When I was born, I was ignored like all the rest of us, for they assumed that I would be like my aunts and thousands of cousins. Nymph, we were called. We are goddesses of nature, but the least of the lesser ones. We brought beauty to the earth and drops from the clouds, but our power and existence is so feeble that we can barely ensure our eternities. 

The word nymph arched through our days of divinity, marking our future. The word in ancient Greek did not only mean goddess, but bride.

My mother was one of them. She was a dryad, a nymph who works with the ways of trees and plants. She caught my father’s eye at a feast of her father, Melisseus. Helios and Melisseus were often at each other’s tables, for they were mighty Titans, and preferred each other’s company than those new Olympians. Helios and Oceanos were equal in power, but they didn’t look like it. My father glowed like fire’s light caught on water, with an air of brimming authority and blinding, flashing gold, but Melisseus was peaceful and warm and golden, like a jar of honey in the sun. He had delicate hands, and they were a wonder, with almost transparent folds and soft palms.

Melisseus’s palace was a great wonder. Set deep in an ancient forest, its high arches were clustered with beautiful blooms and vines, the wooden floor smoothed by eons of divine feet. It resembled the inside of a large tree, warm, lush and smelling of oak. Through every room ran the faint scent of honey and wild-flowers and the soothing buzz of bees, the sacred animal Melisseus held dear to himself. At the rooms grew the art of nymphs, soft grass and luminous fruit trees which can press upon you the gift of divinity, and also the numerous children and grandchildren of Melisseus, dryads and wood gods. Gold like thick honey and glimmering with the blood of Melisseus, they passed golden goblets of wine upon themselves and played the games of love. In their midst, sat my mother.

Her hair was a light brown, each strand so luminous and fine it looked like silk reflecting a candle’s light. She had big, doe eyes, darting here and there, racing along the lines my father had drawn, leading herself to the path so many have foolishly followed. She would’ve felt my father’s gaze on her, lighting her hair on fire. I have seen her drape her dress just over her shoulders. She would smile coyly, dab her finger in the water, and look at Helios with those innocent eyes. I have seen her do these tricks a million times, but each time my father falls for them. He believed the world’s natural order was to please him.

“Who is that?” asked my father at the feast.

“My daughter Krinos. You can have her if you like.” answered Melisseus. He has had many fiery-eyed grandchildren from Helios, and was eager for more.

The following week, my mother found herself pregnant with me. She fawned over my father, hoping for his sun-bright gaze to fall upon her because of her pregnancy. But Lord Helios had much more important things to tend to. He hated her at his heels everytime he

strode near. He hated her as she showed him her swelling belly. He hated her when she swooned over him, ruffling his hair. He hated her attention. And then, I was born.

Only three aunts tended to my mother’s birthbed. One brushed her hair with a delicate comb, one looked after me, and one painted the cherry red back onto my mother’s lips. They were all close sisters of my mother, for the others didn't care about a random nymph's birthbed and child.

My infancy lasted for several quick-passing hours, and my toddlerhood only slightly longer. I do not know how much exactly. Divine days fall like water from a cataract, and I have not yet learned the mortal trick of counting them. 

My father was not at all happy, but he gave me his blessing, as a feeble favor to my mother after so many hours in his bed.

“She will sail forth and meet her own kind,” said my father, his warm hand resting on my forehead.

“What do you mean?” asked my mother, sitting up straight, her waist already mending itself. My father shook his head.

When my father went to his chariot, I would do my favorite things in my father’s palace. I would light a torch and run, to see the firelight reflected on the obsidian walls. I would lie myself on the smooth, cool floor and wear small holes in it with my fingers. There were no bugs here, but I didn’t know to miss them then. I would throw myself on a chair and read, my face buried in the yellowing pages. When he returned, the floor rippled like the flank of a horse and smoothed out all the holes I made and the faint scent of lesser divine beings. I followed at his heels and watched his unreadable face as he played droughts. We were told that no one could play with him.

As I grew older, I noticed a fire burning in his eyes everytime he looked at me, as if the presence of me brought painful or hateful memories.

My mother and I used to follow him around. We’ll try to find him when we don’t see him. Helios did not like it, not even a little. We watched him as he sat in his golden chariot. We watched him as he feasted, whole plates of food appearing with every wave of his hand. We watched as he stared at other young nymphs playing at riverbanks.

For a period of time, his anger seemed to dim, so I followed him more often. I whispered at the foot of his throne as he talked to the other titans. I walked at his heels when he walked about his palace idly. I traced the contours of his face as he slept in his wide bed. But Helios's wrath fell upon me and my mother after a mistake.

At that time, I crept from the shadows, for Helios was rubbing his hands together, and that means that he is doing something we ought not to know. So I quietly followed him as he walked into the bedroom of a nymph called Roselle.

I crept into the room behind him, and watched as he sat on the bed.

"Roselle, come," said Helios as Roselle scrambled onto his lap. Their lips met in a kiss, and I moved restlessly.

Helios and Roselle broke apart, looking at me, hidden behind a chair.

"Lenethora," said Roselle, taken aback. "What-"

"Child!" said Helios, his anger mounting every passing second. "I have been tolerant enough to let you and your mother live in my house. Get out, get out! I will not be tolerant anymore!"

I scrambled out of the room. The next day, a group of titans towered over us to discuss our fate. They couldn't decide on anything.

The next day, a letter arrived at my mother's room. It was written fancy and neat, but overall it was trying to deliver this message: Angered by our company, or maybe something else, Helios banished us to the mortal world.

My mother was a goddess, who spent all her time with the gods and knew nothing of the mortal world. She did not have mortal money, she was a nymph, and she knew no tricks that might just exchange for food. And on top of all that, she was a woman.

She was robbed by men of her sanity, who were stronger and greedy. They forced us into hiding, drove her mind into itself, making her crazy. I comforted her, I begged for food when she wouldn’t speak.

One day, I walked upon a meadow. It was no ordinary meadow, for it pulsed with the heaviness of the scent of power;I recognise it from the palace of my father and grandfather. Pollia berries glowed faintly in the golden air. Apple flowers’ scent wafted through the air. A gentle breeze wound its way through my golden hair, inherited from Helios. I walked through the grass and heather, my feet soft and bare. Bees lingered around me, for they smell the blood of Melisseus. I was peaceful, I was sacred, a little piece of the hidden meadow that was sacred too. But something felt off.

Suddenly, a figure sitting on a tree stump caught my eye. The figure had a leather cloak draped around her shoulders and head. A black silk belt tinkled slightly with the bottles that hung from it. A few golden strands of hair fell from the gap of the hood. Curves showed through, which made me think it was a woman.

She stood up, and with a rustle, a sheathed dagger was exposed. But the figure didn’t draw it. She chuckled at my tense expression.

“Finally noticed me, have you?” whispered the woman. Her voice was rough, like sandpaper, but calm, like ripples on a pond. I did not have anything to say, so I watched her intently. “You are from the blood of Helios?”

I trembled slightly, but I raised my chin. “Yes.”

She laughed. “Then I have nothing to hold from you. You are banished from Helios's halls?”

“Yes.”

“Sister, he must’ve banished you because you remind him of me. Sorry for such pain.”

I breathed deeply to keep my voice from shaking. “You are a daughter of Helios too?”

She reached up, and for a bone-chilling moment I thought she would grasp her dagger. But she went up further still, to the straps of her cloak fastened at her collar.

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She let her leather cloak fall to the ground. I gasped.

Her hair was braided, but I can see that it was streaked like a lynx, and like mine. Her eyes shone with the golden-brightness that you would see from the shadow of Helios. She had slightly tanned skin. Her fingernails were stained green.

She smiled, dimples sinking through her skin. She held out her arms to me. “Sister, I have found you at last…or rather, you have found me. As you might see, I am gathering herbs.”

“For what?”

“Oh, spellwork,” she said arily. I gaped.

“I can show you. I have been around the world, gathering herbs needed for spells…I get money by selling healing potions. I have potions for fevers, for dragon pox, for allergies.” she laughed at my blank look.

“I am a witch, sister. I am Circe, goddess of Aiaia.”

*       *       *

I sat on the cool wooden floor of Circe’s boat. Beside her, her husband Telemachus pulled on ropes and organized barrels of food and water. A little girl, Circe’s child, followed her around.

“Roma, watch mom. I am doing magic.”

The little girl, Roma, plopped herself down onto the floor and stared intently at Circe. Circe turned towards me with a coy smile on her lips. “My greatest gift is transformation. Look closely, Lenethora.”

She took a bottle from her cloak. An acid green liquid foamed and bubbled inside it. She tilted the bottle. “Tell me, witch,” she said, her smile only imprinted on her lips, but never in her eyes. “What is this?”

“Honey, hawthorn dust, lemon leaves, dew.” I answered without thinking. I was taken aback by my instinct.

“Good. Is there anything else?”

“the thorns of red roses…I think,” I added quickly, as I saw Circe’s smile fade.

“You are a true witch, Lenethora,” she said, her head tilting to one side. “Now watch as I turn this acorn,” she twirled her wrist and an acorn appeared in her hand, “into a strawberry.”

My eyes followed her stained fingers as she uncorked it and dropped several drops onto the acorn. The acorn’s gleaming chestnut surface bubbled and foamed. Circe held it tight in her palm, and spoke a few words.

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, the acorn was a ripe strawberry.

“What did you say?” I asked intently.

“The words of power,” said Circe. “Only the speaker acknowledges the existence of those words. They will come to you when the time is ripe.”

Her golden eyes, although not as bright as Helios’s, never seemed to be softer. They held the same brimming fierceness, a locked spell, a torch that can burn right through your heart. And they did.

“Lady Circe…I want to be a witch. I want to learn with you, at Aiaia.”

No sooner than the words left my lips, Circe laughed. It was the caw of a crow, only silkier and silver as moonlight.

“I thought so.”

*       *       *

We walked side by side towards the flimsy hut where my mother and I lived. Thorns tugged at my dress. Flowers’ scents lingered about me. I felt something I have never felt before: confidence.

Roma trailed behind us, her golden-brown hair tied back. She was silent, yet energetic.

“How did you know I wanted to go with you?” I asked, my eyes fixed on Circe’s face. She was beautiful in a bold way, with her sharp chin and hawk-like eyes.

“Why would you want to come after me in the meadow if you are not interested? We are witches, Lenethora, and are drawn to each other. In mortals’ eyes, we are poison snakes, intertwined together because we sharpened each others’ appetites. In my eyes, we are simply the same race, drawn together because we are magical. The gods bore us, and they brought us to life, they gave us our power of magic. They did this for a reason.”

I nodded, my mind racing with the words Circe had said. “But, why?”

“I believe that they did not make us on purpose. After all, they don’t know who their children are before they are born.” she smiled. “A witch is even more unpredictable than a regular child. But, I am sorry-when I say gods, I mean specifically one god: Mother of Titans, Giaia. She crafted the world, she brought legends to life. She made us, she gifted us with the

power of magic. I believe that she did this because we are needed to balance the world.”

“Who are we balancing the world with? What is the other side of the balance?”

She smiled gently. She was a breeze, a wind, a drop of rain. “Whom, not who, Lenethora,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on the sun.

I changed the topic as soon as I sensed the whole philosophy feeling beginning to wash up on me.

“Circe… remember when you said you’re sorry to cause pain?” I asked.

“Yes. And I really am sorry.” she whispered, not daring to meet my eyes.

“But, you haven’t realized that you caused more than one person’s amount of pain.”

Circe’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“My mom is with me. She was banished too.” I said, looking at her expression. My heart throbbed painfully.

Circe moistened her lips nervously. “Lenethora, things are about to get a lot more complicated.”

Her voice pushed upon the confidence I had earlier.

*       *       *

“Is it you, Lenethora?”

My mother stood in the doorway to greet me; or in this case, us. She gasped when she saw Circe.

“Stay away from my daughter!” she screamed. Her eyes were wide, fear and defiance glowing in them. Her light brown hair flew.

“You… I know you. You want my daughter to become a… a… a failure? You want her to be a… a witch?” shouted my mother. Crows flew from the roof, their flapping of wings clear and sharp in the air.

Circe blinked. “You know me? I am older than you. Who did you hear me from?”

My mother gritted her teeth. Her dark eyes burned with a golden fire. “My mother,” she said, “was a sister of Scylla. You might not have heard her name before, since she was not as… famous, or evil as you are.”

“Say it!” whispered Circe, her voice carrying a sharp edge.

“Deltia,” said my mother, her head held high. “She was Scylla’s half sister, but they were like twins. They get along better than you and Glaucus, I am sure of that.”

Circe’s face grew pale with anger. “I am a witch, and you dare to insult me?”

My mother’s anger was a bow pulled full. Tension gripped my chest, making it hard to breathe. 

“I will do anything for my daughter.”

Circe turned. Roma clutched Circe tightly, her little face white as snow. Her expression softened as she looked at her daughter briefly.

“I’ll do the same for mine,” said Circe boldly.

My mother looked at Roma too, with her eyes still shining with mistrust. My mother took me into her arms. “I just want her to be safe. Look at all the comments directed at you. Do you think I want my child to be like you? Why couldn’t my daughter be a normal nymph and have a noble marriage?” asked my mother.

“Because she isn’t a normal nymph!” said Circe, exasperated. “She is a witch like me, and it is better to live like one and learn magic along with me for someone like her! And yes, many comments are directed at me. But do I look burdened? She’ll be free, like me, like my little Roma.” said Circe, wrapping her arms around Roma.

“Mother, I want to be with Circe. I am a born witch, I know it. I want to.” I grabbed hold of her wrists and took her arms gently from me. “Don’t stop me, mother. You said it yourself, you want me to be happy.”

My mother raised her eyebrows, her words still directed at Circe. “Are you saying that she is better off without me?”

Circe threw up her arms in exasperation. “No. She lives well with you. But she can live better with me and you.”

I looked into the depths of my mother’s amber eyes. “Mom, please. I want to be happy- and you want me to be happy too.”

“Happy but safe,” whispered my mother.

“I’ll be safe,” I promised. “I will.”

My mother smiled. Her defined features glimmered with the years of living death on them.

*       *       *

I stood on Circe’s boat. The sun was low on the horizon, gold and rosy pink tinting the pale gray sky. Food and water were hauled onto the boat by magic. Circe stood at the prow, facing the setting sun. Roma sat beside me.

“We’re going northwest, Telegonus,” said Circe shortly, fumbling with the folds of her gown.

Telegonus nodded. He was stiff and tough-skinned like a lemon tree.

Circe laughed. “Telegonus, no need to be like this. Just be natural. Lenethora is watching you, you know, she’d think you’re weird.

Roma giggled, and Telegonus suppressed a smile. “Okay… but just wait for a moment… I don’t really know what is natural right now, with three beautiful ladies watching me like that.”

Circe laughed louder, and seagulls flew near. They screamed in harmony with Circe’s flowing laughter.

“Roma, don’t ever marry a man like this,” whispered Circe, taking Roma into her arms. “He will only cause you pain.” and then we all laughed, hard, our stomachs aching from the laughter. I turned, and saw my mother standing near the harbor, shouting at the top of her voice, about promises to come back every few months and prayers she will send.

“I will, mom. I’ll never let you down!” I shouted back, tears clogging my breath. My mother beamed, her crazy eyes giving an oasis of warmth to me. All her love is spent on me- a variable that is sailing far from her today.