Her eyes saw that she was standing on top of the cliff in a ritual circle, one that’d brought her back. Numerous disfigured ponies — old thralls, weak — were lying around, discarded like the broken, useless tools they were. An earth mare was sitting on the outside, smirking up at her. Artemis immediately knew who it was: Circe, her new master. Circe was no ordinary pony. She had an indomitable strength of will that no others could hope to match. She was to be respected, obeyed, simple as that. Artemis didn’t know why that was and didn’t want to know. Circe was the center of the universe, and Artemis would be willing to kill anypony who said otherwise. Provided Circe said it was okay, at any rate.