Chapter 1
“Will you sacrifice yourself for me?” he whispered in her ear. His voice sent goosebumps, which made their way along her spine affecting every single millimeter of her skin.
«This Friday I’ll tell you a story about one woman who had a lot of opportunities, but wasted them all because of her own fanaticism. Make yourself comfortable, I’m starting!»
The dense thickets, where it seemed that no human foot had ever trod, were the perfect quiet place for Philomena, the owner of the estate located deep in the forest. It seemed that the sun didn’t even know about the existence of this place and didn’t allow a house to gain its beams’ blessing. However, the woman was pleased that her house was hidden even from the sun, because darkness is a witch’s best friend. Darkness can conceal all the most secret corners of impure souls, which hide many interesting things... But that’s not what this is about right now.
Philomena had emerald green eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. Her hair was thick, black as night, medium length, covering the ends of her shoulder blades. Her eyebrows, though thin, were thick enough to be noticeable on her pale, almost white face, like the first snow. Philomena was tall, about one hundred and seventy two centimeters, and slender. She looked much younger than her actual age. She appeared to be around twenty-five to thirty years old, and not a single soul could have guessed that she was actually one hundred and fifty years old! Yes, yes, the woman was one century and a half years old. From the age of thirteen, she devoted her life to… serving the devil. Philomena was a witch who was obsessed with the idea of marrying the devil, which, according to ancient legend, would give her superhuman powers.
“Only that one witch chosen by the devil himself, who has served him faithfully all her life, will become his wife. He will curse his chosen one with an extraordinary faculty that will enable her to destroy all living things...”
Philomena faithfully served her idol, whom she had created herself... Every day, bringing offerings to the altar, the witch believed that one day the devil would appear to her and take her as his wife... She wanted it so much... The woman follows all the rules of the fallen angel’s servants, she dissolves in the desire to be the only one in the whole world, the chosen witch who will have the honor of marrying his dark highness.
Philomena lives in complete darkness and eats a lot of raw meat from animals she has killed with a ritual dagger. The woman arranges dinners with her “future husband” at the altar... The witch puts raw meat on ‘his’ plate and eats “in the company” of the dark ruler. Because of this, the altar is shrouded in the stench of rotten flesh, which even flies seem to be unable to tolerate for long.
One day, a black raven flew to the witch’s estate. A piece of paper with a familiar wax stamp was tied to the winged creature’s claw—it was an invitation to the annual witches’ sabbath.
In beautiful handwriting, as if written by a non-human hand, the letters carefully arranged on a piece of paper form the following words:
“All the witches, come out of the shadows! The Lord of Darkness will appear before us! Today, at midnight, all servants of our lord must come out of the shadows and accept the invitation to the ball of His Darkest Highness!”
For Philomena, these words were the most coveted. The witch had been preparing for this ball her entire life...
And then, on Friday the thirteenth, Philomena was in an abandoned Gothic temple... Among all the witches, she was the most luxurious: her black dress, the hem of which trailed behind her, gathering all the burrs along the way, her black veil covering half her face, her black gloves hiding her hands... She was the most mysterious of them all. In her opinion.
Eventually, when the moon was directly above the castle, an unknown man appeared... It seems that the witches sensed who it was. The host of the ball, Satan himself. However, several women did not understand why the rest were so alarmed, so the five fake witches were immediately expelled from the party. Philomena held her breath. This was the moment she had been waiting for her whole life! The woman saw no one else but her “dream lover.” Whether it was his shoes or the fallen angel’s claws, they mercilessly scraped the floor of the already half-ruined temple. The man’s likeness slowly walked behind the witches, immediately discarding those who were not ready for his dance.
“Unus-duo-tres, unus-duo-tres, unus. Unus-duo-tres, unus-duo-tres, unus-duo-tres, unus.”
He stopped behind one witch for just a minute. It seemed like only 60 seconds next to him, but the woman’s body began to bend, her senses making her think that every bone in her body was slowly breaking. The woman fell to the floor in hysterics. This witch was very young, apparently only about 20 years old. Just a child... She curled up into a ball, subconsciously trying to protect herself, but the demon’s influence was too strong for her body. The poor woman’s skin began to dry out, crack, and peel off her muscles; it was as if she were burning alive. The whole forest was filled with the screams of the young woman being devoured by the devil himself! Here and there, her bones were already visible. The floor around her was stained with her own blood, which she was already choking on. It seemed as if her internal organs were simply bursting from the pressure. It took the Dark Lord only 15 minutes to leave only the girl’s skeleton behind.
Sollemniter ad sepulcrum suum ea ambulabat.
“I have finished my first dance. The solemn ‘Polonaise’ was rather... fast this time.” The man’s voice cut through the air, its tone low, giving the impression that your own stomach was trembling as he spoke. “Is there a lucky lady who will dance the tango with me?” Squinting, he looked at each witch who was still here, but no woman dared even look at his face. “Well,” the devil spoke again, “if there are no brave ones, I will choose myself.”
The devil’s steps were heavy, the earth seemed to shake beneath his feet. Like a predator, he slowly circled each of the women, making them tremble beside him. Oh no, not because he “has an incredibly charming appearance” or “all women hang on his every word,” not at all! It is difficult to name a mortal who would not tremble in the presence of the devil himself. Whether man or woman, king or the strongest warrior, everyone would tremble before Satan. Philomena also felt his presence as the most dangerous situation in the world. The woman had time to regret 13 times that she had ever started practicing witchcraft. Then, the devil’s admirer noticed that his eyes were clearly focused on her. For the first time in her 150 years of existence, the woman felt such intense fear that her whole body began to sweat on the outside and shake on the inside. The Dark Lord’s gaze pierced Philomena. Was her end really going to be in a tango with Satan? After a long pause, the devil finally announced:
“I made my choice.”
Philomena froze. Had her time come? However, at the last moment, the Devil in human form reached out to another witch standing next to Philomena. It was with that woman that Satan merged in a passionate tango.
“Unus-duo, tres-quattuor, unus, duo, tres-quattuor.”
His step forward was her step back. His exhalation was her inhalation. Each of his breaths was her sigh. His gaze was her excitement.
They danced in complete silence, while the other women stood motionless, watching every movement of the dancing couple, hearing not only every breath, but also the beating of the witch’s heart as she danced with the devil. Imaginary ants began to run down the dancing woman’s body, causing her to tremble slightly. The sharp movements of the passionate tango took the Devil’s partner’s breath away, causing her eyes to see only darkness in front of her at times. Her bones trembled in her body. Her muscles seemed to be gradually pierced by electricity, growing stronger and stronger with each passing second.
At some moment, Satan stopped the dance. In an split second, lightning flashed outside, as if cutting the sky with its electric discharge. The woman who was dancing with him... disappeared. There was no trace of her left. The witches looked at each other, but did not dare to make a sound.
Noli ire saltatum, si paratus non es. Tango non omnibus convenit.
“She wasn’t ready. What a pity. She paid with her life for her unwillingness to dance. Hm.” The Dark Lord’s voice was like thunder after lightning. Low, hoarse, indifferent... “Time,” the Devil in human form paused for a long moment, which made each of the women tense, “for the waltz.”
Only five witches remain alive. What will happen to them?.. It seemed that none of them would get out of here alive... However, only the waltz remains, right?..
Suddenly, there was a rumble of thunder. The thunderstorm continued. Satan began to circle the witches again. Each of his steps, spaced about three to five seconds apart, was accompanied by claps of thunder. It seemed as if he was deliberately walking so slowly in order to keep pace with the menacing natural phenomenon. Or were his footsteps causing the thunder? Well, after another five claps of thunder, he stopped right in front of Philomena. The woman’s heart seemed to stop. But this was exactly what she had been striving for for 137 years, since she was thirteen, wasn’t it? Her knees trembled, her breathing became heavier... The woman barely bit the inside of her lower lip to make sure she was still there, that she was in her own world... Feeling a slight, soft pain in her mouth, the witch sighed deeply, looking the devil straight in the eye. The Dark Lord’s gaze took the woman’s breath away. How dare she look into his eyes? But the witch’s fear only brought a smile to the devil’s lips. He reached out his hand to her, inviting her to dance. As if hypnotized, the woman accepted the invitation, taking his hand…
“Unus-duo-tres, unus-duo-tres, unus-duo-tres, unus-duo-tres…”
He pulled her toward him, one arm around her waist, the other holding her hand. He wasn’t leading—he was advancing. She was retreating. In what seemed like a sensual dance, Philomena subconsciously demonstrated her submission to the Devil. Gradually, she began to relax and surrender more and more to the movements of the waltz. The woman subconsciously began to imitate the inhalations and exhalations of the Devil’s human form, even adjusting her breathing to match his. After all, she had devoted her entire life to worshipping him... So why shouldn’t she enjoy her dream? Philomena completely surrendered to his power, allowing him to control her every move. Gradually, her consciousness succumbed to his power. Could the Dark Lord have absorbed her without all this drama? Oh, yes! He could have absorbed all the witches who came here today with just a snap of his fingers! However, that would not have been interesting. Satan was always looking for... entertainment. He controlled her every move, her every breath, her every thought... Despite the witch’s slight clumsiness in dancing, Philomena did an excellent job.
Sancta Philomena Iesum amavit... Malefica Philomena Satanam amat.
The dance ended. And yet... Philomena remained alive. Had her most cherished dream come true? Satan bowed, as a true gentleman should bow at the end of a dance, and said in a quiet, hoarse voice:
“It’s time for the cotillion.”
The final dance of the ball. Will even one witch survive this? In the end, only the five strongest remain...
“Ladies, a cotillion is a group dance with changing partners, so...” During a brief pause, his eyes scanned all the women. “With your permission, I will choose my first partner. Then you can pair up yourselves.”
“Unus-duo-tres, unus-duo-tres, unus-duo-tres, unus-duo-tres, unus-duo-tres, unus-duo-tres, unus.”
The human form of the Devil reached out his paw to... No, not to Philomena. To another witch. Philomena had to dance with another woman... Who, coincidentally, was quite skilled at the “quick waltz”! Philomena felt awkward, because she was... Somewhat clumsy at dancing. However, the witch she was dancing with leaned close to her ear and whispered...
“Hoc non est saltatio, sed lusus superessendi.”
Philomena felt a burning chill run down her spine. “A game of survival”?... So witches have to kill each other?! But... Everyone is just dancing... Maybe this witch is just trying to get rid of her competitors? Of course, that’s it! She definitely plans to take over the superpower for herself! Philomena decided to ignore the woman’s words and continued her somewhat awkward dance steps. Whirling with another witch, the woman glanced at the Dark Lord, who was dancing with another woman.
It was time to change partners. The Devil’s human form approached Philomena and... did not choose her. He chose the woman’s partner, gently supporting her waist. Satan’s most important admirer got the woman from the other couple. The witch was clearly younger than Philomena, about 100 years old, but at her half-century age, she moved no worse than her previous partner, who was now dancing with the Devil. This dance was silent. No one said a word until the next change of partners. The first pair were the two exhausted women who had just danced with Satan. The second pair was Satan with one of the witches. And the last, third pair was Philomena, again with a woman. The other witch looked about 30 years old by human standards, but she was clearly older than Philomena. Step by step, breath by breath, the women danced in seemingly perfect harmony. However, our witch’s partner pursued the same goal as Philomena — to become the “chosen one” for the Dark Lord. So, the dance of this couple turned into an elegant and graceful struggle between women. Another pair of witches, who had both already danced with Satan, gradually began to spin faster and faster... Their feet were burning, their hearts were burning, but they couldn’t stop. They burned like tiny candle flames about to burn out. Gradually, unspeakably painfully and insanely unfairly, the women burned alive, their voices torn apart by their own pitiful cries of hellish torture. Soon, only ashes remained of them.
“Just in time,” said the host of the ball, ’it’s time to change partners.
Three women remained. Satan again chose Philomena’s partner, so she was again paired with the witch who had just danced with the Devil himself. The woman was exhausted, so she relied entirely on the somewhat clumsy Philomena for her dance moves. The witch tried her best to lead the dance, but she often stumbled, accidentally stepping on her partner’s feet. And this woman seemed to be melting before her eyes! Wait, melting? Yes, her skin, like wax, began to slowly melt, the woman’s body became heavier... and hotter. Drops of her skin dripped down her bones, burning through her muscles. Her eyes melted a little faster, as if they were made of paraffin, dripping down her waxy cheeks. Or, at least, what was left of her face. Her melting continued throughout the entire dance. Time... to change partners. Satan, dancing with another witch, held her gently in his arms until... it was time to change partners. As soon as the dance stopped again, the Devil’s human form, with a sharp movement of his left arm, which he held out to the side, released the hand of the witch he was dancing with, causing the poor woman, like a porcelain doll, with the ringing sound of fragile material hitting the rough and merciless stone floor, hopelessly shattered, just as her dreams of becoming “the one and only, the strongest witch, chosen by Satan himself during his coming once every 666 years” were shattered.
“We are all alone now, Philomena.” Satan’s voice sounded like thunder from a clear sky.
Is this really happening? Is Philomena really the “chosen one”? The woman was so shocked she couldn’t say a word. All she could do was open her mouth in a hopeless attempt to say something.
“There’s one left...” the man began to wheeze again, “the last act of the dance.”
“Unus-duo-tres, unus-duo-tres, unus-duo-tres, unus-duo-tres, unus-duo-tres, unus-duo-tres, unus.”
He extended his hand to her, inviting her to dance. A cotillion, a waltz, a tango... Philomena didn’t care anymore. She was the one, the “one chosen by the devil himself, the witch who had served him faithfully all her life,” the one who was supposed to become his wife, the one he would curse with an extraordinary faculty that would enable her to destroy all living things... Philomena moved as if under hypnosis, completely unaware of how her own bones were beginning to crumble like sand.
“Will you sacrifice yourself for me?” he whispered in her ear. His voice sent goosebumps, which made their way along her spine affecting every single millimeter of her skin.
“Yes, my lord...” The witch’s excited but weak voice was almost inaudible, but it was heard by the Dark Lord. Not that he really cared about her consent or opinion... It was just more interesting to ask her.
Each step the witch took left behind a small pile of black sand, which was part of her own body. Every movement caused her unbearable pain, but she still did not stop looking at him with her green eyes, which were full of hope and desperate devotion to this monster...
“Philomena – pia, fragilis, mortua.”
By the end of the dance, all that remained of the woman was black sand scattered across the floor.
“Hmm, every ball is so much fun. It’s a shame it only happens once every 666 years. Maybe we should have them more often, huh?” Satan said to himself, brushing the sand off his clothes.
«Ah, poor Philomena! She served God knows whom so devotedly, only for him to ruin her! Poor, poor witch... But what can we do?~ Well... See you next Friday, my dears~»
