The Scarlet Woman

“An exorcism won’t work,” Blake replied to Simon, directing his steely gaze to the possessed body of Angela.

Lilith — in the girl’s body — marveled at the tactile sensations of physicality; the rebellious agents were bowing to their divinity re-risen; Agent Winters struggled against her bonds, trying to garner freedom; and Blake leaned over to Simon.

“Simon,” Blake whispered. “Simon.” The boy returned his gaze. “I know one way out of this, but it ain’t good. I need you to do something: you need to burn the word Babylon into Winters. Not just in her flesh, but in her muscle, her bone, her soul. Simon?”

“Yea,” Simon replied, avoiding thoughts of what had happened to his fiancée, his love. “I… I can do that.” Simon glanced at Winters; adcendo babylon he mouthed, a slight whisp of smoke escaping.

Winters screamed, toppling to the ground, the feint smell of burned fat emitting from her.

Blake breathed slowly. “Winters,” he said, “I dub thee a Scarlet Woman, a Whore of Babylon, a point of magic incarnate.”

View this story's 7 comments.