Love Triangle

Megan was seeing red. Anger rolled off her in powerful waves. She was bound to participate in the ceremony, but damn it, she didn't have to like it.

Megan entered the room first. Slowly. Deliberately. Her black robe billowed around her ankles as she moved. Settling herself in place, she pulled the hood over her chestnut curls and waited.

From the other side of the room, Charles entered. The black robes couldn't hide his athletic physique or cocky swagger. Although his face was hidden by the dark hood, she knew his lips were curved upward in an evil grin.

The third stepped into the room then. She had yet to master the art of levitation, instead walking to her place. With each step, the black robes shifted revealing smooth expanses of flesh. The black hood only seemed to emphasize, rather than shield, the sunshine of her hair.

The unholy trio stood still for a moment, each forming one point of a perfect triangle. Then Charles began speaking in an ancient language, the rhythmic chants placing a hypnotic spell on the room. As his first, it was Megan who began the ritual. She drifted forward to the dagger which had been firmly planted into the ground. She plucked the blade effortlessly from its concrete sheath.

Megan drew the blade across her palm when Charles' hooded form bowed to her. She bowed back, presenting him with the knife. Removing the hood from his head, he lifted the blade to the heavens. Then his tongue flicked forward like a serpent's, licking the droplets of Megan's blood, her essence, from the metal.

Megan accepted the blade back from him and drove it deep back into the ground. It was Blondie's turn to complete the ceremonial rites.

Sacrifice.
Offering one's self.
Acceptance.
Forever.

Megan's eyes bore holes into the back of Blondie's head. Charles was hers until this bitch came along. Predictably, when Chip offered the choice between death and immortality, Blondie chose their way of life. And now, if the ritual was complete, the three would be bound together. For eternity.

Blondie sauntered forward. Breaking with tradition, she shook the hood loose, staring up at Charles as she moved. She never took her eyes off him. Not when she knelt to pluck the knife from the ground. Not when she saw his expression turn to shock and then fear.

Poor girl never saw it coming.

Megan stood over the body, a long ceremonial sword swinging from her hand. Blondie disintegrated into ash, blown away on the winds. Megan was not one to be replaced.

His first.
His last.
His only.

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This week's theme thursday was "triangle." This is also a belated Magpie. And the second part of this story.