It should be a benign thing, for someone to express interest in her world and time. Circe imagines for most people it is as banal as being asked about the weather. For her, there is little for her to say about her own life that she feels comfortable telling, or even seems worth the effort. She knows she has seen and experienced so little of the world that was available to her, it might as well be a nook, a tiny crevice in a cliffside that she has been pushed into and made to fit.

In general terms, it is easy to explain her origins. More personal questions... the words dry up in her mouth. Much easier, and preferable, to learn of others. Circe has always enjoyed news and stories; it is the sole thing she misses about Hermes.

"How strange," she muses. "What is there to believe in? But I do not understand the current fashion of 'religion' either. Here we are, witchcraft in our blood. There is nothing to doubt." And here she is, a goddess, one of thousands. Men have become very odd without the presence of gods, she thinks.

"In any case, there is palpable need for the services you describe. I do not think you would lack for work."