Death Eater Express, Day 18, Prompt:
Thorfinn Rowle / Samhain Ball / a blood sacrifice / "What I wouldn't give to get a peek under your mask... and your dress."
word count: 555
Sixteen-year-old Thorfinn Rowle was ecstatic he'd been chosen to to wield the ritual knife for the blood sacrifice during the Samhain Ball; it was an immense honour. He hadn't been told much about what he was supposed to do but he remembered watching on previous occasions.
At the beginning of the ball, the casting Wizard would open the sacred circle and purify the sacrifice, Thorfinn, the knife and the space itself and then call the invocation to the magic and the gods. After that, Thorfinn would subdue the sacrifice and carve the runes into its hide before killing it.
Thorfinn donned his black dress robes and made his way down to the ballroom. He stood next to his father and held his head high as he greeted each guest with a nod of his head.
"Come on, Thor," his father said as he directed him to one end of the ballroom where the sacred circle was drawn on the floor in salt. Thorfinn stopped short when he saw what was in the circle. There was a woman in a long dress and a mask, bound hand and foot and tied to a vertical post in the centre of the circle. His eyes widened as he looked at her; last year's sacrifice had been a goat. In fact, every Samhain Ball he'd ever attended had been an animal of some kind. Had it been a glamour to protect his innocent child eyes until he was a man capable of handling the truth? Or was this something new. He assumed the woman was a Muggle and since Muggles were practically animals then this wouldn't be any different. Except where the goat had bleated pitifully when its flesh was cut he expected the woman would scream. He swallowed his nerves. "You'll do fine," his father said, discreetly moving him toward the circle from where he'd stopped by gripping his shoulder in a display of camaraderie.
Thorfinn nodded and took his place, stepping over the salt and picking up the knife. He felt the casting Wizard purify each of the components, in turn, liking the way the magic washed over him like a misting fountain.
He'd not been told he couldn't speak so before he started, while he was deciding the best place to carve the sequence of runes he murmured to the woman. "What I wouldn't give to get a peek under your mask... and your dress." Her eyes were glossy and wet, but strikingly blue and reminded him of the Mediterranean. Her mouth was bound with a strip of cloth, but he doubted that would stop the screams she was bound to emit.
He turned the ritual knife in his hand and decided the best place would be across her thigh. He would start at her knee and work his way up. He used his hands to rip her dress, not wanting to contaminate the knife with lint from the cloth. It was only meant for cutting flesh and soaking up blood.
She yelped loudly as the fabric ripped and she tried to start begging around the gag. Thorfinn focused on his task and knelt to get started.
Later he wondered at the foul taste of bile and the sick feeling he had after starting the ritual. Was he supposed to feel this way for following tradition?
