I wouldn't know how to describe the sound a brush makes when dipped in crimson red, whether it created waves in the air or not, my ears didn't pick it up.
I could almost imagine music playing while said brush slid over the floorboards, drawing intricate patterns, guided by my hand. It cost me more than usual to hold the tool firmly, the nervousness having taken over my body, and made it into a shaky leaf. It annoyed me, angered me even... I was, I still am a painter, and it took me centuries of practice just to master something as simple as holding a brush firmly, but the sin I was about to commit had made me travel back in time, as I felt like a newborn fawn, with legs too long to even stand properly. And that night I slipped and stumbled multiple times. One word comes to me whenever I think about it. Embarrassing.
Not only my arms and legs were shaking, but my voice was too as I slowly but relentlessly pronounced those words. Red flags kept raising inside my mind, my heart was beating faster than it was healthy, but I did not stop. I had got that far and I knew that if I stopped then, I wouldn't have the courage, or the stupidity necessary to start over again.
It had to be done, there and then.
I closed my eyes, fearful, and waited for seconds that seemed to last for years. I could listen to the clock ticking, my own shaky breath and my own heartbeat, trying too hard to get back in order. I could hear the wind outside, passing by. A barn owl that lived in my garden, singing, if it could be called that.
It wasn't until I had lost all hopes that the spell would have worked that it did, it wasn't until I had opened my eyes and turned around that I smelled sulfur and the floorboards lit with purple fire, washing the room in a cold, unnatural light, that I slowly became accustomed to over the years.
I looked over my shoulder, praying he wasn't there, but I had called, and there he was.
"A-a-astaroth?" I asked, gulping right after, ashamed. I was not less powerful than the beast before me, with it's, no, his. With his curved horns, like a ram, and his dark fur and hooves. He did not look like the pictures in the books, but better, so much better. His presence alone filled the room, power seeming to seep from his eyes.
He waited a few seconds to open his mouth, full of fangs, and to dedicate me a grin. I felt special…
His voice, unlike mine, did not fail once, he did not stutter.
"Uriel".
