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CIRCE As the shadowmere listened to her comrades explain themselves and describe their situation, Circe’s eyes remained heavily lidded in apparent idleness, her ears swerving themselves to listen to the speech of her companions. There was no flick of tail, no flaring of nostril; there was not even a blink of an eye, nor a twitch of an ear; nor any other physical indication that she was at all bothered by Chemical’s revelation of being a member of the Assassins, the very same group of mediocre guerrillas that entangled themselves in the affairs of the Grey. In every sense, they were enemies; had Circe the passion for it, she would’ve struck down the black Pegasus in that moment, ensuring one less to stand before the might of her family. The truth of it was that Circe wasn’t bothered by the revelation in the slightest; on the contrary, she felt nothing but a waking sense of empathy, listening as the dark lady explained and described her so-called “family”. Was not the sorceress a part of such a band in her earliest days? Was she not a vagabond of some throw-away gang of misfits; did she not have that in common with this Pegasus, Chemical? How could she condemn one such as her with a clear conscience? In any case, this was neutral territory, and Circe did not have much of a care to bring war outside of the boundaries of strife and grudge. She had no grudge to hold—she was much too bitter to hold one. As the other, ruby-eyed fae raised her voice in turn, Circe’s other ear cocked in her direction, eager to hear from her. *“I look for a place to call home… look for a place where I may be valued. Where I may find use of my limited talents, though I desire to learn and have purpose, I wish not to be a burden. Would either of you happen to know where I can seek such a place?”* Perhaps it was the cloud of persistent desolation she strove to fight every waking moment that gave Circe such a profound clarity of perception? There was no inherent hatred or aversion towards any of these mares; more and more, Circe was seeing herself in both the roan Illuminati and the black Chemical. The tiny smile on her maw grew just a little bit more, finding that it was her responsibility to handle them as she had been handled—to point them in the right direction, give them the gentle nudge that would ensure they found their niche in this insane isle just as she had found hers. “I know your roving wish, sister,” Circe spoke, her eyes resting on Illuminati, “I felt much the same when I entered this place….bitter….wasted…” her voice faltered slightly, a trail of velvet smoke winding in the air; she rallied at once. “I know not your talents, but I know where they may be of use. To the west there is a herd there, a kingdom by the sea enchanted by the moon and the mists of fancy; they are the World’s Edge.” She paused, gather her wits about her and striving to remember the other lands to be found. “To the south is the land of heat and sand, where the winged warriors of the Dragon’s Throat dwell. They are just as hellish and proud as the heat of their domain…but they are honorable horses, nonetheless. I would advise you to avoid the north, where the Aurora Basin unicorns dwell in the year-long frost. They are….dangerous, in their own right, and if you are not racist in your heart, you are an enemy. And not very far from here is the Windtossed Foothills, stronghold of the Grey, a band of elite mercenaries.” Circe lifted her head higher, a hard spark dancing in her eyes for a span of heartbeats. “It is here I found a home….I am Circe of the Grey.” The most curious part of her descriptions was that they were not exclusive to the ears of Illuminati alone; indeed, she spoke to both mares with equal interest and encouragement. It was not her intention to dissuade Illuminati to shun the assassins—not that she wouldn’t be happy if it came to be—but Circe figured that, if the crème dancer decided to swell the ranks of the Assassins, it wouldn’t matter to Circe. At the very least, she would know her enemy’s face. “You are welcome to join me,” she said, in that same unambiguous tone that included both mares, “We can offer protection, fellowship, and purpose. We fight with each other and for each other; we are a family in the truest sense of the word, protecting one another's backs from the teeth of the world. However, it’s up to you to decide where your talents lie; I have given you the options.” Circe’s gaze lingered on Illuminati, in no way pressuring or threatening; indeed, they were most gentle and slightly curious, as though she wondered where the appaloosa would choose to go—and wondered she did. But then her eyes flicked to Chemical, and the mildness stayed, yet something indescribably sad entered her visage as well. “Heed my words, Chemical,” she said, her tone low and brittle, “Beware the dangers of a small family such as yours. They are easily crushed, from the outside…and from within.”She closed her eyes, a different type of anguish threatening to break through its barrier; it seemed the shadowmere was filled with naught but all kinds of sorrow these days. “And please believe me when I say...the pain of it is unbearable.” It was not a threat; it was not even warning of conflict from the Grey. It was advice—the most sincere advice Circe had ever given a stranger. She had been a member of a tight-knit family. That family had been destroyed. And now, so much later, the sorceress still walked about the land with all the shame, the anger, and the feeling of lost hopelessness it had invoked. There was no way she would ever wish that sort of torture on another. Not even her worst enemy. |
