speak of the devil

The girl would remain silent a moment. The stranger's dialect unfamiliar yet not entirely confusing. She understood what he expected in his inquiry but the formality of it set her aback. It was not something she was familiar with. That fact combined with her withdrawn personality made it all the more difficult for her speculative mind to settle upon a response. She could also not help being distracted by the boy's interesting appearance. She had not met someone such characteristics as unique as her own. The boy was, at least in her thought, more unique considering the tint of his fur. And even in his boyishness and the air of wariness she had to admit that he was cute. Yet the thought was mere analysis and that information would be quickly stored in her quick mind.



Quite nothing. She would speak in her usual fashion, expressing precisely what she desired in the most concise way possible. Her tone nonchalant, the statement casual but not colloquial as his had been. My name is Circe. Her wiry body would draw further forth, leaving two strides of space between them before resting her right side comfortably about the cold wall of stone beside them. Her reflective stare would not relent.