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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1046800
by teehee
Rated: E · Fiction · Arts · #1046800
The Muse-inspiration? creation?

Halfrie was short. Her fingers were small, like branches of a willow. Everything about her was dainty, except herself. She was loud, bold, brave, and outspoken.

The black ribbon that kept her black hair from her face was coming untied as she scratched idly at the ground. Slowly, she looked up at the man sitting next to her. Bharain sat quietly, his arms wrapped around his knees. He watched the sun set with a smile. It brought out a peace in him that he couldn’t explain.

Halfrie brushed her hands off on her skirts and reached a hand up around his cheek, bringing him to look at her.

“Hey, you in there?” She murmured.

Bharain smiled and drew her into his lap. “My muse, come upon me and give to me the words I crave. Place them upon my tongue and help me to create.” He pulled one of her small hands into his own, placing a kiss upon the inside of her wrist. “My muse.”

Slowly, he spread her fingers upon his own dark hand, and kissed her fingers. “Come upon me.”

Halfrie turned in his grasp, capturing his lips for a moment. “The autumn sunset pulls the heat from your skin. You shiver as its waning light leaves you. Peace of darkness galls with the position of the star. Its light, still visible as purple tinged clouds give you reassurance that once she is gone, you will not be alone. Once you are gone, you will not be forgotten.”

“Muse!! Why is this what you tell me?”

“Because you need to know. Your thoughts have been dark of late. Despite what you know, what I can tell you, you are scared that your art is not your own. It is. I do not create through you. My magic is not in possession. It is creation, inspiration, realization. That is what I cause. My hands do not manipulate you. Have I eased your mind any?”

“Give to me the words I crave.”

Halfrie pushed his shoulders back to rest against the dry leaves carpeting the ground. “Lethargy or tension? Elan or withdrawal? Thought or feeling? Illusion or being?”

She lipped his neck. “I choose tension. I choose elan. I choose feeling. I choose being.”

“Place them upon my tongue.”
© Copyright 2005 teehee (juicy-me at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1046800