blood must shed for time to reset

chapter 13

( kiss    the   stars    for    me    tonight. )

—CIRCE WASN'T ALWAYS AN
intractable female, unwilling to kneel before a man. Here's the thing with strong-willed women, they've had to endure the sexism, the patriarchal expectations, the cruel nature of covetous males. In order for them to reach this puissant position, they were once a passive child.... submissive and prone to abuse.

Six years old, Circe could press her feet against the pallid floors and pretend she was stepping on grass, the sage flooring beneath her potraying nature, and freedom. It was, of course, imaginary. Albeit to a little girl, her mind was her bestfriend ( though when asked, she'd tell you it was Mateo Pierce ).

She'd been wandering through Praesidium, exploring the lower levels of the establishment, hunting for illict areas and secret corners to bury herself in. Today she was allowed to rest, for tomorrow she had a day of stringent exams, where officials plagued her with test papers, and practical assessments. If she failed, if she made a single mistake, she would be killed.

There was alot of pressure on the shoulders of a kid.

She could press her palm against the bland walls, skip through the endless corridors, slip into whatever room she desired, and no one would say a word. No, they'd much rather turn a blind eye — no minor should have to endure the violence that would strike her if higher staff caught her being... well, a minor.

Administrators were busy. Locked away in a desolate room of importance, wrapping their hands around exploitation and squeezing all of it's use out. Their teeth were barbed, ready to devour the manipulated and consume guts, blood, and oozing organs.

They were ravenous for flesh.

Circe wondered what slipped their lips in that room, what was conversed, what was decided. Did her name hit the air? Were they proud? They had to be proud, since the day she left the warmth of her mothers womb, she'd worked and trained and followed their command obediently.

But she wasn't a boy.

It was no secret that they longed for two males to continue the Praesidium legacy, to keep the magical world in order, however they received her. I can be better than a boy, is what she told herself in the mirror every night, I can.. I can... I can!

But could she? Or would she forever be in the shadows of a male?

Was there a way out of this misogynistic mindset?

Her legs were raised, her hair was billowing, a light blush had splattered across her cheeks in a heap of innocence. She skipped through a hallway with little care of her surroundings, or what her future entailed. This was her prime moment of youth, before it would be snatched from her dainty grasps.

Someone restrained her wrists, spinning her around. "...Uh? Mister?" she looked up to a towering man, mid-way through his aged life. Wrinkles danced up and down his terrain of flesh, creating a vivid picture of someone who'd existed.... who'd witnessed such joy and disaster. What did he want with her?

"What are you doing?" his twisted profile asked, almost sneering at the child. Though if he was, it could only be narrowed down to his own cruelty, for Circe Einar was still blossoming with amiability. Her skin was clean, and her hands were free of blood. For now.

"... Exploring." she presented him with a smile, reaching her cheeks quickly. It was the type of gesture that gave optimism to the grieving, and consumed the heinous with happiness.