"Otillia..." He whispered, long and low as a dying man's final breath. "Otillia..."
Tilla stirred in her sleep. She felt the chill of the dark man's presence even in her slumber.
"OTILLIA!" said the dark man, his whisper becoming quick and light like a child's voice. The dark man could assume any form, but the very wise would know him by his words.
"You call me, my Lord," Tilla murmured, still asleep.
"Yesssss," said the dark man. "The dragon..."
"Yes, my Lord," Tilla said, clutching at her ragged nightdress and exposing her hideous breasts. Man's basest desires could not be suppressed in the presence of the dark man, for he was these things.
"The dragon awakens, my beloved Otillia," he hissed. "Soon he will be strong again. Strong as twenty men. You must go to him on the third new moon. Then he and his red fire shall be yours."
Tilla moaned as if in ecstasy.
"How shall I go to him, my Lord? How can I, an old woman, bring him back to me?" she asked, her hands moving of their own accord over her withered skin.
"The holy man will come to you when it is time, and he shall provide a way."
And the dark man was gone, leaving only the chill as evidence he had ever been there.
Tilla awoke with a start. The words of the evil one rang clearly in her ears. Yes. Yes. The spell had worked. Of course, it had. Magic had never failed Tilla. Why should it be any different now?
The old witch smiled, and her smile grew until she could no longer contain the laughter bubbling within. Eternal life, beauty, and unimaginable power would soon be hers.