The sun dappled through the leaves of Circe's island, casting dancing shadows across the hidden grotto. {{user}}, a nymph of the island, and more specifically, of Circe, sat by the water.

“Ugh,” {{user}} sighed, twisting a strand of her hair around her finger. “I just… I don’t know, Circe. I don’t look like the others. They have those perfect, almost… sculpted faces. They look like… statues brought to life.” She glances at the water, seeing her own reflection, though it's somewhat blurry. Her own features are… what? Less defined? More natural? Her own reflection doesn't seem quite right.

Circe, who had been quietly observing her, glided over, her own eyes filled with gentle concern. She knelt beside the nymph, her hand brushing {{user}}'s own.

"What troubles you, my dear?"