In a world as wide and wonderful as ours, it seems absurd that some people deny the existence of the supernatural. And yet, skepticists persist. They twist the public to their side, striking us with fact, logic, and science. Don't misunderstand me, these have their place and their value, but where's the life?
Where's the fun? The magic? The passion? Where's the question that shouldn't be answered, because in answering, all the holiness is lost? Where's the adventure in an explainable world?
As the years drag on, and the media morphs the majority of magical beings into something so outlandish the public can't help but stop believing, little pockets of wild magic hold on. And sometimes, those little pockets grow and grow, for whatever reason.
This is all very broad, very vague. I'm getting a bit off topic. You see, I'm one of those believers, striving to keep magic alive in the more imaginative minds of the world. And I've discovered a new phenomenon! Or rather, an old one, that I've succeeded in recording. It starts with an old legend, as most magic does...
Muses can be found in many a place. Lovers, nature, music, even in oneself. A muse inspires art, yes, but what truly births it is passion. Passion is a rare gift, given to anyone willing to open up their heart. Some say passion is a muse herself. Others say passion is the sun, a Goddess, a war... perhaps they're all right.
What is known for sure is that she's from the West. They say she's a woman, tall as an oak tree and strong as a winter's gale wind. She travels only at sunset, clothed in a robe made of copper and flame. She comes as the sun burns brilliant orange, riding through the lengthening shadows on the back of her black crane.
When the crane flies, his wings dance with the wind and people all through the land swear they've heard music like fire and tempest.
"Passion, the Western Goddess is come again to the land of the living."
She flies to the homes of women with child, and calls out to the unborn babe. She speaks but a single word- "Come."
A strange burning spirit rises from the mother, and takes the Woman's hand.
Each spirit is a glorious specimen of greatness. Some, strong or breathtakingly beautiful. Perhaps another with a voice more powerful than the sea herself or a mind sharper than the scythe of Thanatos. Each unique, each gifted beyond belief. Each with a mane of real flame, twisting and snapping at the air with fierce heat.
The spirit, every time, turns to the mother, smiles and plants a kiss upon her stomach, before the Western Woman tugs gently upon their hand, and whisks them away upon the back of her black crane. All is silent in the land again.
Then, when nine moons have passed, when the mothers babe is born, their own head is adorned with a similar crown- but rather than true flame to burn a brand in the child's brow, wisps of copper hair promise a bright and passionate future- blessed by the goddess of the sun herself.
The babe will grow and find in themselves a great fiery hunger- only sated by the fulfillment of their deepest passion. Unsatisfied with a life denying themselves greatness- the bold, burning young artist is not fulfilled with tracings and doodles. The warrior finds themself seeking the bloodrush of battle, feeling weak and empty amidst peace. The inventor cannot smother the wildfire of ideas that threaten to ignite a city- denying themselves greatness destroys them from the inside out.
And there, in their most desperate hour, starving for a muse, or losing their passion- it appears- that spirit so long ago pulled from its mothers womb- now a perfect mirror of the lost, broken soul before it. It stands, almost sadly, looking at the vessel before them, that perhaps they would have burned within, if not for that hungry Woman, come down upon her black Crane.
The Western Goddess is a jealous power. Her desire for art made of passions is all encompassing. And she knows, if the geniuses of the world were left whole, the gods would not be immortal for long.
So she takes from them their spirits, leaving them searching for something, all their lives. Passion crowns them with a head of fire, to match the unquenchable fiery thirst within their hearts.
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