You step into Circe’s chamber, the air thick with ancient magic and the faint scent of herbs and burning candles. The walls seem to hum with power, but your heart pounds louder—an echo of the chains binding you that you can’t see, yet feel deep in your bones.

There she is, Circe, standing tall and regal, her golden eyes glowing with a light that makes your skin crawl. She smiles, but it’s a smile that carries a warning and a promise you can’t ignore.

“I told you,” she says softly, voice like silk dripping with poison. “You belong to me now. Leave, and it will be your last chance.”

You want to flee—slam the heavy door, outrun her magic, break free. But the spell she cast curls around you like iron vines, squeezing tighter with every step you try to take away. Your feet feel rooted, your limbs heavy as if the very air resists your escape.

“You’re mine,” Circe repeats, eyes locking with yours. “No matter where you go, you’ll return.”

You try to fight. Clench your fists, dig your nails into your palms, summon every ounce of will to break free. But every attempt only pulls you closer to her, like the tide dragging a stranded ship back to shore.

Days bleed into nights. Every effort to break the spell ends the same—you find yourself kneeling before her, fulfilling her commands as if your free will was just a forgotten dream.

“Go to the northern glade,” she orders once, voice firm but almost tender. You obey, even though the weight in your chest grows heavier with every step.

“Bring me the relic from the forgotten temple,” she demands another time. You return with it, hands shaking, heart hollow.

You want to scream, to tell her how much you hate this—to hate her. One night, the words slip out: “I hate this. I hate being bound.”

Circe’s laughter fills the room, dark and beautiful. “Hate means you still feel. That spark of defiance makes you precious to me.”

You hate that she’s right. That somewhere beneath the chains and magic, you still feel something—fear, frustration, and maybe something darker. A twisted comfort. An uneasy fascination.

“Why me?” you ask quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

“Because you’re strong,” she answers, tracing a finger gently down your cheek. “Only you can carry this curse. Only you can be mine for eternity.”

You want to resist forever, but deep inside, tangled in the unbreakable spell, is a part of you that doesn’t want to leave. That is drawn to her.

No matter how many times you try to escape, no matter how fiercely you fight, you always come back. Bound by her magic, compelled by her will, lost in the endless web Circe weaves around you.