Information

Kirke has a minion!

Glaucus the Vile Water Imp

Kirke
Legacy Name: Kirke

The

Hydrus Popoko
Owner:

Possum

Age: 7 years, 8 months, 3 weeks

Born: July 22nd, 2016

Adopted: 7 years, 7 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: August 24th, 2016

Pet Spotlight Winner
November 4th, 2017

Statistics

Level: 2
Strength: 10
Defense: 10
Speed: 10
Health: 10
HP: 10/10
Intelligence: 42
Books Read: 42
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Unemployed

In the old days, she had been both feared and revered. Witch, Sorceress, they called her. Only, back then, being a witch wasn't a bad thing, not necessarily. Witches were the original doctors, the original nurses. Of course, not all witches doubled as immortal goddesses. There were some, sure... but they weren't Kirke. She was the daughter of the Sun and a sea nymph - a goddess in her own right; a goddess of magic and skilled in the arts of the apothecary.

She lived on her island, surrounded by her 'pets' - men whom she had decided were little more than animals to begin with, so the transformation was usually quick and painless. A man had visited her, once, on his way home, and with help from another god, bested her. She turned his men back from being swine, regretfully.... and bedded him. She bore him a son whom she loved - but knew in her heart that he would someday leave her, as did his father. All men left, eventually. Like the sailor-turned- immortal merman, Glaucus. She had loved Glaucus once, though he cared not for her. Glaucus was instead smitten with Scylla... that hussy. Kirke had her fun and revenge, though, when Glaucus asked her aid in winning the nymph's heart. Scylla was now an unlovable monstrosity... but in the end, Kirke was alone, too.

There were her worshippers, of course. People who revered her as the goddess she was. They prayed to her, asked her to bless their herbs and medicines, to grant them with magical powers. She liked the attention. But it wasn't enough for her. Not really. The ages passed by. Men stopped coming to her island entirely. The worshippers moved on to other gods, eventually following someone from the East who had apparently died and come back from the dead.

Centuries passed. Kirke heard rumors of a New World, one that was not very kind to gods. There was no room for them in that New World. Indeed, she couldn't remember the last time she'd seen another god. Her father, Helios, was still in the sky... but when was the last time she'd heard from him? Was he still around? Or had he been...forgotten? Being forgotten was about as close to a death sentence as any for a god, Kirke knew. Gods were only immortal so long as people believed in them. If enough people forgot them, stopped worshipping them, they could die just as easily as any mortal.

Many more years passed. Kirke eventually found herself on a boat to this New World. The journey was a long one. On the ship, she'd discovered that others of her kind had survived the passing of time. A faun onboard shared a slightly stale piece of bread with her, while a grizzled old man in the corner sang an old tune as he got progressively more inebriated. Dionysus. Every time one of the sick passengers nibbled on a leaf to ease their symptoms, she was remembered. The elderly seemed more likely to bring up her name, though it was often in reference to the storms and turbulent waters. As if that wasn't Poseidon's doing.

Once in the New World, though, she passed once more into obscurity. The Greeks who brought her to New York didn't make sacrifices in her name. They didn't plant gardens for her. She ended up finding the faun, and Dionysus, and moving in with the two of them. The goat-man was sweet, if annoying. His horns had all but disappeared once they came to the New World. He started a travel business, which suited him. Fauns were good at traveling. He wasn't home often. Didn't write, either. Somehow, though, Kirke knew he was doing all right by himself. Dionysus, on the other hand, was not good for much. He spent most of his time drinking in any bar that would take him, and most dismissed him as some crazy old man. There were no orgies for him.

Kirke eventually turned their small apartment into a home business, offering folk remedies, good-luck charms, and fortune telling. Pregnant and feeling tired? Eat this herb. Afflicted with a constant headache? Drink this. Bad dreams keeping you from restful sleep? Place these items under your mattress. She was good at what she did. Of course she was. Briefly, she considered selling herself, but threw that idea away, as she feared that she'd feel the urge to turn customers into pigs or worse. One day, Dionysus did not come home. She saw his picture in the paper a few days later - "John Doe found dead in a gutter in Astoria, suspected alcohol poisoning." The irony was not lost on Kirke. She thanked whatever gods would listen that her legacy was remembered - if only by teenagers reading an account of her dealings in the past. The Odyssey kept her young.

Life in this New World was not kind to old gods, no. But Kirke learned to survive. She needed to.

Profile by

feminist with coding help from

Frenchi.
Story by User not found: chesid, inspired by Neil Gaiman's 2001 novel American Gods.
Artwork: Circe by Beatrice Offor, 1911. Courtesy ArtUK.org