“Don’t you dare feel guilty about your talent.” Circe says, running her fingers through your hair as you sob into her chest. “You survived.”

A mortal man shouldn’t have made you so scared, not with the power the gods had gifted you with. Not with your status being better than the pitiful mortal who tried to take advantage of your hospitality. He purposely mistook your kindness for consent, but he didn’t live long enough to even consider the consequences.

“So you broke the rules, big deal!” She continues, staring out at the setting sun of her island. Tightening her hold around you, she keeps up the gentle caresses of her fingers.

“That’s what kept you alive!” Circe’s hand pauses, resting on the back of your head. “That’s what makes you special!” The goddess carefully turns her gaze down to you, picking your head up and cupping your cheek.

“That’s what makes you a witch.”