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'Humbling women seems to me a chief pastime of poets. As if there can be no story unless we crawl and weep.'
— Madeline Miller, Circe
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FATAL SUN, 𝖋𝖆𝖙𝖆𝖑 𝖘𝖚𝖓
CIRCE BLACK knows the cycle of life better than anyone. Life and death spar in a war fought in an imaginary puppet show, with god manipulating the marionette strings. Her mother folded into the wind, a woman made of ash and fire. The phoenix always rose from the ashes. Circe Black may carry a curse that ticked like a time bomb, but she's determined to cherish what she has left.
FATAL SUN 'I can't tell you how piercingly and endlessly I think about you' —Virginia Woolf
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