((Content warning: self harm, blood))

Sandra took a deep breath, and dragged the knife over the tattoos on her arms, the chains and locks inked all up and down.  Then to the ones on her legs, the ropes, and hanks of barbed wire wound around her ankles, calves and thighs.

With her blood, she traced the pentacle on the hardwood floor in front of her, hissing a prayer as her blood dripped and pooled.  The pentacle lit, caught flame, and a handsome, dashing devil stood inside on cloven feet, with woolly legs and backwards knees.  His skin, though, wasn't red, but nut brown from the sun.

They started banging on the door.

"What can I do for you, pet?"  The devil crouched in front of her, looking her in the eye.  "What is your heart's desire?"

She let the knifepoint nick the filligreed collar tattooed around her neck, then dragged the blade along the floor and through the blue hissing flames of the pentacle as the door burst inward, a squad of armored men festooned with crosses.

"Burn them all..."

"With pleasure, my love." With one arm he scooped her limp body up against him, and with the other he scribed a sigil in the air.  Blue flames shot down the hall, knocking men back like bowling pins, or errant trashcans on a blustery day.   "With pleasure..."

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