The forest was cloaked in an eerie, oppressive darkness, the only illumination coming from the flickering flames of candles arranged in a wide, deliberate circle.
The air was heavy with the acrid scent of wax and the metallic tang of blood. Inside the circle, twelve young girls knelt on the damp earth, their wrists bound and faces streaked with tears.
Their cries pierced the night, raw and desperate, but the dense woods swallowed the sound whole, carrying it nowhere.
Around them stood five men and two women, their expressions twisted with cruel delight.
The witches moved with purpose, their figures partially obscured by the shifting shadows of the trees.
Their laughter rang out, sharp and mocking, as they taunted the terrified girls.
"This is for the betterment of the kingdom!" one of the women, draped in a blood-red cloak, declared with a grin that didn't reach her cold, calculating eyes. "Your sacrifice will ensure power, strength, and order!"
The girls shook their heads vehemently, sobbing harder. One of them whimpered, "Please, don't do this. Let us go!"
"Let you go?" a man sneered, stepping closer. His gaunt face was illuminated by the candlelight, casting grotesque shadows across his features. "It doesn't matter if you agree or not. Your lives will serve a greater purpose regardless."
Another witch twirled in a mockery of a dance, her laughter rising into the air as she chanted words in a language foreign and dark.
The others joined her, their voices melding into a haunting, rhythmic cadence. The flames of the candles leapt higher as if feeding off their twisted energy.
"Without a strong ruler, the kingdom is doomed," the red-cloaked woman continued, pacing around the circle. "Your blood will birth power, and from that power, we shall rise. We will take what we deserve!"
"Your cries mean nothing," another witch said with a sneer. "Shed your tears. Beg, scream—it changes nothing."
The witches began to chant louder, their voices rising above the sound of the crackling flames. They danced around the circle, their movements feverish and unhinged.
The air seemed to hum with a strange, malevolent energy. Firelight cast their faces into terrifying masks, their eyes gleaming with madness and ambition.
The girls, their voices hoarse from screaming, began to slump, exhausted and hopeless. Their bonds dug into their skin, and their tears fell silently now, soaking into the earth.
"No one will save you," one of the witches hissed, crouching low to sneer at the nearest girl. "Your kingdom has abandoned you. But don't worry—you'll be remembered, in our power, in our rule."
Hidden among the trees, the noble conspirators watched the ritual unfold.
These witches, once neighbors and seemingly ordinary members of the court, had delved into the forbidden arts of witchcraft in pursuit of their ultimate goal: to become vampires.
"Blood. Death. Magic," one of the witches whispered as they raised a ceremonial dagger, its blade catching the light of the fire.
"The ingredients to ascend. We will become eternal. We will tear the royal family from their thrones and take their place."
The witches' voices became a crescendo of madness, their laughter echoing as the first blade began to descend. For them, this was the beginning of a new age, an age ruled by blood and darkness.
The forest grew colder as the ritual deepened, a sinister energy seeping into the ground and air. The witches, cloaked in crimson robes tied with black wraps, moved with purpose around the trembling girls in the center of the candlelit circle.
The men and women present, not all practitioners of magic but bound by ambition and greed, chanted in unison.
Their voices were guttural, dark, and filled with a twisted reverence for the power they sought.
"Blood of the innocent," intoned the leader, a tall woman with piercing eyes, her voice cutting through the crackle of fire. "Their lives for our eternity. A new order shall rise tonight!"
The nobleman lurking in the shadows shifted uncomfortably, his foot snapping a twig beneath him.
The sound, faint but audible, silenced the chant immediately. Seven pairs of eyes turned sharply toward the disturbance.
"Who's there?" hissed one of the witches, her hand gripping the hilt of a ceremonial dagger.
The nobleman, realizing his mistake, tried to retreat, but it was too late. The witches descended on him like a pack of wolves.
He screamed, thrashing as they dragged him into the circle.
"You dare spy on us?" snarled one of the men, his face twisted with fury.
"Please, I—I only wanted to see," the nobleman stammered, his eyes darting to the bound girls.
"No one leaves here alive without serving the ritual," the tall woman spat.
Without hesitation, a sword was drawn. The nobleman barely had time to scream again before the blade slashed through him, his blood spilling onto the earth.
His body crumpled, lifeless, as the witches returned to their ritual without a shred of remorse.
The sky above rumbled ominously, thunder rolling in waves as if the heavens themselves objected to the vile acts unfolding below.
The witches resumed their chants, louder and more fervent now. The flames around the circle roared higher, licking at the darkness.
The leader raised her hands to the sky. "Tonight, we ascend! Tonight, we become eternal!"
The chanting reached a fever pitch. An invisible force seemed to ripple through the air, and the twelve girls, still bound and kneeling, let out a unified scream.
Their cries were abruptly silenced as an unseen blade sliced through them all at once. Blood soaked the earth, pooling beneath their limp forms.
A deafening crack of thunder split the air as the sky seemed to open, flashing with blinding light.
The witches froze, their faces alight with triumph—until it began.
One by one, they started to scream, clutching at their bodies as if something inside them were tearing them apart.
Their shrieks echoed through the forest, filled with raw, primal agony.
At the edge of the clearing, seated on an ornate, dark throne that seemed out of place in the wild, a figure watched.
Cloaked in shadows, the figure leaned forward, a slow, wicked smile spreading across their face as the witches' screams grew louder.
The witches fell to their knees, writhing in pain as their bodies convulsed.
The man on the throne clasped his hands together, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"Harvesting," he murmured to himself, his voice low and filled with malevolence. "It begins now."
The figure was no ordinary observer. He was connected to the castle, a trusted presence among the royals, though none suspected his involvement in such dark dealings.
Tonight's ritual was merely a step in his grander scheme, a scheme that would soon shake the kingdom to its core.
As the witches' screams faded into the night, replaced by the sound of thunder and the howl of wind, the man stood.
His smile deepened as he disappeared into the shadows. Something big was coming, and he was ready to set it in motion.