His Muse Novels & Stories

“Ophelia, the way you balanced the jasmine with rainwater and musk—it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Tell me: where did you find such inspiration?” Ophelia paused, for once unsure. She thought of her restless evenings and the strange, wonderful disruptions that had forced her outside her comfort zone. “Sometimes, inspiration finds you when you least expect it,” she replied softly. “You think you’re working alone, but then someone appears and pushes you further—shows you what you’re capable of.” Marcus studied her, an understanding growing in his eyes. “Everyone has a muse, or at least a motivation. Cherish it.” She nodded, her thoughts tangled with gratitude and longing. What was j

He walked past me, stopping in front of the unfinished portrait that looked so much like me. “I did,” he finally answered. My breath caught. “You’re the artist?” I asked, surprised. “I used to be. Only when I needed to breathe.” I didn’t fully understand what he meant, but it shifted how I saw the paintings. These weren’t just random strokes of color. These were pieces of him….emotions he couldn’t say out loud. I stepped closer, holding my camera like it could shield me. “Why me?” I asked. He turned to me slowly. “I don’t know yet.”

As the door closed behind her, my heart thudded harder. I stood there, awkward and exposed, while Delphine circled me like a hunter sizing up her prey. She clapped her hands together with a delighted laugh. "Well, well… he wasn't lying. He really did bring me a muse." A muse? The word stunned me. Kane—had he called me that? Was that how he saw me? Not just a body, not just an object—but someone who inspired him? That possibility cracked something open inside me. Maybe… maybe I wasn't just a toy. Maybe I mattered.

“You weren’t tired. You were angry. Angry because I asked to go home. Angry because I didn’t stand beside you at that gallery like some proud little prize.” His jaw worked but he didn’t answer. Her voice cracked slightly, but she pushed forward. “I feel like I’m just the Muse. Not the woman. Do you even see me outside your canvas?” Something inside him snapped at her words. His pride reared higher, pressing back the softer truth clawing at him. “Of course I see you,” he shot back. “Everywhere. In everything. You’re in every brushstroke, every line...”

“I just… I can’t seem to get it right. I can’t concentrate.” She looked at him, surprised. “Concentrate? Are you kidding me? You literally designed everything in the Monalisa collection.” His gaze dropped again. “I tried. But I just… I can’t. Everything feels so far from my reach.” He sighed. “I just can’t reach my muse.” Monica shuddered. “Why does it feel like you’re talking about me?” He didn’t respond right away. His silence hung heavy in the room, more telling than anything he could’ve said.

He looked nervous and fidgety, his eyes darting back and forth as he cleared his throat to speak. "Adelaide, can I ask you something?" Mino said, his voice hesitant. Adelaide looked up at him, her expression neutral. "What is it, Mino?" Mino took a deep breath before speaking. "My birthday is coming up soon, and I was wondering if... if you could be my muse for the day." Adelaide's expression didn't change, but she didn't respond either. She just sat there, looking at Mino with an unreadable expression.

“That’s not, it’s not like that. He’s just…” “Your muse,” Cássia finished, wiggling her eyebrows. “Yes!” I seized on the word as if it were a lifeline. “Exactly. He’s my muse. That’s all. The hero in my book needed something, and now he has it. Crooked grin, sarcastic hero energy. Inspiration. Nothing more.” Cássia leaned back, sipping from a mug I was ninety percent sure wasn’t coffee. “So let me get this straight. He saves you, brings you chocolate-worthy inspiration, makes you write like wildfire again, and you’re telling me it’s not personal?”

"Ugh, disgusting fools! You and your daughter have held me back long enough! Do you know how hard it is for me to find a muse? I—" "Muse, my foot!" Mom suddenly started lashing out. "Henry, you're just a loser who got lucky. You have zero creative talent, and you're weak, spineless, and irresponsible. I don't believe for even a second that someone like you could paint anything that matters in the slightest. Trash like you have no right to be talking about muses!" "...What?" Dad was dumbfounded. After all, for as long as he could remember, Mom had always admired him. She had never voiced her true thoughts like this before.

And I was no closer to understanding what it meant than I was the first time I heard it. “I knew it!” Nyx exclaimed, fist-pumping the air, and then turned to me, her blue eyes beaming. “You’re stunning! The perfect Muse for our Master!” But what the hell was a Muse?

"Eu-terp- what?! Did you just insult me?!" "Euterpe, the muse of music, one of the nine Greek goddesses of literature, science, and the arts." Hanabusa interjected. For a second I had forgotten about him, my agitation receded . I also felt wronged by him but I couldn't do anything against his authority. Akemi's face flickered from irritation to confusion then back to irritation. "Nerd!" I opened my mouth but Hanabusa spoke first. "Look here, I don't care how you know each other, you can duke it out once I'm out of here. Let me speak so I can go."