Apollo's Muse

Candice (Clio) XVIIIa

AUTHORS NOTE: The next nine sections are all parts of Chapter XVIII: I want to introduce the Muses and show pictures of them all :) If you want to skip this, click on Chapter XIX. Thankyou for reading!

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* Pic is of Clio

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Candice changed into her warmest pajamas, shivering in the cold night air. She shut her window, and stared out into the darkness. There was no moon, and the front yard seemed like a black hole, threatening to swallow her. 

She shivered again, this time not from the cold.

Does he think I’m crazy? 

Does he believe me?

Her brain ached. 

Where are all these dreams even going? 

What’s the point?

She slowly went over to her dressing table, and brushed out her hair, taking out her earrings, and removing her makeup. She squeezed some lotion onto her palm, and carefully applied it to her skin, eyelids drooping with fatigue. She crawled into bed, reaching over weakly to switch off the lamp. 

So tired...

She was dreaming before her head touched the pillow.

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She watched from a third person’s perspective, as a cinematic sweep showed her a monastery, built into the top of a cliff and overlooking sparkling azure blue waters as far as the eye could see.

"This was your home," a velvety  voice spoke. She turned and saw Apollo, standing beside her with his wreath of laurel leaves tangled into windblown hair.

Her view panned 360°, revealing a vast olive grove rolling into hills of verdant green behind the stone walls of the ancient sanctuary. Then she was drawn inside the monastery, moving swiftly within the walls, her gaze taking in beautifully manicured gardens of herbs and vegetables, with pomegranate and citrus trees espaliered against the walls. 

She passed through a kitchen, an infirmary, several bedchambers, a cathedral with coloured crystal windows, and a vast library containing many scrolls. The view opened out onto a large balcony, with a beautifully sculpted table and set of marble chairs, overlooking the sea. Orange trees fruited in large clay pots, providing shade, and a fountain spouted sparkling streams of water into a large basin. A young woman with luminescent blue eyes and blonde hair approached, and she sat down, holding a blank scroll and a quill. 

That’s me, she realized.

"You are correct." Apollo read her thoughts. "You are Clio, the Muse of History."

She observed herself, the healthy glow to her skin, the way her chest rounded out the beautiful cream silk gown draped over her limbs. Her hair shone in a loose bun on top of her head, and her eyes were focussed on what she was writing, the quill in her hand scratching lightly on parchment. 

"Your home still stands waiting for you," Apollo confided, "even after many centuries. It is preserved by a divine spell, and while it exsits in a physical place on earth, it is unseen by men."

She felt a swell of familiarity in her chest, as she stood, far out of sight above a hazy mist of clouds.

This is my home?

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