The Reason and The Muse

Chapter 1

Anya

~~~

Anya had a vision, and she had a muse.

His name was Aristarchus, or that's what she called him. She didn't actually know his name, or who he was, or what he liked, all she knew was that every winter day when she went to the park, he was there figure skating on the frozen ice like an angel out of heaven.

Aristarchus had blond hair, and Anya guessed that his eyes were brown, though she had never gotten quite close enough to tell for sure. He always wore what seemed to be the same black pants and a cable knit sweater that changed color nearly every day.

In Anya's vision, Aristarchus was a fallen angel come to earth to grace humankind with his presence, or he was a great Greek warrior of old, having lived many lives and fought many wars. Sometimes, he was a gust of wind, cooling the face of the earth with his breeze, and there were other times when Aristarchus was a snowflake falling into a little girl's outstretched palm. In Anya's vision, Aristarchus was winter embodied, and in her art, everyone sat Aristarchus painted onto a canvas or penned onto a paper, or even sculpted into clay, but only Anya saw Aristarchus here, in his true form. Every morning, after the frost set in, Anya would bundle herself up and make her way to the park where her muse was bound to be.

For two years, ever since she had started college, ever since the first time she had seen Aristarchus gliding over the ice in his elaborate dance, he had been her muse. She would sit silently on a bench, hidden under the outstretched branches of frost-covered trees, and she sketched what she saw, but never had she sketched Aristarchus as himself. For two years, she had drawn with him as her inspiration, but she had only ever drawn what she saw through him, never the muse himself.

The day was Monday, the first Monday of December, in Anya's third year of art school. She quietly gathered her sketchbook and pencils, put on her coat and boots, and left her apartment to go find her muse.

Snow had fallen the night before, that was apparent, but now the gray sky seemed to be empty of its frozen gifts. The ground was white, and only one dark trail showed itself as it followed behind Anya. She sighed, and the breath went before her in a white cloud, she loved winter because it meant she could see Aristarchus.

It was strange for her in the summer; she felt almost devoid of all ability to create her art. When she went home, she struggled to make anything; all she could do was copy what she saw around her, but when she watched Aristarchus, her mind was filled with pictures no one had ever seen before; pictures she would create and people would praise. Sure, they praised her when she painted a summer lake at home, but nothing could match the beauty that was created through the inspiration of Aristarchus.

The world was still dim in the early light of morning, but she had no trouble finding her bench and sitting there near the frozen pond. Aristarchus was already there, gliding over the ice like a crane flying over water. As she sat, it almost seemed as though he glanced at her, though she couldn't tell because he looked down just as quickly. He had never acknowledged her presence in the last two years of her watching him dance, but she was fine with that because she thought if they did speak, he might make her leave, or maybe she would find that he wasn't the winter angel she imagined him to be. So the two existed in mutual silence, and she drew the image he inspired as he danced.

~~~

"Oh, Anya! You never fail to disappoint!" Mrs. Caverly exclaimed upon seeing Anya's painting later that day. "And you did this just today?" She asked, examining the piece carefully.

"Yes, ma'am," Anya replied shyly, looking at the painting herself and remembering the dance Aristarchus had done to inspire it.

The painting was a small square one, and it depicted a light blue winter scene: snow-covered meadows and a few bare trees surrounded a small frozen pond where little forest animals sniffed at the ice, and some white rabbits slid across the pond. The sky of the painting was a light grayish blue, and there were little wisps of clouds floating by, some blocking out the sun to make the winter world slightly dimmer.

"I love it, Anya, it really is beautiful." Mrs. Caverly said, turning to look at her with a kind smile on her face.

"Thank you, ma'am," Anya replied softly.

"I don't know how you do it every time." Mrs. Caverly continued, shaking her head. "You amaze me."

Anya laughed slightly, looking back at the piece with a gentle smile on her face. "I don't know how I do it either." She said, and she knew she couldn't without Aristarchus.