Loss waits for no one

Circe and Machia gazed at each other with a ferocious intensity. Circe's unnaturally black eyes were brimming with emotion, whilst Machia's white pupils were indifferent.

Less influenced by the sense of urgency than the others, Perses was able to get a good grasp of the situation. Machia was simply protecting him, but Circe had become aggressive after only some brief eye contact and exchange of words. Since Machia entered the room, she had not once torn her eyes away from his.

"Hold on-"

"Don't hurt her"

Before he had a chance to de-escalate the situation, Hectate had bravely jumped in between them.

Much to the horror of Circe, who's black eyes dimmed in fear. Flicking her wrist toward the girl Hectate was instantly sent backwards. Meanwhile, the hands hiding within the depths of the room's corners surrounded Machia from all sides. Circe placed herself between Machia and Hectate frantically.

Circe's eyes had now lost their dark focus due to her daughter's dangerous actions. Just before she flicked her wrist in the direction of Machia, her hand froze. It was only at this point had she realized Machia hadn't moved. His hands were casually placed in the pockets of his jet-black trousers. He hadn't even flinched. Instead, he absentmindedly looked around the room and the armada of hands surrounding him with mild curiosity.

Perses began to do the same, following Machia's example for no reason in particular.

After hesitating momentarily, some colour returned to the short women's pale face as she was given a chance to recuperate. Eyeing the weird inquisitive duo, she looked towards Hectate at a loss.

"Do I have a chance."

The petrified girl looked between the two with those familiar shapeless pupils of hers.

"No"

Her daughters' curt response made the woman lower her head towards the man.

"I surrender, Machia, please don't hurt my daughter."

Machia rudely ignored the duo, fascinated by the creepy hands littering the roof. Their pleas appeared almost inconsequential to him as he lost himself in thought.

"..."

After turning back towards her, he replied.

"Well, ok then. Guess it's your lucky day. Had it been any other day, I well, you know how that ends ."

Despite the cruel nature of the words, this caused the woman to give a sigh of relief.

"So tell me what happens now".

"What happens now? well, where to begin, I wonder. How about firstly, you directly broke the agreement and taught your daughter magic? I should consider her a heretic and kill her on sight, at least technically. Not only that, but I saw her destroy a tree on the cathedral's grounds in broad daylight with my own eyes using said magic."

The woman cast a desperate gaze towards her daughter hoping she would deny it. Hectate was guiltily hiding her gaze at her feet whilst Machia watched on patiently.

"Skipping right to the main subject, you also lured a blessed into your house and held him against his will."

"I-"

"Shut up. It doesn't matter what you have to say. After all, if I choose to report this to the big man himself, your testimony will be completely invalid due to your. Ahem, past incidents."

The woman looked down regretfully. Colour had failed to return to her beautiful face.

"But most importantly you just so happened to have said something you really really shouldn't have along the way. As I'm sure you remember."

Machia's dramatic speech became gravely serious as he spoke with a tone of intense hatred.

The woman, after listening to all this, was actually far more collected than at the beginning of the negotiations.

"I get it already. You own me. That's what you're trying to say, right?."

Machia hearing precisely what he wanted, couldn't help but switch his expression to a playful grin.

"Yeah. I own you. So, rest easy I thought something like this might happen, so I might just have gone out my way too cover your tracks at least a little."

Despite Machia's calm, even jovial tone, Hectate hid behind her mother's figure still ridden with fear. Her bravery had long since passed, replaced by an innate fear of the man that loomed in front of them.

"Anyway, I just so happen to have a use for you. Don't be expecting to come back either. Of course you can go ahead and say your goodbyes now. Don't worry I'll wait."

"Ah". A soft mumble escaped the woman's lips.

Catching on to what Machia was insinuating, Circe turned to face her daughter with a look of resignation.

Before she could find the right words to speak, Hectate asked, "What's happening? Wait, what does he mean goodbye."

Circe looked towards her daughter with great sorrow.

"How could this be goodbye I thought everything was solved now, it's over, isn't it. Why, why do you look so sad? Are, are you really going to listen to this, this demon."

Machia seemed rather pleased by his new nickname, whilst Circe seemed despondent with sorrow.

"I, it's not his fault. Really it's mine. This isn't goodbye either."

Machia scoffed at this from Perses' side, seemingly repulsed by the woman's words. Circe ignored him.

"It might not seem like it right now, Hectate, but considering what happened in the past. This is a relatively lucky outcome you have to understand. I have, I have every intention of coming back so just don't say goodbye, alright. I know you can survive without me. Your strong."

Somewhere along the way, the hardened magician Circe had begun to tear up. Eventually, she was balling. Locking her daughter's in her grasp, she was unable to verbalize even another word.

Hectate returned her embrace with a brave face and a face filled with guilt but was betrayed by the tears that fell from her shifting emotional pupils.

Whilst the two reconciled, Machia and Perses were left alone. Perses had yet to do or say much throughout the events. Instead, he looked at Machia with his own emotions, not sadness, recognition, disgust or anger. No, he looked at Machia with alienation.

Machia had acted generally in his own atypical way, but Perses knew him better. Everything he said, every emotion, was like a calm and calculated act. Machia stared back at Perses kindly, but there was no familiar reflection of himself in his black pupils. Instead, the white pupils gazed at Perses. Nothing was reflected in them at all.