Of A Muse Novels & Stories

Marvin probed. "Gosh! I don't even understand any of these things. Who is the muse?" Olivia once again asked, looking a bit pale. "Madamé, the Muse Group is a subsidiary of The organization formed by the Crazy Lady." It also happens to be the first anti-dark forces group. This muse group is dangerous and scheming. I am a leader who I don't know, but I have a computer mindset. He could come up with different strategies and evil plans that would make you doubt your intelligence.

I landed in a Greek tragedy. I found a tree root that looked strong enough to hold my weight and sat down, with my elbow on my knees I held my head in my hands. Closing my eyes, I thought about how I got myself in this mess. Masi walked over to me. “No, we are not muses. Muses motivate and inspire Greek heroes, they wish they were like us.” she chuckled before continuing. “We are guides, guides to the four guar-.” She stopped talking, her hand flew to her half open mouth, eyebrows rose to be lost under her hairline and her eyes widened.

Once we are both inside, I press the button to shut the door. Musu takes a deep breath and looks around my private library. She spends a lot of time here, but she clearly doesn't understand why I pulled her in right now. “What is Mavri Magea?” I ask her, trying to remember I have no problem with her. “Uh, Greek. It can be dark magic or black magic,” she nods confidently. “You’re sure?” I ask hesitantly. “Yes, Alpha. One hundred percent,” she confirms. I sigh and rub my hands over my face, “Give me a moment, Musu. I need to have an argument with my wolf.”

“What plans?! That wasn’t what we discussed.” “You didn’t come to my room to shut down my kingdom, did you? Plans changed. I didn’t dispute what we discussed.” “What discussion?” I asked. Luca looked back at me. “Oh, mind my manners. This is my sister, Melissa. Melissa, this is Samantha-my muse.” Melissa’s eyes went wide in shock, and she looked back at Luca. “Your muse? As in, your lady of the night? You don’t have muses!” “I have one now. You’re not being very nice to my guest.”

They say in unison and scribble on notepads. “Musu, why don’t we start with your research to give everyone a primer?” I nod as she opens her laptop. “Arrow, if there are any details that Musu may have missed or has gotten wrong, please let us know. She’s only able to go by the resources available to us.” When I try to sit, Saint pulls me onto his lap instead. “I’ll behave.” He whispers. “I just want you close.” Musu summarizes everything she has learned about the Goddess of Love, earning nods of approval from Arrow and Sy. He occasionally stops and corrects minor details or adds additional information, but mostly listens carefully with a satisfied expression.

He tilted his head, a dark smile playing on his lips. I exhaled a harsh breath, placing both hands on my hips like a frustrated mother, who has been deprived of sleep. “I don’t want to have this filthy conversation with you, Killian.” “Oh…you do. And we will have it here.” He was imposing his words on me like he knew me better than I know myself. Like he could read me like a transparent glass. I hated it! “You see, Little muse. I have studied you for a year now,” he inched closer to me, stealing what was left of my next breath. “You love filthy things. You love watching me fuck other bitches in the study.”

The other five artists surrounded the platform with their own work-in-progress—Marcus with clay, David with his camera, James with his canvas, Robert with video equipment, Chen with his tablet. The collectors circled, watching, murmuring appreciation. "Ladies and gentlemen," Adrian announced, "tonight we present 'The Muse'...a living installation exploring the intersection of art and sexuality, creation and consumption, form and function. What you're witnessing is collaborative art in process. And for our most generous patrons, we're offering interactive experiences with the installation itself." Luna's pulse quickened. Interactive experiences. She knew what that meant.

I pulled free first, “Sorry. But don’t think this counts for anything, I’m still mad at you.” “Fair enough,” he kissed my cheek, “But before we start, know that I won’t be able to answer everything.” I sat on my desk, “Then answer this, who was that voice?” “You’re Muse,” he said lightly. I stared at him blankly, “What do you mean?” “Everyone has some form of music in their souls,” he explained, “But a musician has a unique Muse inside of them, whether it be classical, rock, or a mixture of both.”

Muse's attendants laughed. "Great Master Pearlo is our most powerful Earthly Celestial in the Mystique Realm. He has been undefeated since 300 years ago. Almost everyone is below him except Saint Onyx. Not even a Heavenly Celestial could," one of them said. "Honestly, do you really think you can marry Mirth under Lady Muse's watchful eyes?" another added. Mirth blushed and tightened her fists. "Don't bother with them. They don't know how big the universe is," Logan said calmly.

And it is all slightly, terrifyingly wrong. Because it isn’t his. The Muse feeds on his output, growing stronger, more substantial. It’s no longer a wisp; it’s a shimmering, opalescent presence that fills the workshop with the scent of ozone and old roses. And the art it inspires… it’s a reflection of my soul. My deepest fears. My unspoken sorrows. The bird’s song is the sound of my loneliness after the Graft was severed. The sculpture holds the shape of my secret resentment towards our peaceful, boring life. He is channeling my pain, and the Muse is feasting on it.