blood must shed for time to reset

chapter 11

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FUCK FATE.

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   —SEXISM IS FUCKING OLD.
They've said females are to be beneath men for millenniums. The nobel men you praise have casted women into an inferior role of childbirth and obedience. The historical figures you learn about in school hit their wives, raped their daughters, feeded into the patriarchal expectations still visible today. If it benefited them, it didn't matter who was wronged.

   To consume Greek mythology is to enter into a world of greedy Gods, desperate and aching for more power... more influence. They feasted day in and day out, pushing themselves onto young maidens and teenage 'virgins', baring them with babies and submission. It doesn't matter what piece of literature you pick up, for you'll find that between the words and letters of Odysseus, Patroclus, the under-world, the perilious journeys and prophecies, lies blatant misogny.

   Circe was told to be a goddess, so inferior she deemed a nymph, unalike her sisters in appearance. She wore defined features, contrasting to their sultry, soft nature, and her voice spoke hoarse, and humanistic. When her reckoning came, and she was found to be a sorceress, was she desolated to the island Aeaea. Out of punishment or fear? A women shouldn't hold abhorrent, dark magic like she — at least that's what the common man spoke drunkenly.

   But Circe was strong, a strike of thunderous lighting that blasted through the skies and longed to burn the sun. Oh to burn it good, for her father held it in his palms of prominence.

   A despotic female, shunned to the shadows and watered down in power.

   Re-encarnation may not be true, for Circe Einar, but she was sure she held some of the goddess in her. Because she too casted spells and conjured things to her will. Because she was paramount to all of her male counterparts, and wasn't afraid to kill a man... or two.

   Or a whole fucking room.

   The now Circe also didn't believe that pre-eminent Greek tales of demiurges and deities existed, mere folklore to ancient anthropoids. Albeit, she liked to clutch her mothers tale of the wronged witch, recounting it to herself as she woke in the morning. Just so she never forgot. And thus, the mythos of Circe lived on.

☀︎

   —CIRCE'S HAIR WAS TOSSED
into a low bun, side pieces dangling near the edge of her cheekbones as she moved towards an old, beaten-up car. The sun had just began to bake, setting the town alight in shining rays of canary and amber, sunrise. Regulus proved to be ahead of her, one movement away from the drivers seat... though he'd never get there.

   Circe, furrowed brows, pressed her hand against the door, "I'm driving." she stated so sternly, the boy was sure Gods would kneel to her feet.

   He couldn't exactly say no, but neither did he wish to be dejected to the passengers side. It's just Circe, he thought to himself. Ah yes, diluting the girl who'd slaughtered half a population, who'd trained from her first breath, who planned on taking down a whole organisation. "No way." he shook his head, laughing lightly.

   "Regulus." she pushed.

   "Circe, no. I'm driving."

   "You're not."

   "Oh I definitely am."

  "So sure about that?" she leant inside the vehicle, challenging him with her words alone.