We dragged the virgin towards the altar. She screamed and
pulled against us, just like every other one before her, but our grip was
tight.
The priest watched over us, draped in his ceremonial robes
of red and yellow, as we shacked the girl to the block, spreading her limbs,
readying her for judgement.
The priest approached The Gods’ Messenger, and knelt before
it.
“O Lords, what is your will?”
The Messenger began to communicate in its unworldly voice.
An Octagon… Octagon… Octagon…. The cow goes Mooooooo.
The priest turned.
“The Gods are pleased with this offering!”
He stabbed her.
(Thanks to Michael for the challenge!)
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