She outlines the pentacle on her carpet with masking tape.
“Look, you’re really cute.”
Five candles, one for each point.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
Light the candles, one by one. Greasy smoke fills the darkened bedroom.
“But look, you’re only fifteen.”
“If you don’t, I could say you did anyway.”
“Oh, great. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Really mature. Thanks, but I’ll go to prison with a clear conscience.”
Virgin’s tears… if only they would stop flowing.
She lifted the cup and began to chant.
Damned if he won’t. She would make sure of that.
Hell hath no fury; eh?
Oh I think he’d better don’t you!