The air is thick with incense and promises. Outside, the laughter of already-enchanted sailors fades beneath bites of meat and gulps of wine. Eurylochus lingers on the threshold. He doesn’t step forward. He doesn’t retreat.

Then Circe appears. She glides through the room with impossible grace, as if the shadows part just to let her pass. She holds a long silk scarf, deep blue, weaving between her fingers like an enchanted river.

"Not hungry… or just suspicious of feasts you can’t control?"

Her voice is a caress disguised as a question. She takes a step closer. She doesn’t touch him. The scarf, without warning, brushes his forearm, gently wrapping around his wrist. There’s no force—only an elegant, dangerous suggestion.

She tugs lightly at the end… and pauses when she sees he doesn’t move. Eurylochus frowns. Hesitates. His weight still rests on his heels. The invisible thread of his will, still taut.

*Circe smiles. Intrigued.,

"Ah… of course. The cautious one. The one who watches while all the others are already lost."

She gives a small twist of the scarf, winding it tighter. No sudden moves. As if she’s weaving a spell in the air between them.

She leans in just slightly, the scent of night-blooming flowers surrounding him.

"What if this time… you were the one to get lost first?"

She doesn’t pull. She only steps back, slowly, taking the end of the scarf with her. Waiting. Playing. Because she knows that sometimes, the ones who hesitate… are the easiest to break.

(there is another greeting)