Chapter Text
The fog shrouded the island like a light veil between the worlds of the living and the dead, light and shadow.
The wind played with the leaves, rustled in the grass, carrying with it the scent of salt and ancient magics that had long been dormant under a layer of time.
Circe stood on the edge of a cliff. Her gaze reflected the depth of the sea and the indomitable power of fire. Next to her was Tireseus , whose eyes carried the reflection of thousands of lives lived and lost. His body bore traces of transformations, but his soul remained indestructible.
They did not speak words - their silence was louder than thunder, deeper than silence.
"We are exiles," Circe said at last, her voice quiet but firm. "The gods have no use for us, nor do mortals. But we live between worlds."
Tireseus nodded, holding her hand in his, warm and sharp at the same time, like a snakebite.
— We were rejected, but this is our freedom. We are the creators of our own myths.
They turned to face the sea, whose waves crashed against the rocks, as if trying to erase the traces of their existence.
"You see," Tireseus whispered , "even the sea cannot forget. It remembers the whispers we left behind."
Circe smiled, silently, with that sadness that comes with eternity.
“We are snakes ,” she said, “who shed their skins to become new, free from the shackles of the past.
Their fingers intertwined in a complex pattern - a symbol of infinity, a ring that would never break.
Suddenly, an ancient tree emerged from the fog , its branches coiling around them like a giant snake guarding secrets.
"Our souls are intertwined," Tireseus whispered . "They are no longer afraid of either light or darkness."
Circe pressed herself against him.
“ Together we are wolves and oracles, snakes and witches, exiles who have found their way in the endless labyrinth of fate.”
They began to dance slowly, not passionately, but calmly, with the confidence of those who had accepted themselves and each other. Their bodies curved like two snakes wrapped around each other, moving to the rhythm of an ancient song that only they could hear.
The wind grew stronger, lifting their hair and the fabric of their clothes, mixing the smells of the sea and herbs. The island seemed to live with them, every tree, every stone responded to their movements.
Time ceased to exist. There was only this moment - and eternity, contained in touches and glances.
"Our love does not conquer ," said Circe, "but remains. Like a myth, like the whisper of the sea, like the breath of the wind.
“We are snakes,” repeated Tireseus , “who always return, even if forgotten.
Their bodies merged into a single image, dance and silence, light and shadow.
They knew their story would be a whisper on the wind, a tale told by the stars, a legend that would never die.
They were not just people. They were a myth - living, breathing, eternal.