TW: abuse

I dream of when I lost my muse.

Mom stands over me, my beautiful, tiny, horse-shaped muse squeezed in her shaking fist. It struggles, crying out in its tiny, wispy voice. The very sound of it shatters something inside of me. I cry for her to stop. To let go. I beg. I plead. But she doesn’t seem to hear.

Pain ripples through my heart, so intense I lose my breath. Her fingers clench, and then it’s gone, shattered into a million sparks of blue.

I scream.

I scream and scream and scream and scream until all that’s left of my world is my voice, my pain, and nothing else matters.

I gasp awake. Sunlight streams through the window in a brilliant orange shaft. Birds sing in the garden, and I stare at the plain white ceiling above me. A hot tear trickles down my cheek. I wipe it away with the back of my hand. It’s been so long since that happened. Why did my brain have to plague me with it now of all times? And when I’d had a good few weeks too.

Now I can’t but think about that time. Of how excitement shivered down my spine with every word put to paper. The pure joy in creating, in forging to life something that only resided in my imagination.

That feeling. Oh, that feeling! It had wrapped me up when my muse was alive, bringing all of my senses to life. My muse…my muse….

Anger used to wrap me in its vicious claws back then. A part of me is still angry. But it’s a quiet anger, one that sits in the corner, too tired to fight. Too tired to protest what had happened to me.

There’s no way I can go back to that pure joy I had before the anger. How I miss that brave, dream-filled, free-spirited girl I used to be. I miss her so much it hurts. I want to be her again. I don’t want to be this lonely, terrified person I am now.

Rising from bed, I throw open my curtains and look up at the sky past the roofs of the houses around me. A dragon swims through the sky above, long, sinewy body a pale green. It’s so close I can see the feathers of its mane blowing in the wind. Grandmother told me back when she was still alive, that seeing a dragon is good luck.

I grip the curtains tight in my fists. I may not be able to to be the girl I was, but I can start over. If not for my sake, then for my brother’s. He can’t live his dream of being a marine biologist. But I have the opportunity to become a storyweaver. And I sure as the moons am going to take it.

After breakfast, I stop a moment to flip through the pages and leave a note for this morning. Good morning, dragon-breath! with a little doodle of a dragon blowing fire that’s so horrible, Elsha would cry at the state of it. Hey, I never said that my art skills were good.

A few moments later, Ryuji replies with, I’ll take that as a compliment. He draws a little winking face, to which I roll my eyes, though I can’t help but smile. At least he has a sense of humor.

I head off to school, my steps light. The morning is beautiful, the weather finally starting to warm. No one sits next to me on the train, which is an even bigger plus. When I reach the school gates, I’m about to head through when someone waves me down. I slow, confused. Who in their right mind would be trying to talk to me?

When I get closer, I realize it’s the werewolf girl who sits behind me in class. Her wolf ears stick through her curly, dark brown hair, and the sun adds a metallic sheen to her bronze skin. Though she’s dressed in the school’s uniform—a horrible combination of green and yellow that doesn’t flatter anyone—she’s added pink ribbons to her hair in an effort to look halfway decent. What's her name again? Aarushi?

“Hey!” she shouts. “Wanna walk with me?”

“Sure?”

I follow her into the school, not quite understanding what’s going on. Does she need something? Or maybe she wants to ask me a question but isn’t brave enough yet?

“I heard you like writing. Is that true?” she asks.

“…yes?” Why does she care?

“My brother loves writing, too. He’s always holed up in his room and I barely ever see him. Mom says that he needs to get out into the world and actually find a job, but I admire his dedication. He already has three books published, which is pretty cool. He’s been making a decent amount of money off it, too…”

As she chats, I try to keep up with her rapid pace. Her words swirl through my head, and it takes me longer than it should for me to sort them out. By the time we reach the classroom, she’s moved on to how much she loves honeybees and how she wishes her parents would let her keep some.

I sit down at my desk as I give her what I hope isn’t a vague smile. I really hope that she won’t make this a habit. My brain can’t keep up.

Aarushi sits at her desk behind me and props her chin in her hands. “So, after school, will you study with me? Everyone else pretty much turned me down and I kinda don’t want to study by myself.”

Ah. Now that makes sense. I give her a relieved smile. “Sure. Of course.” I can handle studying. I’ve done it with a few other students before. Most of the time you sit and don’t talk to each other and hope that what you’re reading is absorbing into your brain. Easy.

“Great!” Aarushi beams like I’ve just told her that I’ll be her best friend for life.

The prospect sends a shudder down my spine. I already have to deal with Ryuji. I don’t think I could handle any more extroverts in my life.

“But only for a little while,” I quickly add, hoping to dampen her spirits without crushing them. The amount of sunshine burning my eyes in this moment it blinding. “I have somewhere I need to go later.”

“No problem!”

After she leaves, I release a breath. Ever since Ryuji started barging his way into my life, more people have found me interesting enough to address. For example, just yesterday, a classmate approached me and asked if I could lend a hand with carrying boxes to the club room. Talk about magic. It’s like people are slowly realizing that I do, in fact, exist and go to their school.

And now Aarushi has been speaking to me more frequently. I guess having extroverted friends have their qualities.