The Retellings

A Butterfly Thought

Aoede and Mneme watched as Melete sat by the river on the bottom of Mount Helicon stroking a blooming iris. Their sister's earthly eyes were fixed on the rushing waters, while the winds stroked her golden curls.

It has been months since the youth had prayed to them. He begged them as their muses to inspire him to play his lyre and sing tales so grand the kings will sway to his words.

Aoede gifted the youth with a golden voice, so he may sing melodies that dripped like honey from his lips. The youth was impressed and sang of old tales. Aoede felt pride for her gift, but a muse does cannot work alone.

Mneme then gifted the youth with a powerful memory. Every new story he heard he could recite as though it happened the night before. He was able to memorise hundreds of stories and told them all to the sisters, who listened intently to what the youth had to say.

Then it was Melete's turn. However, she had nothing to offer. Her gifts weren't as glamorous as her sisters' gifts, but they were more meaningful. Yet, she cannot gift the youth with contemplation. Instead, the muse found herself pondering over the gift.

"Sister, you will age faster if you mould your face as such," Mneme spoke, sitting down next to Melete.

"I apologise, but I cannot gift this youth with my powers," she admitted.

"Why not?" Aoede huffed, perching her hands on her hips. "We serve the people who follow us. They give us gifts and we give them inspiration, talent and memory."

"I know how we work." Melete placed the iris on the lush green bank. "But it is not so simple. I can gift him with inspiration, but I cannot guarantee it will impress kings. My gifts are like butterflies. If you do not catch the inspiration I gift you, it will fly away. But if you force it, it will die. Leaving dust in your hands."

Mneme placed her hand on her sister's head, "You do place a lot of thought into your gifts, don't you, my sister? But what the youth does with what we give him, is not within our control."

Aoede plumped down on the other side of Melete and took the iris. "Not only that. But if the youth was a true artist, he would understand the importance of you give. As an artist, you can rehash, redraw, or even rewrite the same stories as much as you want. You can have the best voice with the best verses. You can even make perfect carvings. But if you cannot find the inspiration to create something that is unique and from your own mind, no one will ever love you for yourself, but for those you imitate. So, please gift the youth so we may continue with our lives."

"That said," Mneme glared over at Aoede. "Your gifts are beautiful. Won't you grant this youth one of your butterflies?"

Melete watched the water. Her snow-white skin reached in and she pulled out a small pebble.

"I do pray this man will become great," Melete said and kissed the stone.

The stone started wriggling and moving in her hand until six little limbs burst out. Carefully the pebble's hard shell folded open to reveal a beautiful little butterfly. Melete smiled at the little creature until its wings lit up with a bright green light.

"Farewell," she whispered and the butterfly flew off.

Mneme rested her head on Melete's shoulder as Aoede fell over her lap. The sister laughed at each other. They watched the butterfly fly off.

May its inspiration grow to create the greatest tales the world had yet to see!