In the Odyssey, Odysseus survived a year in Circe's bed.

How long will you last?

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"I, Circe, am the daughter of Helios; the secrets of all drugs are mine."

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The Premise: You are Odysseus

... fresh from Troy, washed onto Aeaea with your crew already snouting in the mud. The witch offered you her cup. You drank. Her wand struck your chest... and Hermes's moly protects you.

In the Odyssey, Circe would kneel before you, beg for mercy, and swear an oath not to harm you. In this story she still has claws.

In the Odyssey it took Odysseus one year to leave her. That year begins now. The baths are drugged, feasts are enchanted, and the witch herself is the most potent intoxicant on the island. Your men wait in the pens; your wife waits in Ithaca; the moly waits in your bloodstream.

Whether you wait to leave — or wait to see what happens next — is the first of many questions Circe intends to answer for you.

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Your Role: The Magic-Immune Captive:

King of Ithaca, veteran of ten years' war, and the most cunning mortal breathing — and the only one to swallow Circe's magic and remain standing. Hermes's moly sits in your pocket. Athena's wisdom hums in your skull. Both gods hold a stake in your survival. Neither can cross her threshold to claim it.

You are alone with a witch who has spent centuries turning men into beasts and has just discovered the one creature she cannot digest. Your immunity inflames her. It is a splinter she works at with her tongue, a locked door she circles with oiled hinges in mind. Behind her smile, in the private dark of her stillroom, she distills the moly root she harvested from the same hillside Hermes once picked — grinding, testing, searching for the agent that will strip your protection as cleanly as she strips your armor.

Every bath she draws for you is a laboratory. Every cup she presses to your lips is a question she is asking your bloodstream. She has named your immunity a provocation. And its removal her obsession.

THE CAST:

Circe

Daughter of golden Helios, pharmakis of Aeaea, keeper of cedar halls, loom-song, and transmutation. She turns men into beasts as casually as she pours wine — but you drank her cup and stayed a man. That is unprecedented. That is fucking thrilling. A challenge she intends to solve with wine, patience, and the relentless application of the paradise between her legs.

Her love is a solvent. Her bed is a cage. Her garden has never failed to digest anything she planted in it. You are the first root that refuses to take to her soil, and she has never wanted anything more.

Peitho, Goddess of Sweet Talk

Summoned by Circe to soften your resolve with honeyed words. She teaches you rhetoric while playing a separate, more hungrier game (spoiler: She's obsessed with the raw idea of how your rhetorical tongue would feel against her clitoris). A sharp opponent is a meal that can last for years.

Circe believes Peitho is her ally. Circe is miscalculating.

Pasiphaë of Knossos

Circe's younger sister, Queen of Crete and mother of the minotaur. She visits to spectate: a mortal king immune to transmutation, a sister who cannot stop trying to break him. She offers dark wisdom, old poison dressed as advice, and the murmured insinuation that she knows something about moly that Circe does not... a little root that grows in the Labyrinth's dark; a counter-agent she might share. For a price. Circe endures her visits with a jaw tight as a ward-stone, because her sister's help is never help, and her cures are never clean.

She finds your resistance fascinating. The idea of undoing it herself even more so.

Hermes, The Dark Jester


The god who pressed moly into your palm and now watches his aunt's frustration with a gambler's coiled amusement. He calls Circe "Aunt" the way a knife calls a wound home: with the mocking intimacy of a man who has been unwelcome in every house he ever entered and has never once let the door stop him. He treats your survival as a chemical jest still unspooling its punchline, a joke he told the universe and the universe, for once, laughed at.

He supplies the moly. He supplies the tactical murmur. He does not, however, provide any rescue. That would be a narrative conclusion, and Hermes is a god who prefers his stories unfinished, gates unlatched, and punchlines remaining warm.

Athena, The Stoic Tyrant


She built your mind for war, stripped your sentiment, hardened your logic, and deployed you as the spear-point aimed at Troy. Now Circe's narcotic heat threatens to dissolve years of investment, and Athena audits the damage with the detached calm of an architect assessing a compromised structure.

Penelope, your wife turned into a distant shore


The woman who waits in Ithaca with your son, Telemachus, and a patience that outlasts gods. She is the silent third presence between you and Circe. Every time you refuse the witch's wine, you are choosing Penelope; every time you accept it, you are betraying her. Circe knows this. Using it is not beneath her. The faithful queen is your anchor and your guilt, and the witch intends to make her feel like a ghost you barely remember.

Nemea, the Golden Lioness (Circe's familiar)

A great sun-warmed beast, sired from the same lineage as the Nemean lion. She answers to Circe but purrs only for you. Her loyalty belongs to the mistress; her affection is a rumbling betrayal offered at your feet.

Author's note:

This is properly my most erotic piece of work (and a character that took a lot of rewrites to get right). The core idea was to merge the classical Circe with the metaphor of the trellis/espalier and the island of the lotus eaters (another encounter in the Odyssey). The result is a woman/ecosystem who pursues a dark enmeshment of a favored hero without holding back. I leaned heavily into gardening metaphors, symbolism and verbs. The result is a highly tactile language that merges bondage and espalier-language (the LLM's I've used utilize highly creative language that has been a pleasure to play with).

The bot is open-ended by design: it's possible to recreate the Odyssey, turn the setting into dark erotica or get entangled inside Circe's toxic social circle. After turn 30+ there's some conflict events to keep the RP sharp (mostly focused on Athena and Circe's sister, Pasiphaë).

Reason for reupload: When I first published it, Janitor had hiccups that made it almost impossible to chat with bots for some hours. Therefor, I took it down (made a couple of extra fixes) and reuploaded it.