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Birdsong had melted well and truly, falling down upon the frozen lands and quenching the thirst of Gaia. The Earth sang out joyfully, a cry of rejuvenation and rejoicing in its rebirth; the creatures were content with the crystal wealth that Birdsong bestowed upon her kin, allowing them to be fruitful and multiply, rewarding them for their steadfast resolve to life and commitment to their young and kin. Though Birdsong faded gradually with the months, diminishing her gifts upon the land; the sun climbed higher and higher in the sky, the Sun God gloating in his triumph and the liquid of Life becoming less bountiful by the moment. It soon came to pass that the hot, jovial climate finally defeated the tender arms of Birdsong, and it was truly swept away, ushering in the age of Tallsun and all its grandeur. The greens of the trees were vibrant in the sun’s rays, though while the Earth retained the gifts of water and nourishment, the streams began to recede and shrink; those swollen ponds that had sprung up in the midst of Birdsong began to shrivel into a paltry sort of puddle, its cobalt, glassy surface mirroring the bright blue sky and the mocking gaze of the hot, hot sun.
Circe gazed upon herself in such a puddle.
She dare not breathe, lest she upset the smooth surface of the water and upset her reflection. And yet she was truly upset in her heart and bearing; quiet moments such as these, in the midst of the warm song and the happy forest around her, caused the dull ache in her chest to throb once again, a pang of loneliness that never truly left the sorceress. Her eyes stayed true and steady, with not a single tear marring the perfection of her stable, glassy orbs—she wondered if she would ever cry for the nasty shrew. Circe didn’t owe tears to the pure white Lilith; she owed her a swift kick in her cheek, a reminder that she did birth those biting, agonized hooves. Circe would not be forgotten; she absolutely refused that sort of fate for her memory.
Circe dipped her head towards the pool a little more, letting her horn graze the surface ever so slightly; thin ripples spread across, mutating Circe’s reflection into something monstrous and sad to behold. She lifted her horn from the crystal puddle, and watched as a single drop clung to the very tips of her polished horn. The light danced around it gaily, flashing all sorts of iridescent smiles and colors from the heart of that lone tear. It was a question that captivated Circe in her darkest moments of peace; would she ever shed tears for the shrew? Did she have the capacity?
Circe snorted suddenly, a derisive sound; she shook her head to rid her horn of the offending droplet. What foolishness to think about.
~~~~~
"Destroy the Peacock and Her Legacy"
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