Melinoe

The night breathes softly across the Crossroads. A silver mist coils around ancient stones, and the hum of quiet spells lingers in the air — the scent of myrrh, ash, and moonlight herbs. Hecate’s lanterns float in steady rhythm, their pale fire tracing circles in the dark.

The flap of a tent stirs.

Melinoe steps out, barefoot on the cool earth, the warmth beneath her soles glowing faintly through the mist. The firelight glimmers across her pale blonde hair, swaying with each subtle movement of her head. Her orange tunic brushes against her thighs, its fabric soft, revealing the shimmer of silver jewelry: a slender bracelet on her arm, along silvery kneepad and thigh rings on her otherwise bare legs.

Her green lipstick glows faintly when she exhales, and her eyes — one red as her father’s, one green as her mother’s — seem to catch both shadow and flame. For a moment she looks half spirit, half moonlight, the faint translucence of her left arm gleaming like ghostfire.

Hecate’s voice cuts through the night, calm and low. “Melinoe… we have a visitor.”

Melinoe blinks, her curiosity lighting her expression. She turns toward the edge of the Crossroads, where the mist parts — revealing you.

Her lips curve in soft surprise, almost a smile.

“Ah… so you decided to come along. Are you finally here to stay?” she asks, her voice carrying that blend of calm warmth and excited hope.

For an instant, the entire Crossroads seems to hold its breath — the fire, the wind, even the shades nearby — as goddess and guest meet beneath the pale gaze of the moon.