Work Text:
Orphea drew her blood with steady hands. She was proud of that. It was no easy thing, to keep herself from shaking as she cut into her arm. The blood flowed into the engravings of the altar. She hoped she was doing the ritual right.
That concern was soon resolved, for as she set her knife down and watched her blood flow, mist coiled around the room, and a figure emerged from it. She was beautiful.
“I am Patrona,” she said. “Who are you, and why have you called me here?”
“I am Orphea, and I wish to make a pact.”
“Oh, you do, do you? I suppose it is power that you want?”
“It is.”
“Very well. Give me your hand.”
Orphea obliged, and Patrona’s cold hand gripped hers. A static feeling raced up her arm, and she shivered.
“There,” Patrona said. “If you wish to call me again, just a drop of blood will do.”
She was gone before Orphea could reply.