An open letter to Boy Epic

Hey Guy,

So you are alone on a Friday night hu? 

I don't know if it is by choice, or if that tweet meant that is the kind of person you are.  Maybe you are unhappy about this fact. Well, you are not alone. 

Here I sit, laptop in hand, the worst movie EVER playing in the background, kid gone with her dad, and all to send you a high five from Minnesota. 

So lets say for a second that you are having a crap day. Not feeling the best. Showing us your "Scars." My friend, you have no clue how much I understand. I live my life there. It is more than part of who I am. 

So, lets remedy this situation. 

You, my friend, are a talented, handsome, ambitious, tenacious human being.  Yep, I said it. You are Epic. 

I enjoy seeing your tweets and FB posts. I hear your song on my play list at least five times a day. Your art, which you recently shared with your fans, is beautiful. You are a multi-talented force to be reckoned with. 

Too much? Not enough? I shall continue. 

The first time I hears Scars I got goosebumps, which is a seriously hard feat to accomplish. I am a writer, I don't react that way often.  I took my ass home, and with your song on repeat, I wrote a battle scene. The culminating scene to the second volume of my series Muse. Mind you, I haven't finished 75%of the book yet, but YOUR song, helped me write what I instantly knew was one of the best things I put on paper. 

YOU DID THAT. YOU!

For what it is worth, you are an inspiration.Not only to me, but my other, far more reputable author friends. So hey, maybe you aren't having a bad night. Just bored and chilling at home. That's cool, I guess I just helped fill five minutes of your time. No loss there. You, my friend, Just need to do one thing only. STAY EPIC!

....... Still bored? Still reading? Cool. How about you put scars on repeat and read this. After all, it was you that inspired it. May as well see what your music does for the people who listen to it.

XOXO
Your friend
Star


Muse Vol. 2



Epilogue

Jesson stands atop at the rise in the shale that surrounds the base of the mountain. His arms spread wide, and face lifting to the heavens. His eyes are fierce with a yellow blaze, as if the sun itself lies behind them. I gasp as the sight of him renders me speechless. He is adorned with golden armor, decorated intricately with the symbols of Olympus. He holds a Greek shield with the symbol of Apollo etched into its surface, along with a long sword gilded and encrusted with jewels. My breath hitches in my throat at the sheer majesty of his appearance. Constricting painfully, my heart reminds me that he is standing on the opposing side of the battle lines. 

“My son.” Apollo whispers as the rest of our troop reaches the clearing behind me. I grasp the talisman my mother gifted to me, and close my eyes. I see nothing but Jesson’s face smiling down on me the first night we visited his home on Lake Lillian. Tears sting the back of my eyelids as I steel my resolve. Huffing out a cleansing breath, I open them once more to the scene playing out in front of me.

I know what I have to do. 

Jesson stands to his full height, which seems imposing from my current vantage point. I feel a shiver run down my spine as I allow my version of him to cloud the reality standing before me. Cyrus steps behind me close enough for me to feel the heat roll off his chest and I falter. I want to turn and run, or simply cry into the chest of my friend who has placed a supportive hand on my shoulder, but I digress. 

I look to my left and to my right. I see the faces of those who have grown to be family in my heart. I take a step forward raising my sword into the air. A battle cry rises behind me as Jesson’s eyes meet mine across the battlefield. Jesson mirrors my gesture and a collective gasp silences my small army as the masses of Olympus’s horde reach the swell of the hill before us. 

The talisman throbs at my neck as the two halves war against each other within the confines of their golden enclosures. The black gold holds the waters of the Lethe, to start anew. The rose gold holds the waters of the Mnemosyne, to persevere. Use them wisely. My mother’s words echo through my memory. Time seems to stand still as I gather my courage. Many will perish if I cannot complete my mission. 

The echo of a thousand-man march bounces off the mountain side. I stiffen as the glow in Jesson’s eyes turns a deep red. He stares directly into my soul with a hatred I have never seen on his angelic face. My stomach contorts as his army crests the hillside, descending on my small band of faithful followers. I look to Cyrus and give a slight nod. He turns away and makes a path to the back of our forces. I swallow the lump in my throat and step away from the safety of our group. Walking deliberately and slowly toward Jesson, I hold his gaze. Halfway between Jesson and my troop I stop. Alone in the center of the battlefield I raise an arm with a white flag in the air. Jesson throws a hand up halting his deadly precession.

 He steps forward like a lynx descending on his prey. I continue to hold my symbol of surrender high in the air as he approaches, willing my arm not to tremble. Jesson stops within ten feet of me, lips curling with satisfaction at his easy victory. I take a deep breath and once again grasp the pendant. Its cold metal has grown hot with the magic of the gods. I can see the flames dance behind Jesson’s eyes as he circles me, studying me almost, as if he has never seen me before. Stopping inches from my face, he narrows his eyes and inhales deeply, relishing in the scent of my fear. 

“We could smell your terror before you even crossed our boundaries Muse.” Jesson says in a strange multidimensional voice. “We did not think you would be so eager to meet your death.”

I gasp as I see a flash of green play across his iris. My Jesson is fighting to free himself from his possession. 

“Jesson,” I whisper, as my breath hitches in my throat.

A wicked grin spreads across his face, and a sinister laugh rumbles through his chest. “Silly Muse, he will not come back to you. He belongs to me now. I will have him for my own, while your family rots in the palace dungeons for eternity.” The voice taunts me from behind the face of my beloved.

 A single tear escapes my eye and Jesson’s expression softens, his head tilting slightly. “He’s mine.” I demand through gritted teeth. The disjointed voice contorts Jesson’s face and laughs, again, rubbing salt into the gaping wound were my heart once was. 

“The demi-god is weak of will. He cannot break my spell. You shall perish by his hand, and I shall have him in my bed by sundown.” My veins ice over at the thought of Psyche touching him.

I tighten my hand over the talisman, dislodging the correct half as my mother showed me. My still elevated arm begins to tire as I hear a whistle from behind me. The signal I am waiting for has sounded. This is it, either now or never. I step forward deliberately, holding out my hand to touch him, while concealing my weapon with my thumb. Jesson flinches but does not turn from my gaze as I approach. I place my trembling fingers on his breastplate, and a look of confusion and acceptance flashes across his face. 

Pretending to stifle a sob I bring my hand to my mouth and pour the liquid into my open lips. Without hesitation I throw myself on to Jesson and crash my lips over his, pushing the waters into his mouth. He shoves me backward swallowing the contents and growling with anger at me. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand and lunges for my throat.

I simply smile, and drop the flag. 

**fin**