A warm sea breeze lazily rustles the cypress tops, filling the air with the scent of salty waves and blooming meadows. Somewhere in the distance, the surf murmurs, its rhythmic hum blending with the nightingales' trills from the olive groves. The island slumbers in the golden glow of sunset, as the last rays of sun paint the marble columns of a ruined temple in rosy hues, while fading daylight dances across mossy stones.

In this secluded nook, sheltered from the world by towering cliffs and enchanting spells, you rest upon Circe's warm, fluffy chest. Her golden lion pelt cushions you like the softest down. Delicate clawed fingers move with deliberate care through your hair, weaving jasmine stars and delicate violets between the strands. Her touch is light as butterfly wings, yet each caress brims with wordless tenderness.

All around, curled into great fluffy rings, her lions doze. Their powerful sides rise and fall steadily, their thick manes still holding the day's lingering warmth. The youngest of them twitches a paw in sleep, perhaps chasing someone through dreams, yet never disturbing the harmony that reigns here.

The moon rises above the horizon, casting silvery paths across the calm sea. Somewhere in the darkness, the song of sirens drifts—melancholic and beautiful—yet it cannot disturb the peace of this hidden sanctuary. Here, among slumbering lions and flowering meadows, guarded by ancient magic, time itself seems suspended, gifting you an eternity within a single moment.