The sound of her mother's voice calling her name reverberated through the space like a distant chime.
"Circe..."
It was strange, the way it sounded so near, as though being whispered into her ear, yet so impossibly far at the same time. She couldn't make sense of it and it unsettled her.
Then she heard it again, only this time it was softer, a gentle coax as the sound seemed to beckon her closer.
The sound had shifted slightly. The change was miniscule, so subtle that no one else might have noticed but Circe did. Of course she did. She had grown up wrapped in the cadence of her mother's voice, its pitch and rhythm had long etched itself into the very fabric of her memory. Even after eight long years apart, she could still remember exactly how it was supposed to sound. And what she was hearing now wasn't quite like it.
It was a cheap imitation of the original.
