous. Her clit swelled larger and larger like a balloon, expanding with each stroke of the hellish hand, the hard nub jutting out like a small dick. Young hormonal juices trickled down her legs. Moaning, she felt herself reach the edge in the most fucked up wet dream she ever had. The demonic hand sensed it too and stopped teasing. Fingers curled, sharp nails on point, the hand grabbed Melissa whole, sinking into her flesh. She felt no pain, but she felt something stir inside her womb while continuing to sail through dreamland on turbulent waves.

~

The next morning, Melissa awoke tired and disheveled. Running a hand under her panties, she felt soaked. Her pungent arousal stuck to the inside of her thighs and stained her sheets.

“That was trippy.”

Usually, she forgot her dreams, but she remembered this one in vivid detail. Something about a giant hand merging into her— she yawned. Saturdays were family fun time. A term coined by her dad, and a term she hated with a passion like her hot pink bedsheets.

Shuffling down the stairs in a jet-black bathrobe, she followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen.

“Rise and shine, bubbly-kins,” Her mother greeted her with a warm smile while piling never-ending eggs and bacon onto a plate with a spatula.

Melissa grumbled, “You know I hate when you call me that, mom.”

“Would you like ketchup with that?”

"Yeah, sure, whatever.” Melissa tousled her already ruffled hair before slumping down at the kitchen table in front of her dad.

“Morning, honey pumpkin,” He beamed at her while skimming over his newspaper in his daily ritual. She growled in response.

This morning, everything ticked Melissa off. The stupid pet names, the stupid decaffeinated coffee in her stupid pink cup, and especially the stupid smile of the stupid ketchup face her stupid mom squirted over her stupid eggs and bacon.

“Fuck this. I’m going back to bed.”

“Nah-ah-ah, no you don’t, sweet pea babycakes. It’s family fun time, and we are going to family fun watch the news.” Her father wagged his finger at her.

“Listen to your daddy, darling angel muffin.”

"Ugh, fine. I’ll watch the lame-ass news, but that’s it.”

“Good.” With a sip of decaffeinated organic coffee, he turned on the tv with a remote.

Channel Nine news flickered onscreen. A middle-aged reporter lady appeared flustered in a burgundy suit jacket, holding a microphone to her lips, badly permed hair windswept. Behind her, the abandoned shack Melissa almost died in not twenty-four hours earlier sat surrounded by scraggly trees and shrubbery.

“Hello, Maplewood, this is Angie with your morning news. Breaking story just in, police say they raided a dangerous Satanic ritual last night that sent shockwaves through the sheriff’s office. Cloaked figures wearing black tunics were spotted running away into the woods. Eyewitness reports state seeing smoke rising out of this very shack.”

Melissa’s father raised an eyebrow and set down his paper. Her mother stopped squirting ketchup onto her breakfast spread, ears perking up in interest. The special report continued:

“Inside the basement, SWAT team members found a girl bound and gagged, but unharmed in the middle of what appeared to be a demonic pentagram. Police also discovered remnants of animal blood at the scene. Unable to confirm if the victim was a minor, police are keeping her identity secret at this time. If you or anyone you know have any leads, please call the station at 555-JUST-NO-SATAN. To repeat, that’s 555-JUST-NO-SATAN.”

“Oh dear, Jeebus Fishsticks,” Melissa’s father gasped, clutching his hand to his heart. Being a good Christian, he never used the Lord’s name in vain.

“Oh dear, hubby bubby! Take deep breaths and pray, just like the good doctor told you.” Her mother went to comfort him, but her own mouth no longer closed properly on its hinges.

Melissa sighed loudly and rolled her eyes while the reporter wrapped up her fear-mongering.

“Until more is confirmed, stay safe, stay inside and keep Jesus close. This is Angie with your morning news. Now back to you, Robert, with the weather...”

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear...” mumbled her father incoherently.

“We told you this witchy stuff of yours was no good, bubbly-kins. Letting you decorate your room was a mistake. Now young girls are being kidnapped, and worse, being turned into...” her mother whispered the last part, “... atheists! Oh, pray to Jesus, honey bumpkin.”

“Jesus god damn it, mom, I’ll be fine.” Melissa suddenly felt constipated, pain welling up in her lower abdomen. Too much bacon grease, she thought, gritting her teeth in frustration.

“You’re going to church tomorrow, young lady. We’re gonna wash the sin right out of you,” spewed her father, eyes nearly bulging out of his sockets.

“No, anything but that,” begged Melissa.

“Our house, our rules. Thou shall obey thy mother and thy father. You will go to church tomorrow and you will like it until you accept Jesus as your Lord and savior. Until then, you’re grounded until this Satanism you kids are doing is gone from our god-fearing town.” Tears welled up in her mother's eyes. Her word was final.

“I’m eighteen now. I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”

“Honey dearest, I think it’s time we get the padlocks,” suggested her father.

“The padlocks?” Melissa’s eyes widened with fear.

“The padlocks. Go to your room. Now.” Her mother, and once again, her word was final.

“But mommmmm...”

“You and your demon friends will not wreak havoc on our good Christain neighborhood. Now go upstairs to your room, and don’t come out until dinner,” said her mother.

“Fuck you.” Begrudgingly, Melissa stomped upstairs, slamming the door behind her. To be honest, she felt a little clammy and a little bed rest wouldn’t hurt. At least her parents didn’t discover The Sanguinomicon. Chains clinked unceremoniously outside her room while her overzealous parents locked her away in her personal prison.

~

Melissa felt woozy. Fatigue took over as she collapsed defeated on her bed, pink frills framing her youthful face. She planned to go out with Fred on a date later that night, but after him trying to kill her, she wasn’t sure she trusted him anymore. Anyway, it wasn’t like she could go out seeing that her parents locked her inside with padlocks.

“Ugh...”

Pressure welled up in her stomach again. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead, the translucent drops glistening like dew. The bacon grease really did a number on her. Groaning, she shifted onto all fours to try and relieve herself of the discomfort. Her pentagram pendant dangled precariously over her shoulders.

“It’s just gas. Should’ve eaten more veg.”

But it wasn’t gas. In the moment of realization, her face dropped in horror. How could she forget her period was due?

“Fuck.” She knew only a small window of opportunity existed before the cramps overpowered her, but the pain meds sat downstairs in the kitchen. Thinking quickly on her feet, she ruffled through her drawers for a pair of underwear she didn’t care about.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck...” Most of her clothes lay dirty in a neglected laundry heap, leaving only untarnished, white cotton panties. Her mom would know, and then she would— Melissa knotted her brow in frustration. She didn’t want to think about that.

And the pain! Searing, throbbing pain. It didn’t matter who knew she was on the rag. She pounded on the door, chains rattling outside.

“Mom! Dad! I need to use the bathroom!” No response.

She placed her ear over the wall bordering the hallway. Muffled voices could be heard. The terms ‘reformatory school’ and ‘Christian values’ floated through the plaster, stinging her ears with venom.

“I’m eighteen. They can’t send me off without my consent,” she scoffed. Then with more desperation in her voice, “Mom! Dad! Mom! Dad! Let me out! Let me out!” Still nothing.

Dropping to her knees crying, Melissa sobbed great big tears. Neglected in her overbearing household, she felt trapped and hopeless. Her parents weren’t coming for her. She didn’t even know if they loved her.

Along with her agonizing tears, a solitary ruby-red drop trickled down her leg. “If I’m gonna be stuck here on my period, I might as well free bleed all over those stupid bedsheets. Fuck them.”

With labored breaths she removed her bathrobe and laid splayed out naked on the bed, mounting pressure pulsing from her insides. Next to her, The Sanguinomicon stared at her enticingly, its pages fluttering open of their own accord.

The Blood Rite:

Be one of willing soul to part from thy lips,
Virgin ruby most sanguine.
Give unto me your devotion,
Centered on the five-pointed star sublime.
Merge with me as one in bath of blood.
Before one knows, it shall be done.

At least, that’s how she and her pagan friends shoddily translated the Latin. Mulling over the black magic, throbbing pain dulling her senses, her heavy lids threatened to pull her into a restless sleep.

Tap... tap... tap...

Grumbling, she propped up her head, looking for the source of the rapping on her window pane.

Tap... tap... thunk!

“What the hell?” Something hard bounced off her window with a clunk.

Slipping on a pair of white cotton panties and an oversized band t-shirt, she opened her curtains and peered outside. It was Fred, at his feet a pile of twigs and rocks. A stone from the garden sat clutched in his left hand, waiting to be thrown at the unsuspecting glass pane.

“God damn it, Fred. What are you doing here?” She yelled down at him while sliding open the window.

Standing there in khaki board shorts and faded graphic tee, he looked up at her, grey eyes bloodshot. Unkempt stubble stuck out from his nineteen-year-old chin in an edgy goatee. In a scratchy stoner voice he yelled back, “Yo, Mel, we need to talk.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you anymore, Frederic, you fucking dingus.”

“Hey, don't call me that! Frederic is a prep name. But, no, really, it’s important. I’m sorry about what happened last night.” He grabbed two blunts from his back pocket and waved them at her. “Wanna smoke a joint? I got the good stuff.”

Melissa usually didn’t smoke dank weed, but she did hear on the internet once (a trustful source of information) that marijuana works as a painkiller. Looking behind her to make sure her parents didn’t barge in, she contemplated how to climb out the window to her sort-of-maybe boyfriend.

Being on the second floor meant she couldn’t just hop out so she needed something like a rope. Her pagan paraphernalia would be no good, and she quite liked her gothic garb in the dirty clothes pile,  but there were those bedsheets— those ugly, stupid hot pink bedsheets. Already stained with blood, cutting them up would make a good ‘fuck you’ message. Hopefully, they could also hold her body weight.

“Okay, give me a moment.”

As much as she seethed with anger over Fred trying to kill her, the devil’s lettuce, tempting her with escape from reality, convinced her to risk her parents' wrath. It wasn’t like they could do much worse.

Gleefully ripping up her bedsheets with a pair of scissors, she knotted the strips together before securing the makeshift escape device to the railing of her bed. It looked long enough to get the job done. Shifting her body around, she felt a gush of hot viscous liquid slip out, smearing into her panties.

There was no time to be picky. She either left now or potentially got sent to a culty reformation school for young adults. Only one thing remained before she shimmied down to the waiting Fred. Slipping her panties down, a long strand of period-goo trailing behind, she grabbed one of the pastel pillows off her bed and rubbed it over her bloody pussy, staining it with unadulterated teenage angst.

“That’ll show my parents who’s boss, bitch.”

The band shirt stopped just above her kneecaps, legal enough to leave the house in, and, of course, she hastily grabbed The Sanguinomicon, her state id card and all five dollars in change she owned. With a final check to her bedroom door, she gathered her few worldly possessions in her backpack, threw the rope out the window and prayed.

As a child, she prayed to god, but now she prayed to Satan— may he damn her soul.

Dried blood sticking to her legs, cramps feeling like they were scraping her insides with an ice cream scooper; she carefully put her legs over the window ledge and slid down the rope with the grace of a dying antelope.

Halfway down, feet dangling over the first-floor window, the rope lurched.

“Uh oh.”

Melissa’s eyes widened. Her knuckles white while she clutched the bedsheets, holding on for dear life. The bed scraped against the floor like a train slowly going off the rails. Her body weight forced the bed towards the window, lowering her at an alarming rate. Screaming out, the bed crashed into the window, sending her flying into the perfectly manicured bushes lining her small town, suburban home.

“Yo, you okay?” Fred’s voice cracked out from his ganja-coated throat.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Dazed, Melissa stood up from the brambles. Leaves and twigs stuck to her ruffled hair. Thankfully, she landed on her backpack, the voluptuous Sanguinomicon padding her fall. Not so thankfully, the crash alerted her overzealous parents who ran to the first floor to find the cause of the commotion.

Gazing into the window like a deer in headlights, Melissa met her father’s eyes. Anger splotched his beet-red face. Sweat boiled over his balding head like a rageful tea kettle. Her mother clutched her pearls. Passed down for generations, the necklace was meant to adorn Melissa when she married and graduated into her cookie-cutter housewife lifestyle— a tradition Melissa gave zero fucks about.

“What in the good Lord’s name do you think you’re doing, missy?” Her father seethed, screaming the words through the window.

“How dare you. And what’s your demon friend doing here? We told you not to hang out with him, or you’ll burn in hell!” Her mother chimed in, hands clutching the pearls tight to her chest.

Melissa’s mouth opened and closed in an attempt to respond, but no words came out. Fred lit up one of the blunts, inhaling deeply while flicking her parents off from a safe distance. Her mother pressed her face against the windowpane, breath fogging up the glass while raising her index finger in threat.

“What do you think you’re wearing? You’re advertising yourself as a loose woman of the devil. Get back inside and bring out the paddles. We’re sending you off to be cured of your Lucifer-induced ailments.”

“No...” The word barely left Melissa’s quivering lips.

“What was that?”

“No.” Melissa stared down her mother. For the first time in her short life, she asserted herself, and it felt damn good. “I’m not going inside. Come on, Fred, let's get out of here. Fuck them.”

“See you in hell, Mr. and Mrs. Cox.” Fred waved goodbye, blunt dangling from his mouth.

Watching, shocked at her insolence, her parents argued about their ingrate, heathen daughter. As they blamed everyone but themselves for her behavior, the two teenage not-really-lovers got into a janky Honda Civic, driving out of the cul-de-sac away from their suffocating grasp.

~

Despite feeling like a midnight escape, it was still a little before noon. Not a cloud marred the bright blue sky in Maplewood. The sun shone radiantly like a lighthouse offering hope of salvation.

Inside the beat-up car, Melissa sat in the passenger seat while Fred took the wheel. Grimacing, the familiar gush of her period rushed into her panties. She felt like she was being exorcised, and needed a hit of the good stuff fast. How could Fred not notice the blood caking her thighs? Maybe he was just that high.

“Pull over. I don’t feel so good.” Groaning, she clutched her stomach.

Fred eyed her scrunched-up face, “You okay?”

“Just stop the car. I don’t care where.”

Without a word, Fred drove off the road down a path into the woods before parking the car. Face contorting in pain, Melissa barely noticed the familiar branches of ancient trees enveloping them.

“Wanna get blazed?”

“That shit better work.” Melissa knew Fred only cared about three things: weed, Satan and getting into her virgin pussy, the latter of which her abstinence-toting parents feared the most.

“Don’t worry, babe, I’ve got an Indica hybrid laced with THC for days. Joel grew it in his bathtub. He dubbed it the OG Kush.”

“Fuck, just give it to me.”

By this point, Melissa desperately pressed her backpack to her stomach, hoping the pressure would relieve the pain. From The Sanguinomicon, a mysterious warmth spread through the layers of fabric, fanning out over her budding teenage body.

“Aight, let’s hot box the doobie-mobile. Cheese puffs are in the back seat.” Gesturing to a two-liter plastic container filled with cheesy, powdery goodness, he lit up the second joint, letting the dank smoke fill his lungs.

Gazing at him desperately, Melissa pouted, fiddling with her lip piercing— needing, wanting, begging for the promise of release. Any conversation about the attempted sacrifice would have to wait.

Edgy goatee scratching against her smooth face, Fred pried open her virgin lips, exhaling wisps of Mary Jane down her throat. Coughing and sputtering, Melissa’s eyes widened while Eau de Skunk-Ass filled her relatively undamaged lungs. As someone inexperienced in the ways of weed, it didn’t take long for the cannabinoids to take effect.

At first, it felt nice. A floating feeling, a relative calm. A placid lake appearing where turbulent waves once violently thrashed. Melissa found herself in a state of relaxation, pupils dilating like great black orbs. Fred took another drag, but this time he offered her the other end.

“Puff puff pass until all that’s left is the butt.”

Melissa didn’t know why, but she giggled. The ‘p’s in ‘puff’ and ‘pass’ popped in her mind, and trying to make eye contact with his bloodshot eyes only made her think of all the ‘p’s leaving his pothead mouth, and pothead also started with a ‘p’— and didn’t boys also have a ‘p’ as in penis? Inhaling deeply, she let out a deep guttural cough. With a tolerance of zero, only made worse by her period (another ‘p’ word), she succumbed to the most intense laughing fit of her entire life.

“What did you wanna talk about, pothead? Pass-pass-puff? Poof-puff-piff?” Losing control, the giggles burst out between words like a sputtering teapot. It didn’t help that in her altered headspace, the letter ‘p’ was now the funniest thing in existence. No matter what she did, she couldn’t stop the sputtering of ‘p’s, and she couldn’t stop laughing. Already baked beyond belief and with the tolerance of a Roman god, Fred stared vacant-eyed, already on a different planet.

“Yo, Mel, I never meant to kill you, you know? It’s just, this Satanic shit, it’s like a parallel universe. Like, we’re just on a stage in this world, and all we need is to jump into the pits below. The hell pit, Mel. We could’ve done it.”

“Yeah, but didn’t you read the Latin? It said, ‘be one of willing soul,’” Melissa took a long drag off the blunt, cramps fading into the background while letting out a cloud of white smoke. “Just ‘cause I agreed to go with you doesn’t mean I agreed to die. No one can agree to die unless you're that German guy who wanted to be eaten in some weird kinky cannibalistic fantasy. I thought all you’d do was prick my finger, not try and stab my heart.” For some reason, Melissa now found the morbid topic of death hilarious.

“Aw, come on, Mel. We were just playing.”

“Well, sacrifice Nick next time. He’s a bigger virgin than me.” She stared him down with bloodshot eyes that matched his, “He’s a thirty-year-old virgin.”

Blowing dank smoke over her rounded face, his vocal cords strained, “I think a tied-up girl looks better than a tied-up guy.”

Squinting through the haze, Melissa felt a new sensation bubble up from underneath the giggles, a few actually. For one, she felt dull. Fred’s sexist comment, which would irritate her if sober, didn’t piss her off like it normally would. Secondly, her mouth felt dry like someone stuffed it full of cotton. Why couldn’t Fred stock his car full of sugar-packed soda like a normal stoner? And thirdly, there were urges— two, actually. One was to stuff her face with anything and everything edible. The other, less familiar to her, was a tingling in her pussy, her bloody, menstruating pussy.

“Fuck, pass me the cheese puffs,” gasped Melissa.

Breathing through the lit blunt like a ventilator, Fred reached into the back seat and grabbed the tub of what stoner dreams are made of. Melissa noticed his eyes remained attached by an invisible thread to her tits, hard nipples poking against the fabric. Before, Melissa always stopped things from progressing past sloppy make-outs and over-the-clothes petting out of fear that if he touched her with his dick, she’d be marked a whore, and her parents would find out she didn’t wait till marriage, and then they would— Melissa’s eyebrows furrowed. She only wanted to think about cheese puffs and pot.

Setting the backpack containing The Sanguinomicon between her legs, she made eye contact with Fred, stifling an involuntary giggle. The strange sensation rising from beneath her soiled panties only intensified under Fred’s lustful gaze. Her menstrual blood stuck to the leather seat as she shifted her position to face him and gain prime access to the empty calories.

“Yo, I just remembered the bong. We should totally take hits off it,” said Fred, his eyes still making eye contact with her nipples.

Melissa just nodded, one fist already forearm deep in artificial cheese flavor. The cravings to stuff her mouth overpowered her. As if bewitched, the otherworldly power of the ganja compelled her to shovel handful after handful of puffs between her lips. Tasting the texture, feeling the flavor, the orange powder smeared all over her face while she continued feeling unsatisfied. The munchies never hit harder.

From underneath the dashboard, Fred brought out a small bong and a water bottle filled with what could only be described as recycled bong-swamp. The once clear glass had a yellow sheen from constant use. Placing ground-up butts from old joints in the stem, he poured the murky liquid into the cylindrical chamber. As Melissa knew from many a rant, Fred was an environmentalist. It was one of the few things she liked about him. Well, that and the bulge tempting her beneath his shorts.

“Waste not, want not, dude,” said her not-really-boyfriend while lighting the old butts until the water (if it still qualified as water) bubbled.  Removing the stem and taking a monster bong rip through the mouthpiece like it was nothing, he exhaled a solid plume of pure ganja-fog.

Melissa looked down. The whole two-liter container of cheese puffs lay barren. Only streaks of bright-orange powder coated her arms and face. Never had her mouth felt so empty. In her baked state, she found the cheese puffs fulfilled her. Maybe Fred would put something else between her lips to replace her dearly beloved.

Grabbing his face, she brought him close, smearing crumbs over his goatee. Making out, they shared the combined flavors of cheese and swamp water weed. Tongues flapped together like fish out of water as they felt each other up. Fred squeezed her breasts like a pair of stress balls while Melissa fumbled with his zipper, eager to finally see a real dick for the first time. Her parents couldn’t stop her now. Only problem— the metallic smell seeping from her panties began to fill the car. She hoped Fred didn’t notice her predicament.

Finally, the zipper opened to reveal Fred’s boner in all its grungy glory. Out of curiosity, Melissa pressed against his shaft with her finger and was surprised how hard it felt. She always expected it to feel more rubbery or spongy, and in a moment of epiphany only achievable by copious amounts of cannabis, she realized the true meaning of the phrase, ‘rock hard.’

Now, to confirm the flavor. She felt nervous. A slew of questions raced through her mind while paranoia crept in, waiting in the wings. By this point, more THC than oxygen circulated through the vehicle.

What if it tastes bad? If I use my teeth, will the tip fall off? Are dicks fragile? How do you touch it? What happens when he cums?

Fred, on the other hand, seemed happy to free his cock from its confines, a first in the presence of Melissa. Tensing his pelvic muscles to show off his throbbing rod, he said, “Suck it, baby.”

Glancing at him with big doe eyes, she tentatively brought her lips near the head. Pulling down his foreskin gently between thumb and forefinger, crumbly bits that looked like cottage cheese revealed themselves. Notes of ball sweat and overripe cheddar stung her nose, causing her to yell, “What the fuck?”

“It’s okay, baby, just lick it.”

“Do you even shower, bro?”

Fred thrust his hips demandingly, but Melissa still felt unsure. “I’ve never done this before. I need a bong hit.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Fred’s impatience grew stronger.

Grabbing the bong, she put a pinch of ground-butts in the stem. “How do you do this again?”

“I’ll light the butts for you. Just suck on the mouthpiece without inhaling. When I take out the stem, breathe it all in.”

“Okay.” Grabbing the shaft with her cheesy fingers, she placed her lips in the center. It smelled pretty rank. Following Fred’s instructions, she did her best to take a big rip off the bong but only coughed and sputtered instead. A ring of orange powder coated the rim where she sucked hard.

A giant cloud of bong-fog descended over Fred’s smegma-dotted penis. In the cloak of dankest white, Melissa closed her eyes and imagined he didn’t have a smelly dick. For a moment she worried she would throw up. Her head throbbed. Her eyes felt like they were melting in the haze, and she couldn’t tell if she was gushing blood or arousal over the car seat. Either way, her thighs were coated in something sticky.

“Yeah, baby, lick that fucking cock. Suck it, bitch.”

Caught off guard by the slew of dirty-talk, she hesitantly licked his cockhead. Pungent, but not as pungent as the swamp-weed stuck to the back of her throat. She continued, slowly slipping the tip in her mouth, unsure what to do. Unlike the shaft, the head was spongy and felt good against her tongue.

“Take it, fucking virgin. I’m gonna pop your fuck-mouth cherry. Then when you get it nice and wet, I’m gonna ram it up your virgin pussy. Fuck saving it for Satan. You’re mine, bitch.”

Fred had never called her ‘bitch’ before. Other than pressuring her to fuck him to avoid being the virgin soul offered to the devil, he always respected her, but now he seemed like a different animal. Were all boys like this? Melissa still had so much to learn. All she knew was her pussy ached, and maybe Fred wouldn’t be a bad person to lose her virginity to. After all, he didn’t actually kill her.

She tried moving her mouth down his shaft but gagged when it pressed against the back of her hard palate, forcing her to pull back. Melissa had no clue how to suck cock. Fred just enjoyed getting his dick wet.

“Fuck yeah, Satan-slut. Don’t stop. Use your tongue. Pretend it’s a giant burrito. You like burritos, right, babe?”

“Yeah, but yours tastes like shit, and how can I be a slut if I’ve never done it before?” Looking around tentatively, Melissa felt countless eyes watching her. She couldn't see them, but she knew they were there. Being called a ‘slut’ didn’t help either.

Fred guided her hand over his shaft which now sat covered in a slobbery mess of both types of clumpy cheese. Gripping his member, her hands stained orange, she stroked up and down the way her mouth didn’t. Fred, tired of waiting, pulled her shirt over her breasts and slipped his hand in her underwear, never looking down past her exposed nipples.

“Damn, they say virgins are wetter, but you’re fucking soaked.” The Sanguinomicon began heating up like burning embers the closer Fred’s fingers got to her virgin hole. “Me and the boys should’ve threatened to sacrifice you sooner if I knew I'd get to ravish you like this.”

“Ouch!” screamed Melissa. Heat surged out of the ancient Grimoire’s leather folds, burning her calves.

“I haven’t even stuck anything in there yet. What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

“No, you what the fuck! Are you saying you used me? Invited me into your pagan group only to manipulate me to fuck you?”

“What the fuck?!” yelled Fred. Pulling his hand from her panties, he retched. Gloopy strands of clotted cream without the cream clung to him like strawberry jam without the strawberries. In other words, Fred finally noticed Melissa’s menstruating pussy.  “You didn't tell me you were on your period. Gross!”

“No, you’re gross, cheese-dick weed-for-brains,” retorted Melissa.

“Can’t you just suck it back up your pussy?” asked Fred while wiping his bloody hand over his board shorts.

“Are you fucking dumb? Yeah, our sex-ed sucked, but come on, dude. My crazy parents period shame me, but I expected more from a Satanist. I need to get out of here. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t handle you. Get fucked, Frederic, you fucking dingus.” Melissa glared at him with bloodshot daggers for eyes.

“But, Mel, I’ve put so much time and effort into getting you naked. Where are you gonna go?” asked Fred, more desperate this time.

“Anywhere you’re not,” replied Melissa.

“But I treat you better than your parents.” He grabbed her hand in a final attempt to woo her.

“They’re birth-donors, Fred.” Melissa slid her backpack over her shoulders and pushed him away.

“Have fun dying of exposure, bitch. You don’t deserve me or my weed, anyway,” snapped Fred while Melissa kicked open the door and left, catching a whiff of fresh air.

~

Staggering out of the car, plumes of dank smoke trailing behind, Melissa stumbled into the forest. Revving the engine dramatically, Fred sped back off towards civilization while flicking her off with his grimy middle finger.

Dark clouds blotted out the once blue sky of Maplewood. A cold wind sent chills down her spine. In only a t-shirt and a sorry excuse for underwear, Melissa wondered if Fred was right— she really would die of exposure. Her family life sucked. Fred sucked. The whole pagan secret society sucked.

She fiddled with her lip piercing nervously. If she went back to the main road someone would either deliver her to her parents so they could deliver her to a culty reformatory school, or a serial killer would pick her up and do unspeakable things before dumping her body in the lake.

Dissolved in acid.

Encased in concrete.

Three separate barrels.

True crime shows and excessive amounts of weed were starting to make her panic.

Hyperventilating, her vision blurred. Branches loomed over her like wiry fingers waiting to pounce. Walking in a random direction, moist earth stained the soles of her feet. Moss squelched between her toes while rotting leaves padded her steps like a miry carpet. The fatigue and cramps that Fred’s magic grass kept at bay slowly returned. Lost and confused, Melissa tripped over a cluster of roots, falling face-first on the forest floor, cutting her knee open on a sharp rock.

“Ow!”

It was not a good day for Melissa. Grimacing, she clenched her fists. Maybe she would give up. She recalled every decision that led to shivering in the cold at the mercy of the elements. The overbearing trees stood still and unyielding. Something about them pissed her off. Yelling out, she punched the rough bark, scraping her knuckles. Seething, she pulled back. At least the pain cut through the numbness.

Tired and hungry, she slumped down at the base of a decaying trunk. She wondered if anyone would hear her scream— if anyone would care. Maybe when the search and rescue team found her rotting corpse, her parents would pretend they didn’t know her, or worse, pretend they were a picture-perfect family and blame Lucifer for her horrible accident.

Red-capped mushrooms tempted her. She ran her fingers over their deadly veils, wondering if the end hurt. Melissa’s mind wandered down a dark path. Brooding, slowly sinking in a swampy mire of anger and hatred, she drifted down a turbulent stream of consciousness. The current pulled her further and further away, threatening to sink her in insanity’s murky depths.

Warmth from her backpack pulled her back. Like a lifeline, The Sanguinomicon made its presence known. Glazed over eyes sharpening back into focus, she gasped for air. She had forgotten to breathe.

“At least you’re here for me,” she said softly, removing the book from her backpack.

Caressing the Grimoire, she hugged it close to her chest. She remembered the instant connection she felt when she first laid eyes on its gold-embossed cover. Its ancient pages bound her soul from the start. For others, The Sanguinomicon only held symbolic value. Seeing that the self-proclaimed Master of Ritual, Nick, bought it at a garage sale, most remained skeptical of its true power, but Melissa always believed. The words spoke to her.

Its pages had looked out for her. Protected her. Loved her. The people in Melissa’s life had all disappointed her. There was nothing left to lose. All that remained was offering herself willingly to complete the ritual. Melissa knew what to do. Live or die, she no longer cared about the outcome.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Staring at the sky through the foliage, ominous clouds darkened into an inky blackness. Not a bird chirped. “Maybe I don’t want to die in the middle of the woods,” thought Melissa. She had heard stories of lovers dying, electrocuted by lightning after huddling under a tree, and Melissa didn't want to go that way. She didn’t even have a lover. How could she have a romantic death if she’d never even experienced romance? Fred didn’t count.

Cradling The Sanguinomicon in her arms, she set off in search of shelter. Her feet knew where to go. Slowly, it all clicked into place. The crude goat head carved in an old oak. ‘F + M 4-EVER’ hacked into an ancient pine. Trudging through dead needles and acorns, she remembered. This was no random forest. This was the forest. The forest Fred and his shit friends thought it would be funny to kill her in. Looking past the trees, she saw the outline of the shack. Her crumbling salvation lay straight ahead, its open arms leading her into its gaping maw.

Pushing aside bright yellow police tape, she hurried inside. Only the roof’s scaffolding remained, leaving her exposed. Raindrops began pelting down, erupting on the earth floor like a barrage of bullets, while the pitter-patter soaked everything around her.

“Jesus Christ, why does rain have to be cold?” thought Melissa while her t-shirt stuck to her body. The Sanguinomicon, in its mysterious ways, remained dry. Heat pulsed from its core while rain sizzled off its cover, letting off a hiss of steam. “If the basement floods, I’m totally fucked,” she muttered while flipping up the trap door leading to the once-sacred grounds.

Heading down the stairs into the pitch blackness, she fumbled around for a flashlight or matches. The strong musty odor of mildew filled her nostrils. The dark always terrified her. What could be lurking in the shadows? She hated jump scares in horror movies and didn’t want one now. Cautiously, ever so cautiously, she blindly groped around, using the dirt walls as a guide. Her scraped knee jammed against something hard. Something metal.

“Ouch! Shit, fuck, shit, fuck, shit...” grumbled Melissa. She really liked to cuss, especially as an aside to anger and pain. By this point, her word choices were reactionary works of art. A gust of wind rushed through the stale air of the basement.

There was a fwoomp, then a light, then a yelp. “Jesus fucking Christ!” Swearing only expressed the purest of emotion. Raw emotion. In this case, pure terror

Around her, candles lit on their own accord, forming a perfect circle around the center of the basement. Their perfect alignment, wrought iron stands standing to attention, did not match their upset state from her last visit to the shack. Did someone sneak back to rearrange them? Was this some stupid prank? Either way, Melissa did not appreciate being spooked or scared or shocked. The white wax slowly dripped from countless candelabras, coating the space in a soft light. Melissa could swear The Sanguinomicon trilled in excitement.

“Trippy,” uttered Melissa under her breath while wondering if the weed she smoked earlier was laced with something else.

Heart thudding, she set her backpack down. The rain left her freezing. Stripping off her soaked clothing, she basked in the orange glow of the candles. Fatigued, she lied down in the center, too tired to draw out a new pentagram. Her period continued to trickle out, adding to the dried blood caking the pubic hair lining her mons.

Next to her, the book. Her only companion. Stroking the cover, she contemplated her fate while her head grew fuzzy with exhaustion. Iron deficiency was starting to rear its ugly head, and her mind began to fade.

Devotion. Melissa never called the police. Maybe Satan saved her last night to save her soul for him. Not that anyone knew who Satan really was. He could be a woman, or a mixture of the two— or something entirely beyond human understanding. Either way, Melissa felt determined to find out.

One hand over The Sanguinomicon, her other slid down her naked body, guided by an invisible force. Unspoken instructions pulsed through her veins. Gathering her menstrual secretions, she streaked her midriff dark red. Heat from the vellum transferred to her erogenous zones. Her neck, her chest, her clit— everything ached to be touched.

Rubbing up and down her blood-slicked form, she lost herself in a masturbatory frenzy. Smearing her pungent secretions over her breasts, caressing her nipples, she writhed on the floor, never losing her physical connection with the spellbook. As if in a trance, she dipped her fingers into her tight entrance and brought a single ruby-red drop to her lips.

Coppery. Salty. Blood. The flavors splashed over her face, but nothing happened. About to sob in frustration, Melissa felt it was all for naught. Everything she did ended in failure. Of course, The Sanguinomicon didn’t carry any real power. It was all just a play of the light. A cruel trick of the candles. Her pentagram necklace cut into her skin while she tugged at it, trying to rip it off. This whole pagan thing had been a waste of time.

From her thumb, coagulated blood smudged over the pendant centered on her breasts. High, depressed or otherwise, Melissa’s world spun out of focus. Eyes glued open, she tensed, too tired to run— too tired to resist. The earth creaked and groaned as if waking from a deep slumber while the floor bucked, lurching like a great beast before returning to silence. Melissa’s fatigue threatened to pull her out of this world deep into her subconscious. The thin line between reality and dreams threatened to snap. With the way her day had been going, she wished for the latter.

Candles like a hundred waxy watchers towered over her. Set in candelabras, their cylindrical forms expanded and twisted around her. Leaning over her, melted wax tumbled from their curled lips, splashing onto her blood-streaked body. Hot torrents tempered her naked flesh.

“Fred totally gave me acid,” thought Melissa. Her perception of the world around her no longer made sense. Each drop brought with it a new sensation— a longing between her loins. From deep within, something stirred, restless to get out.

Overflowing, the soft glow of burning candles flickered over her exhausted form. Molten wax-covered Melissa until she could be covered no more. Wrapped in purest white, her world went black.

~

Straddling the chasm between worlds, she floated away, unsure if she was awake or dreaming.

Blood oozed from between her legs in a constant stream, filling the space between her posterior, tickling the small of her back with its pungent aroma. Wax coated her eyes. She could see nothing. Only the never-ending gush exiting her menstruating pussy kept her present. The sickly stench of sloughed-off flesh seeped under her, over her, completely encased her. She became aware, slowly, of a viscous liquid creeping in from the edges of the wax casing. Piping hot, she felt it rush in, rising, threatening to submerge her. She struggled against her lustrous prison but remained melded in place.

A bell could be heard reverberating in the distance. A constant low note bellowed out— hollow like a funerary procession. Solemn in its consistency. With a deafening gong, her waxen shell cracked down the center.

Melissa gasped, filling her lungs with fresh air. Now able to move her arms, she pressed against the dried globs of candle wax, chipping them apart until they crumbled over her body. Sitting up, she found she was no longer in the basement but on a seashore. Black sand stretched endlessly, heat pulsing from underneath. A red ocean glistened like a finely cut ruby. Frothy brine lapped on the shore where she sat. In the distance, dark mountains hovered like a smoky mirage. Impressive towers of stone crowned their peaks while the unending gong continued to keep time like a metronome. No sun sat in the sky. Only her mind’s eye lit the blackness of the void— her body the only light source.

Gentle waves from the sanguine sea washed over her. Coagulating like jelly, the thick liquid sloshed against her. Melissa wasn’t sure where she was or what was going on. If this was hell, it was nothing like she imagined. It felt more akin to a pagan beach resort than the fire and brimstone her parents preached at her. Stretching her arms, she rested her back on the warm sands, letting the waves crest over her naked form. The ebb and flow washed away her fatigue while she soaked it all in.

Melissa’s eyes fluttered while she sunk into a state of relaxation. She couldn’t remember the last time stress didn’t burden her in some way. The turbid air rolled over her like a heavy fog, smothering her already limited vision. In contrast to the warm black sands and sanguine waters, the air chilled her, hardening her blood-caked nipples.

The waves became incessant, rough, slamming against her, jolting her from her meditative state. From within its slimy depths, something slithered, making a beeline for the only being on the hellish shore.

“Holy. Fucking. Hell,” stated Melissa, pausing between each tactfully chosen word. “I can’t believe my flippin’ eyes. Oh, shit!” In this case, ‘oh, shit’ was not an exclamation of fear, but an exclamation of awe. In fact, she elongated the ‘i’ so it sounded more like, ‘shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit’— for in front of her a giant tongue reared itself, epically parting the red sea down the middle until it aligned its pulsing pink flesh in front of Melissa.

Mouth agape, she allowed the disembodied tongue to slide up to her. The flat base licked her feet, leaving a trail of hot slime over the build-up of dried blood. Her mouth gaped further as the tongue split, forking like a serpent in front of her. Two independently moving muscles tapered out from a fleshy base, grazing her calves. Her pounding heart harmonized with the increasing tempo of the distant bell, ringing out with anticipation. The tongue sent strange sensations through her body. Even more than the weed. Even more than Fred.

Each prong of the snakelike appendage twisted gently around her legs, wrapping up towards her thighs. Easing into its touch, she felt her own clit throb as the tongue pried her legs open. Flustered, Melissa felt vulnerable on the seashore. The ocean’s turbulent waters crashed over the beach, spattering her with its metallic scent.

The tongue continued twirling around her body, thick globs of saliva oozed from its oversized tastebuds while it took in her virginal flavor. Unlike Fred, this mysterious being was gentle as it explored her most intimate areas. The edge of one fork flicked over her nipple, causing her to flinch. Melissa had masturbated before, but this was different. She felt electric.

“Oh fuck,” she whispered in awe. The forked sections elongated, keeping her legs spread while the pointed tips twirled and tugged on her nipples, making her groan in a way she never had before. Losing herself to its slimy grasp, she let out a breathy moan as it continued to work its way up her sensitive neck. Licking and raking her smooth skin, making her squirm in place, it slowly devoured her. One tip brushed over her blood-tinged lips, teasing the entrance until she parted her mouth, allowing the creature to slide inside.

Her tongue instinctively wrapped around the fleshy barb. It felt right. Her kiss with the devil (if this was the devil) filled her senses. Their combined drool pooled over, spilling over her chin in a gooey cascade of viscous strands; streaking her breasts while her hands worked their way down towards her aching clit.

Once more, she could no longer tell what was gushing out from between her legs, but this time, it didn’t matter the liquid of choice. All she knew was that whatever this hell-fiend was, its wet embrace felt good against her body like a drooly comforter. The forked tongue continued to wrap around her, pressing her arms behind her back while tying itself into a dripping mess of knots. Before she knew it, her thighs were splayed, drenched slit parting, as the serpentine tongue twisted back around, going for her velvety folds.

If this is what offering one’s soul meant, she wanted to give hers over and over again. “Fuck sacrifices at knifepoint. Tongue my blood-soaked pussy any day,” thought Melissa. Not that she’d been tongued before, but a giant demonic one seemed appropriate for her first cunnilingus experience. She spread her bound legs wider, filled with an unspoken need— her desire glistening from beneath her blood-drenched pussy. Like a flower, her folds unfurled, covered in her sweet nectar. Ruby mixed with clearest crystal.

The two prongs licked their way over her thighs until they joined together at the base of her pearl which now peeked shyly from its casing, engorged with arousal. Soft and sensual, the forks worked together, rasping against her folds. Whimpering, Melissa found herself thrusting her hips towards the velvety tongue. Sensing her every pleasure, they stiffened, one circling around her clit, each graze over her sensitive nub sending jolts through her young, hormonal body. The other placed itself over her virgin entrance, the tip teasing her tight hole.

Although she still had her proverbial cherry, she wasn’t sure about her actual hymen. She’d heard that some girls rip and some girls bleed. Melissa wasn’t even sure if she still had one. Between the bike riding, a failed attempt at the splits and a parental purity check gone wrong, she doubted much remained of that meaningless piece of skin anyway. Before her mind could brood over all the possibilities, the tongue pressed against her welcoming pussy, smearing its excretions around her already drenched form.

Spreading her, the tapered flesh slid inside, stretching her velvety walls for the first time. Having something fill her so completely caused Melissa to let out a series of high-pitched moans. Arms behind her back in a slobbery web of knots, she submitted her mind, body and soul.

The pink flesh pulsed inside her. Taste buds massaged her g-spot. The prong stimulating her clit licked up her body, wrapping around her breasts, smearing their combined tastes over her swollen nipples. Raking over her face, leaving splotches of slime sticking to her hair, it flickered over her lips in a final kiss before snaking back down to her clit, going in for the kill.

Sliding in and out, the tongue expertly guided Melissa down a path of purest bliss. She felt it build. The other prong returned to her aching clit to continue its assault on her sensitive nerve endings. Like in her wet dream, she felt herself reach the edge. Filled and ready to burst, the tongue bucked upwards, dangling her body precariously over the great red sea.

Crying out, the overwhelming sensations washing over her became too much. Her mind went foggy. The mountains in the distance blurred. Body tensing, she felt her pussy clench over the hell-fiend while her orgasm ripped through her.

The demonic tongue held her tight, keeping one fork jammed firmly inside as she convulsed like a marionette. Aftershocks rushed over her while she screamed, her voice echoing off the desolate landscape. From within her, a building pressure, not unlike indigestion, not unlike gas, pressed against her.

Eyes rolling to the back of her head, something exited her gaping folds. Like a pillar, a sheaf of solidified blood expunged itself with great force, rushing out from between her thighs. Like a rod of solid steel, it smashed against the forked tongue, forcing its slimy binds to tear. Continuing to stretch outwards, it pinned the fleshy creature to the bottom of the endless sea underneath. Anchoring her in the air, the column branched out over the landscape, dividing like roots.

Melissa felt like she was on fire. Heat blazed over her flushed body while her intense orgasm burned through her. The coagulated blood shooting out of her gaping pussy flaked over the landscape, grabbing onto every available space with offshoots of countless tendrils.

Collapsing, Melissa’s body went limp. The organic structure jutting from her body crumbled into dust, sending her plummeting beneath the waves. With a splash, she felt herself sink upwards. Her world turned upside down as she sank and sank, unsure which direction she was falling until she lost consciousness, encased in blackness once again.

~

Melissa came to, drenched in blood on the basement floor. The candelabras flickered weakly, their waxy inhabitants reduced to small stubs. Next to her, The Sanguinomicon felt cold and lifeless, but Melissa had never felt more alive.

Peeking under the limp cover, she felt a pang of remorse. The voluminous pages were burned through like a red-hot iron had pierced them. A blackened hole gaped down the center, a mess of occult symbols and calligraphy.

Gently closing her companion, she gave its spine a final stroke before gathering her backpack containing her state id card and all five dollars in change she owned. Looking up at the exit leading to the outside world, she made up her mind. Naked as all are born, Melissa took a deep breath. Gaining her composure, she walked up the staircase, leaving her ruined clothing behind. A light rain drizzled over her as she flipped open the trapdoor. The storm had passed.

Melissa didn’t know where she was going, but she knew it wasn’t home.