[Crowley makes a soft noise of acknowledgement, deciding not to get into a discussion about whether an apology is necessary. She reminds him so much of Agnes, sometimes, that it's difficult to swallow all the emotions tangled up in that, but he's nothing if not good at compartmentalizing.]

Get comfortable and pick a finger to wear the ring on, I'll get us started.

[He holds out his hands in front of him, cupped together as he summons a tiny bit of flame into his palms. It isn't quite Hellfire, what he's making, but he does murmur curses over the flame in a language that existed before time, imbuing it with before, before he opens his hands and sends sparks along the edge of the circle.

The flames aren't intense, resting on points across the circle like candles, without the need for wax or wicks. Once they're burning steadily, he looks back at Gwenhwyfar.]

Right, now, this shouldn't hurt, but it'll feel a bit odd, I imagine.

[As a warning, while he watches her to make sure she's handling it alright so far.]