The mansion, long silent, stirred once more. Screams of fury and pain echoed hollowly down the halls. Inside the master bedroom, blood thickly coated the walls, the sounds of a fight and a hatchet cutting into flesh and bone marked each further drop of blood added. A long loud shriek sounded through the building before everything went dead silent.



The rebuilding of Atlantis was finally complete. With the help of those magic users attuned to nature, the island was brilliant with the colors and fragrances of the many gardens. It once more echoed with the sound of birds singing, and children's laughter.

Bobbi bounced into class grinning. She had helped plan that night's celebration, and the joyous mood that pervaded the island was infectious, especially to an empathic telepath like her. Her friend and adopted sister was to be honored at the formal dinner that would precede the festivities. They had wanted to surprise her, but it was impossible to hide anything from Circe.

For the past couple nights, Circe had been disturbed by terrifying dreams. The violence and blood in these visions disturbed her greatly. Her meditations allowed her to focus, and she had figured out that she was experiencing postcognition. These were things that had already happened, somewhere she had never been. Now it remained for her to figure out why.

The formal dinner that night was quite an event. Circe and her family sat at the head table with the city's elders. The dining area was enchanted with phantom servers so nobody would have to miss out on the fun to serve as waiters. Among the entertainment planned for that night was the retelling of the events on the island by Circe, aided by the visual projection through a crystal of everything she saw.

While usually Circe enjoyed events like these, the dreams from the past few nights in combination with being the center of attention had her nervous and on edge. She hardly touched the food in front of her. As she watched the performance of a small group of musicians, she started feeling odd. She trembled, her vision swimming, before she blacked out.

At the sudden scream from the table, the music instantly stopped and all eyes looked to Circe. She was floating mid air, her hair whipping around her face from a wind unfelt by anyone else. Her eyes and body glowed with a blood red light, her arms outspread as she rose higher and higher into the air over the crowd. Suddenly, she vanished.



Inside Circe's mind, she was witnessing an event from decades past. She walked up a grand staircase, following the sounds of passion. She turned a corner and walked into the master bedroom. The room was beautifully and richly decorated, a huge canopy bed the centerpiece of the room.

On the bed lay two figures locked in a passionate embrace. The sounds of their lovemaking were cut off by the slamming of the door opening and bouncing off the wall. A huge man stormed into the room, walking right through Circe. In his hand he held a huge hatchet, a gleam of light reflecting off the razor sharp edge.

The woman on the bed started shrieking at the top of her lungs as the hatchet was buried deep in the skull of her lover. Over and over it rose and fell. Blood flew everywhere, coating the walls and the floor. The mattress was torn to shreds. After the pair were dead, their bodies in pieces on the bed and floor, the man pulled out a gun and killed himself, his own blood and torn flesh blending with those of his victims'.



Circe woke to see a starry night sky over her face. For a moment she was confused, but then started to remember what happened, and stood. She was in the yard in front of an old mansion that was boarded up, and ready to be torn down. She recognized it from her dreams though, and slowly started to walk closer. She shivered from the chill of the night. She started up the rickety wooden steps to the porch, but it crumbled under her foot, sending her to her knees. With a frown and a whisper of a few magic words, she took on the form of a small house cat, quickly slipping into the house through a hole in the basement window.

The house was dark, and filthy. Dust covered everything, cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, the smell of rats and mice filling her nose. She sneezes, and started winding her way up the stairs, carefully avoiding the holes in the steps. She sniffed the air, smelling the stale sour scent of old blood from somewhere above her, and made her way in that direction. Fortunately, the rest of the house, while just as filthy, faired better than the weathered outside porch. When in the foyer, she shifted back to human, her clothes reforming on her body.

The marble on the floor was chipped and showing it's age, but solid thankfully, it held her weight. She looked slowly around. The house was dark, and gutted, she could see marks on some of the floors where there had once been furniture. She slowly walked into the den, where there was a fireplace, as she looked it over, she swooned, falling to her knees on the decaying carpet.



He stood there fuming. He could hear their wanton activities coming from upstairs, and knew what he would find if he were to travel the stairs into their room. It was their bedroom for crying out loud, she had the nerve to take him there, to sleep with him in their marital bed. The bed he had made with his own two hands. His anger caused him to see red. His hands reached for the ax in front of him. He knew how he would handle this, they would never do it again. NEVER!



Circe recovered her senses, forcing herself back to her feet, and headed out of the den. This was where it began, she thought to herself. She still didn't understand why she was called here by these restless spirits, but she at least understood what had happened here. That was a start. She slowly started to climb the stairs, the same ones she had ascended in her vision, but this time, there at the top of the steps she saw something she didn't before. A painted portrait of a woman. Circe blinked, her hand grabbing the rail as another vision overwhelmed her.



She sat as still as she could for the painter. Inside she sighed, wishing she had not agreed to have this silly thing done. She chuckled softly, plastering a saccharine sweet smile on her face for the painter who constantly looked between her, the palette and the canvas. Thankfully this is the last day of sitting. From over the painter's shoulder, the painting was very obviously near completion. The woman was identical to the woman who was watching. She and Circe were mirror images.



Circe shuddered, memories from the woman overwhelmed her as she stood there. The thoughts and desires of previous lives swelled inside her overly sensitive mind. There was the reason she was there, she was the reincarnation of the woman in the portrait, destined to cleanse the house of her previous death. She climbed up the steps from memory, feet taking her to the room where she died. She started chanting softly, a glow enveloping her form, and radiating out to illuminate the hall as she passed. Standing in the doorway, she again saw the events of her nightmares, this time from the inside. She collapsed once more, her mind flooding with pain and sadness.

As she finally gained the strength to stand once more, a huge hulking form stood before her, it's face contorted in anger and pain. It bore the marks of it's death, and reached it's hands to her throat. Circe waved her hand over the form, and it could not touch her in spite of it's desperate attempts to do so. She continued her chanting for a few seconds longer before confronting the spirit before her.

"Peace find your restless soul. I am sorry for what was done to you to cause your death. Carry not your anger with you into eternity. Release the anger in the knowledge that she loved you, and forgives what you did. Rest now and sleep until you come again." Circe's words were soft and formal. She leaned forward, brushing her lips against the cheek of the phantom before her before stepping back, and releasing the being from the spell holding it.



"Thank you." It whispered, and vanished from her sight.



Circe smiled, feeling the house change, becoming nothing more than the old broken down home it was meant to be, no longer housing the anger and hatred the spirit bore with itself. She whispered a soft blessing over the home and returned to the top of the steps where she took the portrait down from the wall. Holding it carefully in her arms, she chanted the words to the spell, and returned home.