The Crone Farm was still a charred ruin. The memory of it still smelling of gasoline and smoke. Frenzied screams still ring in her ears. The place was still tangled in a mess of legalities that Alice didn't have the first clue how to unravel.

The house above her withered kingdom was still a shadowed ruin. A scared memory, a remnant of what used to be. The door to the Necropolis was closed, at least for now, tonight's plans had nothing to do with the withered kingdom beneath their feet.

Alice had no temple. So this shadowed saturated ruin would have to do.

Waiting for Lyssa in what passed as the living room, the rotted wood and gaping holes allowed the Winds entry, the light of their celestial brothers followed the same pathways and bathed Alice in their light.

In front of Alice were two cups.

(chalices)

And a knife.

(athame)

It wasn't long before Alice hears Lyssa's familiar heartbeat and that of the mongrel with her. "Bring me the dog."

The pup came forward eagerly, Alice imagined it's tail was wagging. Lyssa places it's leash into Alice's waiting hand, then she steps back and watched the other women slice the pup from throat to groin. To her credit she made no sounds of shock, or disgust. The same could not be said for the mongrel beneath Alice's hands.

Alice slips one of the chalices under the spilling blood, fingers bloody from the act, and the spatter. Made bloodier as she makes sure the blood was indeed filling the chalice.

The dog's dropped with a dull thud, his blood and guts spilling out onto the floor.

Alice brings the gilded chalice to her lips, pressing the metal to them, the scent of the mongrel's blood has the Wraith thrashing, writhing, twisting, wanting. But instead of downing the intoxicating liquid into her mouth, down the Wraith's maw, and always ravenous gullet, Alice pulls the chalice away, and sets it gently, carefully onto the rotting floor, right next to the dead dog.

She then turns to her athame. Cleans the blade, purifies it, then grasp it once more, not by the handle but by the edge. Making a tight fist, and before she finally grasps the handle with the opposite hand and pulls it.

The Nosferatu's blood scent filled the air.

Grabbing one of the remaining chalice. She fills it with her spilling blood.

Alice could practically hear her ghoul salivating at the sight of her vitae staining her dress, her hands, the knife.

For now, Alice pays her no mind.

The chalice full of her Blood is offered up high with a murmured prayer, to low for human ears, then the Haunt shifts the cup in her grasp, tilting it until she pours the vitae on the rotting floorboards.

Alice stands, cleans and purifies her atheme once more. Nodding pleased with herself and her efforts. For a moment, Alice does nothing. Then, a mighty gust blows through the cracks of the rotting house, and pulls Alice's hair and dress this way and that.

A moment of reverent awe appears on the Blind Doll's face, before it's turns to the rotting floorboards her, blood already soaking through, and offers another reverent prayer before moves from the scene. Leading Lyssa back to the dark depths of the withered kingdom below their feet.

Once the serenity of the Caldarium encircles them, Alice raises her still bleeding hand and cups Lyssa's cheek, and rubs a bloodied thumb across her lips.

The dog, and the chalice filled with his blood are left where they lie.