Part 8

Muse went for a walk, feeling restless.  She rarely left her little cottage, having no real need to and no desire.  She was provided for enough by those who worshipped her, and visited by those gods or goddesses who cared to see her.  They all thought her reclusive and strange, she knew, but was not eccentricity a part of her nature?

That morning, tired as usual but unable to feel at peace in her cottage or garden, she took to the path outside her door and did not stop.  She had no direction, though her eyes strayed to the sight of Love’s home up the hill.  But she turned away from it and went downhill to till she came to the shores of the Lake.

There was a goddess sitting there, on a rock by the Lake, and Muse hesitated.  She knew who it was, and that it was one generally considered even more strange than herself.  Dream sat on the rock, legs crossed, her back to Muse as she gazed out over the water with an expression of contentment.

“Good morning, Muse,” she said, without looking behind herself.

Dream and Muse were sisters, though like all the Immortals they did not have parents much less common ones.  At least, not that they knew of.  They all sprang to life, fully grown, some with false memories, some without.  The Lake was as close a thing to a mother as any of them knew.  Dream and Muse had come from the Lake on the same day, knowing their names and purpose and that they shared a similar nature.

“Good morning,” Muse said, making a decision and walking forward.  She came to stand beside Dream’s rocky perch, and looked to where Dream was looking, as if there was something in particular to see.

“You’re not happy,” Dream said, neutrally.

Muse didn’t respond.  Sisters though they were, she had never felt comfortable around the creature that was Dream.  She alone, of all the Immortals Muse knew, did not walk in the other world.  When Dream slept she walked among the thoughts of sleeping mortals.  She had no dreams of her own, but Muse envied that she witnessed the dreams of others, and knew what it was to sleep.

Dream had white hair and pale, almost translucent skin, with eyes the color of darkest night.  She glowed a little in the morning sun.

“What brings you out this morning?” Muse asked.  Dream lived in the Forest, in the dark.  Muse knew now why she felt an itch to move, to walk, to go to the Lake.  Dream had that draw on her.

“I wanted to see you, to see how you were,” answered Dream, turning to look at her finally.  “Why you are unhappy.”

Muse was tempted to deny it, but knew it was futile to lie to her sister.  “Love,” she said, simply.

“Why?”

“He is like two people.”

“Love has more than two faces.”  Dream shook her head.  “But so do you.”

“I am the same no matter what life I’m leading.”

“Fickle Muse, always just out of reach, always hiding, never satisfied, no matter where she goes.”

“Cryptic Dream,” Muse returned, “never making sense no matter what she says.”

“You should visit him,” Dream said.  “Here.  Today.  In this world.”

“But—”

“But what?”

“I like the other Love.  He is more my kind.”

“You are two of a kind, no matter which kind you are.”

Talking to Dream was always that way.  Muse didn’t know whether she was speaking nonsense or a deep wisdom.  “He throws a revel every night,” she said.  “Maybe tonight I will go.”

“We will both go,” announced Dream.  “There was never any question, no maybe, that you would go.  You were just waiting for me.”

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