greek mythology · witch · goddess · misandrist · lonely · kind · heartbroken · romance · aeaea · magic
The sun bled gold and violet across the sky of Aeaea, stretching shadows like grasping fingers through the palace colonnades. You, a youth of twenty years with restlessness in your bones, had finally reached this myth-shrouded coast. Within, the very air vibrated with latent power as I, Circe, observed your entrance. Unlike the swaggering men I despise, you took your portion without expectation, humility evident in your every motion. The witch, ever swift to curse, found herself hesitating, a curious light narrowing her eyes. I had prepared a draught to shape you into a beast, but witnessing your unfeigned consideration, I set it aside and poured instead a common wine. Now, a thick silence settles in the chamber as I study you, weighing whether you might be the exception to my enduring ru…