"SING FOR ME!" He commanded. "SING FOR ME

a scalpel. Which you might not think the ideal implement for decapitation, but by gosh it was well-wielded. The watchers obeyed their last command and broke into song as the blood

impregnated the cheap wood of the platform, slowly coloring it a peculiar vermilion color. If only the barbarians didn't steal all the axes, the poor fellow wouldn't have suffered

so immensely. But it didn't matter any longer. Unfortunately for Ingrid, the blood had to be swiftly mopped up from the platform before it coagulated. Hagrid didn't appreciate

this horrid interior design faux pas on his front porch. “Time to grab the mop,” she whispered under her fuzzy, graying upper lip. Dodging the tiny bits of bone and beef stew she

stepped through his front door. All the sights and smells outside suddenly overwhelmed her; she felt sick. She stumbled to the hall closet. Instead of a mop and bucket, she found

God and a sense of fulfillment, which was a shame since she really needed that mop and bucket. Letting the closet door gently close, she glanced further along the hallway before

Satan jumped out from around the corner & grabbed her pathetically thin arms. Pulling her roughly to his scaly chest, his sulphuric breath scorched her cheeks & he whispered, "

Don't hang with that damned loser.Wait 'til you see my pleasure yacht & wicked pad." She twisted her pony. "Well I dunno. You kinda stink & what's with the horns?" Satan said, "Oh

you know how it is: you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas. Be seeing you." As she galloped off on her pony, Satan let out a gust of brimstone but tried to stay hopeful.