The birthing chamber of the palace was a flurry of activity as Circe, the witch, writhed in pain on the bed. Her face was contorted, and her brown hair was damp with sweat, sticking to her tan skin.
"If you can't keep it together, get out of here!" Circe snapped, her voice sharp as a whip. The young and inexperienced nymph, who had accidentally knocked over a jar of herbs, scurried to gather herself and resume her duties.
Thea, Circe's best friend and most trusted nymph, was by her side, holding her hand and offering words of encouragement. "You're doing great, Circe. The baby will be here soon," Thea said, her voice soothing.
Circe grunted and pushed, letting out a triumphant cry as the baby slid out. Thea quickly took the baby and handed her to a nymph who began to clean her off.
Circe, exhausted but elated, looked at her baby girl with a mixture of love and wonder. She was perfect, with a head full of dark hair and a button nose.
Just as Circe was about to take her first look at her daughter, the door to the birthing chamber burst open and in walked Hermes, the father of the child.
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