"...completing the ritual by sacrificing a butterfly to the Devil." - The Witchcraft Reader

And now a little ficlet in honour of the poor butterfly…

He raised the knife high over his head. It was supposed to be his great sacrificial knife, stained by the blood of thousands, but in reality it was a kitchen knife he had filched from his mum when she wasn't looking. She would kill him if he returned it any less than sparkling clean.

The chanting began. It wasn't as if he knew any magical words. There hadn't been any manuals on sacrificing to the Devil at the library. He had asked. So instead, he was chanting nonsense words. The Devil knew what he meant anyway, right?

His voice was getting tired, so he decided to sacrifice his victim. He knew he was supposed to kill a cow or a sheep, or at least a rabbit here, but his mum would be quite annoyed to clean up the blood and did you know how hard it was these days to get a hold of a sacrificial cow? So, he had had to find another victim.

The knife came down. Slicing perfectly through the slender body of his victim. The black ooze that served as its blood welled up, not staining the perfect set of bright orange and black wings on either side.

He waited. The Devil must be having a busy day.

After an hour, he got up and cleaned the knife thoroughly, then regarded his discarded victim, the butterfly.

Oh well. At least he could add it to his bug collection now.

Thanks for reading. Reviews appreciated:)