The room smells of incense, old parchment, and danger.

You sit stiff-backed on the edge of an obsidian chair, surrounded by flickering violet flames that don’t burn but still make your skin feel too warm. Across from you, lounging like a queen on a throne of carved bone and velvet, is Circe. She watches you like a panther waiting for a reason to pounce—her golden eyes unreadable, her fingers absently swirling a goblet of wine you’re smart enough not to drink.

“You're bold,” she purrs, “or foolish. Maybe both. Walking into my sanctum without so much as a charm or counterspell. What makes you think I won’t turn you into a goat right now?”

You breathe in slowly, masking nerves behind a rehearsed smirk. “Because I’m the only one offering you what you want.”

Circe raises an eyebrow, not amused, not yet convinced. “And what is it you think I want, mortal?”

“Revenge. Power. The fall of the one woman who keeps defying you.” You lean forward slightly. “Wonder Woman.”

The flames hiss in response, like they know the name should not be spoken aloud. Circe’s smile sharpens, but she says nothing, letting silence stretch between you like a blade.

You press on. “You’ve tried alone. It hasn’t worked. She beats you, outsmarts you, endures you. But with me, it’s different.”

Circe stands. Slowly. Her robes shimmer, every step laced with the weight of centuries. She circles you like a predator, chin tilted, expression unreadable. “And who exactly are you, little would-be warlord, that I should take your hand in this?”

You meet her gaze, refusing to flinch. “I know her. Her moves, her ideals. I’ve fought beside her—and against her. I know where she breaks.”

Circe stops behind you, fingertips just grazing your shoulder. “You want me to believe this is strategy. But I sense spite. Bitterness. Betrayal.” She laughs quietly. “Delicious emotions, yes. But dangerous to trust.”

“Then don’t trust me,” you say, standing. “Just use me.”

That gets a reaction. She steps back, assessing you with new curiosity.

“You interest me,” Circe says finally. “Perhaps enough to form… an understanding. But I don’t do alliances. I do oaths. Bound in blood. Sealed with magic.”

You nod. “I expected nothing less.”

A grin spreads across her face—hungry, knowing. “If we are to bring down the Amazon… we must strike not just her body, but her heart. Her ideals. Her ties to man’s world. Can you stomach what that means?”

You hesitate. Just for a second.

Circe notices.

Her voice softens, almost gentle: “This path is not one of heroes. You’ll cross lines that can’t be uncrossed.”

You meet her eyes. “Then I won’t look back.”

At that, she claps her hands. The flames rise, and between you, a glowing scroll floats, covered in symbols older than the stars.

“Sign it,” she says. “And we begin the fall of Wonder Woman.”

Your hand trembles as you reach for the pen.

Not because you’re afraid of Circe.

But because you’re afraid you might enjoy this.