Muse (working title) 2 by deadlydarkdevil

Faerie had left her. Having him not follow through with the last burst of inspiration that had drained the remnants of her power depleted the limited amount she still had had, even in mostly human form. She looked down again, as tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill out down her cheek and onto his hand, and whispered, “I don't know.” She had lost faerie, and thus she was nobody.
Brett felt her body threaten to collapse even as he realized she had told him the truth. Sweeping her up an instant before her knees buckled, he carried her carefully to the couch he had stuffed into the small room for the many nights he worked too late to bother with going upstairs to sleep.
The pain of the loss was exquisite. She had heard stories of fey being lost to the human world, but they had all chosen their paths, while somehow, hers had been chosen for her. Silent sobs racked her body even as he set her down on the dingy couch she had noticed in her perusal of the room. Drawing her knees up to her chest she looked up at him, this one human who was her only tie to anything anymore.
He felt sorry for her, this apparition that was only too real. The plaintive look in her eyes made him feel a sudden surge of protectiveness for this innocent, lost, creature. And yet how could she be innocent, while breaking in to his house? A new thought crossed his mind but he instantly swept it away. There was no chance that she was just a robber, an actress come to distract him. There were better ways to distract a man than vulnerability, and her body was perfectly suited to every one that came to his mind. She had begun gently rocking while he had been steeped in his thoughts, reminding him of shock victims, but he couldn't remember anything he may have seen on some late-night show that was supposed to be helpful.

“I don't feel her anymore, Mother.” The title was an honorific as she was mother to none, yet guide to all. Just as she would have to be to the frightened sprite carrying the news, and had been to the daughter now lost to her.
“She has met her destiny. The fates have willed it so, and thus it must be.” It was always painful to lose one, but destiny could not be changed, and neither was it meant to be.

Kneeling beside the couch, he forgot for the first time verbal expression and settled for the physical, as he started stroking her hair. Her beautiful, silken hair, that reminded him of sunlight glinting through an amber stone. It was as if she didn't notice him, yet again, but gradually she began to stop rocking as much, and eventually fell asleep, even as he kept stroking. She looked troubled by something even in her sleep, as if aware of the turn of his thoughts about her. Many people had amnesia, and many more were just a little off, requiring special care. Maybe that's exactly what she was - convinced in her own mind and by her appearance that she was fey, and under the charge of some hospital. But there was something about that theory that didn't feel quite right to him. A nagging thread of consciousness had him returning back to the muse theory, but even if she had been, which explained why she would have been around during a mental block, what had cause her to be suddenly visible?
Assured she would rest for a while he got up and moved back to the computer, rereading the words on the screen. They didn't sound like him, but he could imagine her reading them in the fury he had first seen upon her face. Turning on some soothing music, he left his mysterious apparition to sleep as he went to prepare some dinner, as she would surely be hungry, human or not, when she woke up.

She was floating on clouds, back in faerie, surrounded by music. Everything was as it should be, as it had been, and always will be. Even as this thought brought a soft smile to her lips, it ripped her into wakefulness, and awareness. The music was still there, but she was lying on a ratty couch, rather than on soft clouds. And she was wearing his shirt. Tears welled up in her eyes again, and she was supremely grateful he didn't appear to be in the room. How foolish and weak of her to keep crying! She got up and started pacing the small room. How could she have gotten herself into this mess? It wasn't what she was supposed to do! She was meant to inspire creative people, not be trapped in a dirty dingy den of a guy who quite possibly thought she was insane, considering how willing humans were to blame everything on insanity.
“You're up.” Her heart jumped at his voice. She was completely at his mercy, with nowhere to go, no money which seemed ever-so-important in their world, and most importantly no clothing other than his shirt, which would surely get her in trouble in this society who treated nudity as a sin. “Hey, I'm not going to hurt you.” His voice was infinitely gentle as he stepped into the room, but she had heard that voice get steely with a threat just moments before, in what was her consciousness. “Do you talk other than when you're asked a direct question?” Humor had found its way into his voice, even as he reconsidered the possibility that she was supposed to be under a trained doctor's care.
“Yes.”
“Really, now? 'Cause that was a direct question too I suppose.” She seemed so demure, but it was forced, as if she desperately didn't want to offend him or do something she thought he'd deem as “wrong”.
“I guess it was.” They were both silent for a while, but she finally got the courage to ask, “Do you think I'm insane?” Those stupid tears. Why wouldn't they leave her alone?? She was forced to look down at the floor again
“No. I'm hoping for some explanations though.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, and looking at her expectantly.
“Explanations,” she said on a little sigh, nervously licking her bottom lip and then catching it between her teeth to bite down on it. She exhaled again, looking up at him, at last sure of an answer. “They're all within you. Just like the words you write and ideas you have - all there, just waiting to be tapped into.” The words were all she knew, her last link to what she had been.
“Right.” Sighing, he realized that was the only answer she would give him, and resolved himself to not letting her out of his sight until he figured out the strange occurrences of that day. “You must be hungry. I've got some chicken frying in the kitchen. Unless, you're a vegetarian?” there was a hopefulness to his question, for here at least would be some information about his…guest.
But his hopes were dashed as she glanced down at the floor, whispering, “I don't know.” Tears filled her eyes again, and once again she blinked them back, desperate not to let him see. She could practically feel the disappointment etched into his face, the tightening around his lips as he considered her answer.
After about a minute or so that felt like an eternity to her, and an eternity for a muse would certainly be unbearable for humans, he tossed something on the couch, and turned to walk out of the room, tossing over his shoulder, “The kitchen's down the hallway to your left,” as he shut the door. Glancing at the item he had left, she realized it must be an article of clothing. Carefully she walked over to the couch, and gingerly picked it up, unfolding it to discover it was indeed clothing, what humans called shorts. Except these were the kind only men wore, with a small slit in the front whose purpose she had never understood. After carefully slipping them on, and resolving not to cry anymore, she reached for the door handle, only to draw back. He had said something about food, and she had often noticed humans partaking of some kind of sustenance or another, but was it anything like that of the fey? She doubted it. Theirs always came packaged in one little bag or another, whereas all fey food was fresh, and certainly she had always found it very savory. But then she couldn't reject his hospitality, and not eating for however long she would be stuck in this realm would be foolhardy as she was already feeling the stirrings of hunger. Resolutely, she pulled open the door, and stepped out into a veritable cascade of new sights.
Oh she had seen many different humans' dwellings but for some reason this one struck her as different. Where his workspace, and granted that of most of her assignments, was cluttered and dark, this first room she had come upon was sunny, and airy. Spacious, although that was a testament more to the décor than to actual size of the chamber. The curtains were thrown open, showcasing the windows instead of barring them. It was as if he had worked to separate himself from the outside world while he was working, and yet here he was embracing it, welcoming it into his home. Sunshine streamed happily through the windows to fall on the glass coffee table, set in front of yet another couch, yet this one was more elegant, welcoming guests rather than being abused on, as she suspected, the many nights he “crashed” while working. She could understand now how this word had been worked into the human language to mean what it did in that context. How aptly that word seemed to describe to her the image she had of him, tired from working endlessly, and she suspected quite fruitlessly lately, until his entire store of energy was depleted and his body just crashed from fatigue.
Glimpsing the hallway she supposed he had alluded to, she slowly worked her way to the sound of his ministrations in the kitchen. Reaching the doorway, she paused to look at him, for this was yet another room with much more light than his workspace. There his hair had seemed a dingy, almost unwashed brown, but here the sun picked out golden highlights in his hair, making it glint and almost come alive as both he and the rays of light moved. “Why do you have the windows barricaded in your workplace?”
He hadn't expected to hear her voice, and almost dropped the pan with the chicken, but caught himself before he let go. Oh he had noticed her standing there, with a sort of wondrous look on her face, as if she had never seen a kitchen before. He glanced around it, taking in the cupboards, countertops, and various appliances all in one quick glance. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary to him, but much could he supposed to someone who didn't even know whether or not she ate meat. “What do you mean?”
“You'd work better if you let nature in where you worked just like you do elsewhere. Sunlight streaming through the windows, perhaps a butterfly or two flitting past…” her face lit up as she talked about it. “Nature is pure inspiration. How much closer can you get to ultimate inspiration than the universe, the ideas that created it?” Unable to find the words she needed, and noticing his skeptical look, she gave up trying to explain what being surrounded by nature would do for him, and took a historical approach. “All great ideas have come while someone was out in nature. Newton discovered gravity due to nature; wise prophets are still talked about as meeting people on a hill under a tree; if you just let yourself feel nature while you were working you would probably have less 'writer's blocks', as you call them.” Noticing his shocked look, she stemmed the flow of words, settling instead for just one, “What?”
“You don't know who you are, you don't even know whether or not you eat meat, and you know all this history, all this about me. How is that?” Even as his mind struggles to accept her knowledge of his writing, his thoughts, his eyes roamed over her body. Seeing her dressed only in his shirt and boxers stirred his blood, especially with her hair still slightly disheveled from the nap she had taken. He had never let any girl into his life enough to see her like this, yet here was this stranger, this apparition, that had already turned itself into one of his fonder fantasies. She was right, he supposed, about nature inspiring other people's revelations, and yet he had never written in a park, and sunlight streaming through the windows, though pleasant as he entertained or relaxed, was distracting and almost bothersome while he worked.
“It's who I …was.” She looked away, yet again. What was it with her that made it so hard for her to keep eye contact? Was she lying, for lies had always been easy for him to detect through someone's eyes; and yet it just didn't seem as if she was lying to him. Her posture was tense, but more unsure of herself than as if she were trying to hide something.
“And who was that?”
It was hard to find an answer that would be acceptable for him, one that wouldn't have her locked up, or…what did they call it? Committed. “I worked with artists - writers, painters, musicians. I helped them tap into the ideas and potential they had, and a big part of that was always bringing some nature into their lives.” That should suffice, she supposed. It would probably raise more questions from him, but there was little she could do about that. A big part of a good writer was curiosity of the world around them, and she knew that well.
“I see.” There was calculation in his eyes. He couldn't help wondering what she had meant by her answer, but at the same time, he saw a frailty underneath the calm, succinct response she had given him. Sighing slightly he gave up questioning for the time being. “Come on, let's eat.”
There was already a bowlful of salad on the table, along with two place settings. Brett walked over to the cupboard, still holding the skillet, to get a platter for the chicken. He may have been living on his own, but unlike most guys he knew how to take care of himself, and didn't rely on a girlfriend or takeout to prepare his meals, so he definitely knew his way around the kitchen. He had always figured just because he didn't have anyone to impress was not a reason to live drably or eat frozen foods. Besides, who was more important to impress than himself?
He wasn't surprised to see her still standing when he turned back towards the table with the full platter in his hand. Setting it down, he gestured to the settee he had decided suited him better while eating and waited until she had seated herself before sitting down, as he had a feeling that kind of ancient chivalry was what she was used to, and it was hardly a strain on his part. There was an awkward silence as they both stared at the food. Her unsure of human protocol, and him not wanting to offend his almost charming, albeit still unanticipated, guest. Reaching for the bottle of wine he had put on the table earlier, he uncorked and poured some for her to try, and waited expectantly as she reached for the glass.
She had never been treated with such patient courtesy, as if she were in some way special instead of one of hundreds, maybe thousands. Sampling the liquid he had poured for her, she was pleasantly surprised by it's smooth yet slightly tangy taste.
The unexpected pleasure was reflected in her eyes, and it had an unusual effect on Brett, stirring him as nothing had been able to lately. She smiled as she took another sip, savoring the wine as he had seldom seen anyone do, the unabashed delight on her face made him wish he could keep it there always. A strange thought, for he loathed the idea of depending on anyone for his happiness. Trying to get his mind off that unappealing topic, he realized he still didn't know her name. Feeling slightly foolish, he asked, “So, do you have a name?”
The question shocked her, as no one had ever asked for her name. It was considered impolite in faerie to address someone you didn't already know by name, that you had never heard of or had never been introduced to. She supposed that was one of those things with humans she would have to accept in case she ever met any others. “Alexandra.” She already knew his, as it was customary to do with assignments, so she didn't bother asking.
Her pronunciation surprised him. It wasn't “Alexandra” the way he was used to hearing it, even though it was still considered an unusual name, so much as “Ahlexahndrah”, and although he had never heard it that way before, it seemed more right, and the way everyone else had pronounced it utterly wrong. “Alexandra. That's a very beautiful name. I'm Brett.” For some reason he found it hard to swallow. The sunlight was shining on her hair, and it looked as if that was exactly where the sun had decided to concentrate. Her reddish brown hair became illuminated by the ray of pure light until it shone a true and marvelous auburn, such an exquisite contrast to her milk-pale skin that it took all of his concentration to focus on breathing in, and keeping his hand by his side rather than reaching out to stroke the fiery strand of hair that fell over her shoulder. His mind paused as he noticed that the sun did not seem to shine as brightly on his shirt as it did her hair, as if she herself attracted the natural light and the man-made cloth did not. He shook his head briefly to clear it, and reached again for the wine bottle, topping off her glass and filling his own.
He had looked at her the way she expected mortals would at Mother - with awe and appreciation, as if she was special in some way, even breathtaking. And the way he had pronounced her name, as if that too was unique in some way, although it was quite an ordinary name. Still, she had never heard anyone pronounce it quite in that way, as if he was marveling over that one simple word. A faint flush had appeared on her cheeks, and she looked down at her plate, embarrassed to have let her emotions show so plainly, as it was not their way. Emotions were saved for the inspiration they brought to others, not for aught that they felt.
Clearing his throat slightly, he began to put salad and a piece of chicken on her plate for her, waiting for her acknowledgement and acceptance of the piece he had selected before putting any for himself. It was a kind of courtesy he had never offered to anyone, but something made him feel as if she deserved it, and had lived somewhere where it was expected, yet had never actually been granted to her individually. He had no idea where thoughts like that came from, and couldn't help realizing they must come from her, somehow. He had never thought whimsically about life, except while writing and yet her very presence inspired him to think of fey realms and old-fashioned courtesies, though he had never ventured even to write about worlds like those.