Sickly Sweet

Lochlan

Hugging her chest tightly, Circe braved the hard rain and cold winds to get to a place of warmth. In her mind she was fantasizing of a warm hotel room with a large bath and indoor hot tub.

Trudging through tall weeds, she stumbled and grabbed at empty air as she went down. Circe's cold mouth let out an unforgiving yelp as she hit the hard-packed dirt.

A moan escaped her and she clutched her right ankle. Getting to her feet, Circe brushed aside stray blonde-and-blue hair from her freezing head.

Scanning the area, she found a small hovel among the slanting trees and dying flowers. A spark of hope lit in her mind. Shelter.

Circe ran fast and hard, trying to forget the aching pain of her ankle. Once she approached the small building, she examined it closely.

Chipping red paint clung to rusting metal and a sloppily-painted happy face grinned from a corner. A small sign creaked as it swang back and forth on the door handle.

WELCOME :)

She rolled her eyes and slammed into the door. It gave way and banged into the wall, startling the house's residents.

Or rather, resident.

Sitting in the middle of the forlorn house was a boy at the age of seemingly fourteen or fifteen. He looked up at her with shocked green eyes, dropping the blanket he was knitting.

"Who are you?" he asked, fear brimming in his eyes. Circe smiled softly before biting it back and sending a thunderous glare.

"It doesn't matter. I need shelter. For a short time only. Um, please." She gulped. 'Sophie' wasn't very good at being mean. But Circe had to be.

"Will you at least tell me your name?" he asked. "Circe."

"Like the sorceress?"

She was about to correct him but then decided she liked how it sounded. "Yes, like the sorceress."

He nodded slowly.

"Who are you?"

"Oh, I'm Lochlan. I live here."

"Lochlan."

"Yeah...."

Circe averted her eyes, cheeks reddening at the stall in conversation. Lochlan swept back his chestnut hair and leaned against the feeble wall.

"So, you knit?"

He blushed. "Well, only because I have to. You know. For warmth."

She clucked her tongue, brushing back another strand of hair. Scanning the room, she noticed a few paintings hanging on the desolate walls. They were beautiful.

Large stripes of blue and green swirled into oceans while bright clumps of orange fish grinned. Sunny skies and smiling tourists finished off the look of what Circe could only dream of visiting.

"Wow," she breathed. Lochlan smiled sadly.

"My mother made them. Long ago. It was during the hard winter months, filled with snow and lack of food. Beaches filled our dreams and in her case, our easels."

She felt a pang of sadness. Mother. How she missed hers.

But no. Circe wasn't supposed to miss her mother!

But she wasn't Circe.

Circe/Sophie sighed and curled into a ball. She just wanted to cry, and scream, and yell.

But Lochlan was here. She uncurled herself and smiled at him. Maybe it wasn't so bad, her situation. At least she wasn't alone.

Crawling over to him, she stared him right in the eyes.