It's more than a fine hit.
The trajectory is perfect, the arch clean. The bottle gleams in the shallow light of the clearing, before shattering upon the Effigy! The flame catches! The dry, worked wood sears, and blackens, and burns!
True to Circe's thoughts, the Effigy lets out a keening shriek!
It's great head wretches free of the sky, tearing from it's permanence. It shudders and heaves, and slams it's hooves upon the grass.
It doesn't, however, seem to have noticed Circe.
Yet.