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CIRCE Circe saw with eyes unclouded the pain in the visage of her Dark Lady, and the splinters of her heart began to throb in unison as she reached out to the Chieftainess in spirit. It was a look that the shadowmere recognized all too well—obviously Ktulu was losing a most treasured friend by the death of the ancient sentinel. Almost subconsciously, Circe dipped her head, lowering her eyes in acknowledgment of the grieving her liege would most certainly feel. Engrossed as she was in her display of aggrieved respect, Circe failed to notice the ambient glow of the fireflies as they crowded behind her, bathing her in their calming cast—but she was affected by them just the same. As the weight of the sorrow started to settle somewhere on the sorceress’s shoulders and back, a curious sensation overcame her. It felt as though something deep within started to crumble, walls of mortar and stone turning to dust—and as those walls fell, a torrent of her inconceivable pain broke through and washed over Circe in full, the tsunami of all her collective strife. It was so sudden and so complete that the shadowmere gave a gasp as though drenched in icy water; she felt her eyes flood and hot, salty tears fell in great streams from her eyes, unchecked and bitter in their downfall. Her chest shook, her voice broke, and there was nothing she could do but stand there paralyzed in this sudden outbreak of emotion, watching as the great bear finally died in a whisper of farewell. The tears fell, but Circe found that her pain was not so destructive—where she once hid from the devastating power of her heartache, she faced it head on, and the tears that fell were not a testament of pain. Something was beginning to stitch back together in her soul, the threads fragile and precarious, yet healing all the same. Loosing herself in the absence of fear and misery, Circe allowed herself to weep freely for a time, head still bowed and her breath fluttering in the chill of the forest, and when she lifted her head to look with bloodshot eyes at the Dark Lady, it was as though the weight of the world had shifted on her shoulders. For the first time in many moons, Circe could breathe. “I….I am sorry,” Circe croaked, her voice barely a whisper in the spiritual breeze of those lost woods; she wasn’t sure if she were apologizing for her loss of poise in the presence of her Lady, if she showed contrition for gazing upon the naked passion upon Ktulu’s face, or if she were giving her condolences to the grieving Constrictor. She hiccupped once with a suppressed sob, and her spirit shivered with the catharsis of the fireflies’ gift. |
