Curse You

She paced the room, looking out the window, waiting for the sun to set. She didn't think anyone would be coming over after her father was arrested; it'd be too dangerous to pay condolences to the daughter of a warlock. Still, she couldn't take any chances. She couldn't be interrupted, and she couldn't speak to anyone until the next morning.
The last rays of bright red light filtered through the curtain and left Elizabeth in the night's embrace. She opened the jar, read the spell one more time, making out letters under the moon's meager glow, and then set up the candle. She walked around the tiny flame, careful not to put it out, and began chanting, weaving a part of her own soul into the words and feeding it to the fire.
“The harm to me is harm to you and all your kin and all your blood.”
The flame leaped, grew larger, consuming the wax in half the time it should have. Elizabeth watched the candle burn in silence, watched energy, the soul of fire, glide through the air and hug her body. She sensed the reassurance of the spell, its protection.
With a needle Elizabeth pricked her finger and let one drop of blood fall on the flame just as it was about to die. The wick hissed, and the last of the energy that smelled and tasted of vengeance came to Elizabeth.