48

MANY YEARS BEFORE

Circe moved gracefully through the ancient orchard, the scent of ripe apples permeating the air. The boughs bowed under the weight of the luscious fruit, a vibrant tapestry of red and green against the backdrop of the enchanting woods. Her movements, though deliberate, carried a certain tenderness as she selected each apple with a careful touch.

Little Liam, still in the early years of his life, trailed behind her with wide-eyed wonder. His tiny hands reached out in curiosity, eager to grasp the bounty that hung temptingly from the branches.

Circe turned to him with a soft smile, her gaze a mixture of maternal love and a profound sadness that lingered in the depths of her eyes.

"Look, my sweet Liam," she cooed, lifting a perfectly ripe apple from the tree. "This one is for you."

She gently placed the apple in the small hands of the child, who held it with a mixture of innocence and fascination. Circe, in that tender moment, could not help but feel a surge of love fo