Basil's First Time

Basil finished the first circle of words.

The chant wasn't fast. It couldn't be rushed or muttered. The pronunciations had to be precise.

When he finished the second circle, the base of his neck seemed to grow hot,

He stood up straighter and began the last circle. With each word he said, his neck seemed to pulse in rhythm. The the feeling began to course down both of his arms rapidly cycling between hot and cold. His hands felt like they were swelling, growing thick and gross, as if he had been stung by bee the size of a cat. He spared an eye flick and was relieved that his hands looked normal.

With the final words approaching, Basil produced a glass ritual knife and nicked the tip of his finger. Using the bead of blood as a guide for the magic, he finished the last words and felt everything leave him through his finger, exploding into the world as lighting that zipped along the wooden surfaces in the church, leaving smoking streaks behind.

Through the exhaustion and the pin prick of pain, Basil smiled.