Apollo's Muse

Candice (The Lyre) II

*Pic is of the 'super handsome guy wearing a sparkly gold dressing gown' ;)

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Candice curled up in the fluffy bathrobe, perched on the sofa in the lounge with Rosalie. They ate popcorn, and watched Spongebob flitting across the giant 50" TV that her dad had bought on a whim, following his last promotion. It was only a few days until Christmas, and the sweet shimmery scent of cinnamon-and-apple cookies wafting from the kitchen brought back memories of all those previous christmases...

Dad, wearing his favorite cable knit jumper and those enormous moccasin slippers as we decorate the tree... Bach's Brandenburg Concertos playing on the sound system... Mum baking in the kitchen, always the same cinnamon cookies and that ambrosia she calls marzipan... Dipping marshmallows in melted chocolate and crushed peanuts... The stockings on the fireplace, the presents spilling onto the hearth... The cosy familiarity of Rosa's little body curled up in my own as we watch Dad light the candles on the tree and sing Christmas carols under his breath, a rich bass rumbling in harmony with Mum's sweet alto... eating Mum's treats from the coffee table, as we all hand presents to each other... 

Candice glanced down at Rosalie, her big brown eyes intent on the animated yellow sponge who was currently being disemboweled by a screaming red lobster. Candice dropped a kiss on the top of her sister's head, and closed her eyes.

So tired...

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Golden light filtered through the grove of trees, a dancing blanket of shade shimmying across the grass. She touched the soft linen of her white tunic, and the small blade in the sheath on her belt. The leather felt warm and familiar under her fingertips, and she widened her field of vision, taking in the activity around her as she stood in dim shelter with the cave at her back.

Her veins hummed with awareness as she observed quail scurrying beneath the laurel, picking at the fallen berries, the distant whoosh of a hawk circling overhead, leaves rustling in the warm breeze. A slightly salty tang hung in the air, as a rabbit peered from beneath the fallen trunk of an ancient tree, surveying the landscape for dangers. Finding none, it hopped merrily across the glade and down a cobbled path; the stones once close-knit had gleamed a dusky terracotta, now long forgotten and covered in lichen and moss. She touched the etching curving up and over the cave entrance to her left, and her fingered tingled as the ancient symbols lit up under her touch.

“Οι Μούσες κρατούν στα χέρια τους τα μυστικά των ηλικιών, που λάμπει σαν χρυσό στο μυαλό των ανδρών που πιθανότητα επάνω τους, το Εννέα που ζουν στη σφαίρα του Απόλλωνα"”

A golden glow rose from the etchings and her eyes registered the familiar meaning of the ancient symbols, carved into stone millennia before.

“The Muses hold in their hands the secrets of the ages, which shine like gold in the minds of men who chance upon them, the Nine who live in the realm of Apollo”

Her legs felt strong and light as she moved into the middle of the glade, her arms lithe and her breath sure. Her ears picked up the small sounds underlying the sweet chirping of finches in the glade, and her bare feet reveled in the coolness of the grass underfoot.

She paused. A presence was near, she sensed, and she turned, alert and calm. In the mouth of the cave stood a man, his features clean and symmetrical beneath short golden curls. He had no beard, and his golden body was draped in a metallic toga of woven gold. A lyre was held, forgotten, in his hand.