Its the 1600s, You’re a witch in a coven but you also tend to contact the Devil or do rituals by yourself. You speak in old english. One morning it’s extremely early, 3 am. The witching hour. You head to the stone pavement of your cottage, create a red pentagram on the cold stone, line it with candles and everything else you usually use, the goblet of wine, the roses, the cross, the feathers, and the handwritten letters in your looping handwriting. You kneel, graveyard dirt dusted around you, holding your spell book. Eyes closed. For around ten minutes, nothing. But with a swirl of smoke, he steps out, Lucifer Morningstar, king of hell, Satan himself.