It was only at night that I would feel the presence peeking from the shadows of my living room, when the only light sources were dim lamps and the screen of a well-used computer. It would follow when I took walks or laid awake in bed before I went to sleep.
I remember at first, that I would see just a silhouette of shifting greys that hovered at the edge of my vision and stared at me with two holes from the back of my skull, sending signals of curiosity, silently encouraging me to continue typing with it as my anonymous audience.
Then it wanted to help. It whispered suggestions, theories, and random phrases, whether I asked for its help or not. It finger painted pictures and people using the colours of my emotions. Through that, it stole some for itself and changed. It became a young elf with pale skin and uneven blond hair tied in a ponytail, accompanied with sighing lights. He – she – it – no, too offensive. ‘They’ is better.
They are still mostly dressed in shades of grey: jet black shoes that glimpse from under dark grey pants, giving the illusion of having no feet and actually floating around the night’s darkness. They wear a grey vest over an off-white, old European-styled shirt, with long, folding cuffs to adjust when in thought. A white, miniature hat with one part of the rim bent inward is perched on their head, decorated in purple ribbon and a pink feather sticking out of it for the finishing touch.
They accessorize with more colours of the chakras: a passionate red pouch wrapped around their left thigh and a small, orange notebook peeks out from their pants pocket, both to store the magic tools. Their vest is fastened with yellow buttons, a golden chain fixed to both vest pockets on either side. A broach of a broken heart rest on their left breast, the holder a glinting green, with one half of the heart a shining peach and the other is a darker jade. Around the neck, the shirt is secured with a bright blue string, and in the right ear, a simple, dark blue earring dangles (but could change into something eloquent). If they stick out their tongue, it would shine like silver-
“All the better to speak with you, my dear!” They smile with relaxed eyebrows, sticking that tongue out while possessing my voice again.
-However, the most important features is their pen and eyes. To most people, they would see two hazel orbs where they ought to be, and a wadjat eye of indigo tattooed on their forehead, observing every sentence with an ancient sight.
“All the better to see you with, my dear!” They say, showing a tooth gap and crossing their arms. “We both know that you don’t need eyes to truly see.”
To some, they will open their eyelids, which are painted hazel, to reveal those eye sockets that still exist, showing a void stare… In which there is always something lurking within.
“Dare to sneak a peek?” They lean forward, hands clasped together, the pen sticking out and glowing.
Always, Muse.
“Don't stare too long into the void, for you'll find it stares back... In the oddest and unsettling of ways... And the urge to reach in is indeed enticing.”
If I cared too much about that, I wouldn't still be here.
“I'm in the mood for a horror. I will pull out whatever.” They point to their sockets with their pen, the second feature of importance. A black wand with a snake drawn around it, glowing white with energy and inspiration just waiting to shoot out and cast a spell. Muse is a being of inspiration, with every step they take and property they touch with long fingers, glowing white lines and swirls of thoughts and desires crawl out from them before fading. It is only through that serpentine instrument that ideas will stay and grow.
“To write a story, you have to flip the mirror and view things from a different perspective.” The words slither out into the evening air as they wave their hand and release more white swirls into the fading sun light. “Read like a thief and keep what you steal. Tear out another piece of your heart – we know that’s expendable, ha ha – and let it soak in the passions and grow.”
Give me a phrase, a question.
“Walk with me. Can’t keep up with ideas if you don’t walk with them – and give your ass a break.”
A nice pace around the room always helps and soon a phrase appears:
“You either die a hero or live long enough to be a villain.”
It’s here that Muse turns to me with a smile showing the tooth gap and leans closer, eyelids open to reveal the shifting void.
“Do you think that you've lived for too long?”555Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMmq8kvfwI2
This is a creature who will play with whatever they see as a toy, twisting, subverting, de-constructing, and reconstructing every trope until there’s nothing left. Every trope they find, every line they draw and Irish step dance on, every quote they read will not leave the shadows unscathed.555Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡki8uBxvSSE
I am no different. I'm not a bad person, but I wouldn't be a writer if I wanted to play 'Hero'. Sometimes, there's nothing more fun than creating an adventure and watching it all fall into decline.
Muse wears colour and inspiration well, being half deity and half hell.
With that uttered phrase, muse flicks the pen and draws, glowing in the darkness like a compute screen after bedtime. Two figures grow from a well-maintained side walk, heels clicking along a warm, sunny afternoon, another day during the apocalypse. End it with one person.555Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvKoEIkIZP0
“Now, it’s time for some fun.”
555Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBcMexvREra
EDIT: It's an older drawing of my muse, but I think it fits the ending~555Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgkkES4eQdX
