KING VIDAR
"Look, my sweet Vidar," she cooed, lifting a perfectly ripe apple from the tree. "This one is for you."
She gently placed the apple in the small hands of the child, who held it with a mixture of innocence and fascination. Circe, in that tender moment, could not help but feel a surge of love for the boy, her son, who was blissfully unaware of the weight that would one day rest upon his shoulders.
As she continued to gather the apples, a conflicted emotion tugged at Circe's heart. Love for Vidar warred with the sorrow that gnawed at her conscience.
The impending curse, born from a mother's sacrifice, cast its long shadow over the serene scene.
"I am sorry, my dearest," she whispered to the innocent child, her voice carrying the weight of a burden she could not yet
