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The stone circle sits in the middle of the field, an innocuous arrangement of rocks where grazing cattle and the odd curious tourist unwittingly trample the sacred ground. The tourists do not notice the flat, white rock in the middle which has been precisely placed so that the midday sun will be directly overhead on October 31st, the end of the Celtic year. If they were to look a little closer, they would notice a red patch decorating the rock as though layers of paint had been added over the years. This is the virgin stone, where blood of virgins was shed for centuries on the night we know as All Hallow's Eve.

In the year 13 AD, the harvest had been poor for the people in the village of Dar Enian. Indeed, their stores had provided enough for them to survive the harsh winter but they had no excess to offer the Druids of Tlachtga. If they were angered, the village would not be able to rekindle its fire from the blessed fire at Tlachtga and all would suffer the wrath of the Gods. The people of the village wrung their hands in despair, knowing that there was only one solution. They were an industrious people and worked hard. There had never been a need to use the virgin stone circle in living memory. Every man, woman and child knew about the stone circle and its significance. They respectfully avoided even looking upon it from afar.

In Dar Enian there was a maiden named Gormlaith whose legendary beauty was known in villages far and wide. She had a perfect, pink complexion and slender limbs. Most renowned of all was her jet black hair which almost brushed the ground when she walked. It was rumoured that she was indeed a princess whose parents had died young and she had been bequeathed into the care of the villagers at Dar Enian. She would now be the last hope for the village.

The Druid Head Priest from Tlachtga was duly summoned and the people cowered on their knees as he took his pedestal seat in the village square. Beneath his hooded white robe, it could be seen that he was a tall, broad-shouldered man of considerable stature. Even the babies dared not cry out in his presence. At length he spoke.

"I understand that there be no food offering. What sacrifice dost thou make instead?"

A collective gasp arose from the villagers as Gormlaith, clad in a purple gown and golden jewellery, shakily rose to her feet, then moved to stand before him.

"Lord and Master. On behalf of the village, I-I humbly offer my pitiful self," she whispered.

Gormlaith's hair and face and jewellery radiated in the pale sun, making her more ravishing than ever.

"I accept thee as an offering." A resonant, chilling voice that caused Gormlaith to swoon with fear.

No one dared to help her as she fell to the ground.

"Bathe her and send her naked with your three most trusted women to the stone circle by sundown." ordered the High Priest.

It was only after his chariot had disappeared that the villagers lifted her from the hard pebbles. Many wept.

The three oldest women in the village were assigned the task of preparing Gormlaith for the Druid ritual. She was taken to the river and stripped of her fine clothing. She could not remember being bathed by another person since she was a child. The water was freezing and her teeth clattered as she crouched in the water whilst three sets of hands sought out her every crevice, making her squirm at being touched in such unfamiliar places. When she stood up, her long, red nipples protruded from the almost transparent skin of her breasts. Her hips flared into womanly curves which emphasised the prize beneath the soaked, matted down on her sex.

The three women used coarse rags to dry her and then huddled close around her body to provide warmth and modesty as they escorted her to the stone circle. The women were afraid too. They tried to utter words of comfort to Gormlaith but they knew little of what was to come. The legends which were whispered by adults around fires late on winter nights were of knives and bloodied flesh. They shuddered when they thought of ritual animal sacrifices and imagined the fate that would befall Gormlaith.

In the middle of the circle, they were greeted by a Druid Priestess. Gormlaith was left to sit on the virgin stone, shivering and alone, whilst the Priestess led the women to a cave at the edge of the field. She presented them with a sheepskin and oils, giving her instructions in a low, conspirational tone. For three days and nights, the women would prepare Gormlaith for the ritual. At night, Gormlaith would sleep in the cave by herself wrapped in sheepskin. During the day, the women were to visit, feed her broth and anoint her as instructed with the holy oils.

At the end of three days and nights, Gormlaith was a mass of confused emotions. She knew the prosperity of the village depended on her and she sang to herself during the long nights to maintain her spirits. She had no light and she heard the scurrying of creatures and the laughter of faeries echoing throughout the cave. So many times, she fell into helpless wailing, but her cries only returned an eerie echo that added to her fears.

Gormlaith came to crave the daytime when the women arrived. They would take her to the virgin stone and lay her along its length on her back. For many hours they would rub her body with oils, in the exact manner demanded by the Priestess. One woman would hold the oils whilst the others rubbed them into her body with their ancient, craggy hands. One would begin at her feet, carefully massaging her heels, her arches, her toes, then begin a slow descent up her legs. The other woman would begin at her temples, gently spreading the oil in ever widening circles over her neck, her breasts, her stomach until the hands of both women would meet at her unsullied mound.

For reasons she could not explain, Gormlaith found that she could not remain still when the women kneaded the oils into the puckered lips of her sex and tugged gently on the creases within. At night, she found herself involuntarily placing her hands on her breasts and her sex, seeking an inner warmth that seemed to evolve from the ministrations of the three women. Each day, she found it a little harder not to cry out and beg for an unknown release when they touched her sex.

On the fourth day, Gormlaith remained at the entrance of the cave. She watched as the light moved overhead and the virgin stone gleamed in the midday sun. Finally the afternoon faded into night. The women came then, uttering words of reassurance they themselves did not feel. They spent considerable time braiding her hair so that it sat high on her head. Gormlaith looked elegant and regal as she was led by flaming torch to the ceremony in the stone circle.

Gormlaith felt as faint as she did on the day when she presented herself to the Druid High Priest. There was a ring of fire around the stones, a hypnotic ritual chant emerging from its depths. The Druid Priestess appeared from within the flames and bade them enter. The women hesitated, but Gormlaith determinedly stepped through the fire and found herself being escorted to the virgin stone by the Druid High Priest himself. The High Priest then rejoined his Ovates and the Druid Priestess as they marched in a circle, continuing their chant.

Gormlaith felt feverish. After days of being exposed to the cold, the flames seemed unbearably hot. The three women were with her now, performing the same tasks as they had during the past three days. She was ashamed to find herself naked and exposed to the Druids, spread-eagled on the virgin stone for their feasting eyes. She could feel them watching her through their hoods. She was even more embarrassed to find that despite her shyness, she desired the touch of the women's fingers on her sex. Her body ached from lying on the stone and the hard ground, yet her back arched involuntarily as the women's hands came closer to meeting at her centre.

At length, the women began to manipulate her sex but their touch was much less gentle, far more probing than in previous days. One woman held her lips wide, whilst the other two pinched a nub high on top of her mound. At first it hurt and she called out in pain, then she sought to grind herself against the fingers that continued to press against it. The chanting became louder now and she became aware of the High Priest standing at her feet, watching proceedings. She struggled when she realised his eyes were upon her exposed, private flesh, trying desperately to close her legs. In the midst of her struggle, a sudden glow entered her body and she found herself screaming as she presented her sex upwards towards the High Priest.

The chanting ceased. Silence. Gormlaith wished for the sounds of scurrying creatures and laughing faeries. The flames leapt higher. The Priestess and one of the Ovates moved forth. In a single fluid movement, the High Priest was disrobed to reveal the source of his Holy seed. It stood strong and straight in the firelight, a magnificent organ which any warrior would envy. His face remained hooded.

"Poor wee lamb,"muttered one of the women in disbelief. "She's SO tiny."

The three women moved Gormlaith gently so that the entrance to her sex was placed over the red evidence from so many before. They were then ushered to the back of the circle and the Druids crowded in closer until Gormlaith felt that she might not breathe. She was too weak from the recent excitement which had claimed her body to protest, her terrified eyes remaining fixed and unblinking as she awaited her fate.

The High Priest took a length of cloth which was presented to him by the Priestess. He leant over Gormlaith as he placed a sheet across her body. He pulled it up towards her face, then over her eyes before he spoke.

"Thy virgin womb has been presented to me in order that the village of Dar Enian may produce a fruitful harvest next year. I will spawn in thee a child which will be born as payment for this blessing. I command thee to accept my gift."

That resonant, chilling voice. Gormlaith could see only blackness. A child! She resisted the thought with every fibre of her being. To have the child of a Druid would mean never to have a husband. She had heard the agonising cries of women in the village when giving birth. She could not survive it for a man she did not love. Her sex muscles resisted and closed tightly.

The women stared in horror as the High Priest produced a golden sickle. Silence. Not even the sounds of flickering flames. He lowered it until it was poised above Gormlaith's sex. Then, with a single, expert cut he made a slash in the cloth. Gormlaith felt his touch for the first time as his manhood entered the opening he had made. The muscles around her sex clamped even more firmly refusing the possibility of invasion. Yet, she had become so attuned to being touched that her body moved automatically against the bold, thick, purple bulb he presented at the entrance to her sex.

The High Priest moved swiftly. She felt his hands pressing down on her torso, then her insides being shredded as he pressed his entire weight into her unwilling virginity. Her tears soaked the sheet as her blood dripped out onto the rock, mingling with that of her ancestors. The chant began again, slowly and softly. The High Priest rocked back and forth in time with the rhythm, her virgin juices gleaming on his shaft each time he withdrew. Gormlaith pressed her back firmly into the hard stone, anchoring herself to accept the pain each time he entered.

The three women trembled as they observed Gormlaith being stretched obscenely wide, effectively destroying her for any other man. They could only stare in awe, admire her fortitude, as she bravely accepted her fate.

The chant became louder and faster. Gormlaith could feel the High Priest's manhood penetrating deep within. His strokes continued to match those of the chant, ever swifter, ever stronger. His sword of flesh tore further into the delicate walls of her ravaged hole. Thoughts of women in childbirth faded into a deeper need now, the urge to experience that inner glow and the subsequent abandonment. Despite the discomfort, Gormlaith felt her body lifting, almost welcoming the cruelty of each stroke. Her hands clutched the sides of the stone as she yearned for relief. Then the chanting stopped.

The High Priest remained within her shattered body. His fingers sought the nub, high on her mound and pinched it in much the same way as the women had done.

"Dost thou accept my seed in the name of the Goddess Danu?"

Gormlaith struggled for her voice. The name of their Goddess was holy. She had been forbidden to speak it until now.

"Yes. Y-e-s. In the name of Danu I accept thy seed."

At that moment, the High Priest pressed hard into her nub and she felt the inner glow in every vein, every pore. As her body spasmed around his manhood, she welcomed the emissions that gushed forth into her womb, fulfilling her destiny.

After the ritual, Gormlaith lived in the cave, tended only by the three women. So it came to pass that nine months later she gave birth to a baby girl. As was the custom, the High Priest returned to the village to claim his progeny. Gormlaith had prepared herself for life as an outcast, forever doomed to live in the cave above the stone circle, as was also the custom. Legend has it though, that upon seeing Gormlaith again, the High Priest was so overcome with her beauty that he took her with him. They were duly married and produced many offspring.

For decades Dar Enian enjoyed a bountiful harvest and it became a custom every All Hallow's Eve for children to be told the story of Gormlaith and the High Priest. It was also whispered by adults around the fires late on winter nights, that they often made love without a sheet to protect the High Priest from the unholiness of his wife which was most certainly not the custom.