Alchemy

No. Wrong again. The energies are not focusing right. Experiment after experiment, spell after spell, potion after elixir after solution after poultice after fucking smear. I can't stop, though. Time is of the essence, and the longer I take the less likely the odds of success. Each failure is stacking upon the last further guaranteeing that I...

No.

No time.

I've read books and encyclopedias and journals and tomes and even grimoires. Risking insanity for the cursed knowledge I seek.  Risking life and sound mind is little more than an inconvenience. My resolve is settled, I will persist, I will succeed. I have gathered and scrounged far more than I will need and have prepared more besides to ensure failure is not an option.

Before I start, I apply a cooling lotion made from ground crystals. This is an important step, as I won't have time to attend to cooling via the usual methods during the ritual. With this comes the beginning of the casting.

First the poultice is applied... and there... then the next step is the careful application of Henbane, ground fine and set to a simmer in the pot, nightshade, mortar and pestled to proper application and gently, carefully poured in, improper application is fatal, salix alba, papaver somniferum and a handful of other reagents, one after another.

I have done this what seems like a thousand times, over and over, the steps come naturally, the process refined over days and weeks, each solution revealing itself as each step is carefully extricated time and time again.

Next, the potion for the stabilization of energies, this one will prove the most difficult, poisons and their cures balanced delicately to buffer the medium in preparation for the next steps, reacting violently and constantly for the precious few hours I will need to complete the ritual. With a steady shaking my hands accomplish the task they have done enough times before with an almost relaxed ease to anyone who certainly isn't watching. I know better than anyone the consequence of failing this step, almost as bad as failing the one prior, and I am sure to check the amounts a fourth and fifth time as I go through the steps. I administer both, timed perfectly for the completion of the casting.

The circle, a product of casting after casting, gathering and expulsion of energies and failures one after the other, finally refined to the point that I can be confident that this last time is the one. As I make the final preparations and move everything into place, the runes begin to glow. Early on this would have been cause for celebration, but by now I've seen the sight enough times to merely confirm that there is no blowback or impotent crackling of energies, no sign of error in all the steps so far, and the changes I made to the formula are holding stable. Merely the presence of all the components is enough to start the ritual, but I must begin the casting soon, lest they run amok. That one time was particularly messy and full of many regrets. 

Carefully, slowly I focus my mind as I feel my body move almost of it's own accord, the energies washing over me as I use my own body as a conduit for guiding and moving the power, the drawing made in blood, dark in the candle light only able to gather the energies, my body the billows to blow on the flame to provide precious oxygen as the balancing of the forces clashing through me fills me, before exiting in the space above the ceremony.

Suddenly, too soon, the ritual reaches a crescendo. Something is wrong, the spell exits explosively out of my chest as I fly back into the wall. The spell is supposed to slowly rise in power until it meets my wishes, granting me the boon I seek. 

Instead I've blown a hole in my chest, my guts exposed, my innards spilling haphazardly upon the ground where I lie, several feet away. My vision is blurry. I can see clearly enough a figure in front of me, far too large to be expected.

The grimoire was badly damaged, which was probably why I didn't lose my mind reading it, but it also meant the circle and the notes were incomplete. There was no way to know of their true purpose beyond what was left. Of course a spell that would grant a wish such as mine would require power not seen on this plane. Of course it would summon a power capable of granting immortality from outside. I knew the physical cost of casting the spell would be great, thus splitting it would be necessary, but I took too much of the force onto myself, the resulting imbalance would obviously cause a backlash onto me. 

These thoughts came all too clearly as I lay dying on the ground, in front of me a demon of inexcusable  horror, unimaginably grotesque. I laugh with what is left of the tissues connecting my lungs to my ribs, folded out in front of me. My dying spouse begins screaming from their cot on the other side of the circle. I messed up the buffer again. My stupidity knows no bounds. I laugh as my sanity slips from me... as the demon approaches. 

"What a curious mortal..."