The Legend of Muse

The Legend of The Muse

         Once upon a time, there was a girl. And although she seemed like any other girl, there was something special about her. It was a rare quality to possess, perhaps one of the rarest. It was so rare, in fact, that when I tell you what it was, you may not believe me. But this story is true. A modern day faerie tale. This is the story of The Muse. A daughter of Zeus. Not in the literal sense of course, she was born to ordinary, mortal parents as we all were. But as she grew from a young girl into a young woman, it became quite clear that she had something that no other girl had. She was above average in beauty and very intelligent. But that was not what set her apart from all the others. But everyone knew that there was something about her. She had something that no one else did. And this is her story.

         Muse was sixteen when she realized that there might be some truth about her in her name. Her name was Greek and it referred to the nine daughters of Zeus who presided over the arts and sciences. The Ancient muses were a source of inspiration. They inspired poets to write and artists to paint. Great works were created with thanks to the muses. They were beautiful and intelligent goddesses. And it seemed as though the powers of Zeus' nine daughters had somehow survived the ages and now resided in our modern day Muse.

         It was obvious that The Muse was different. She would enter a room and two things would inevitably happen. The men would stare and the women would glare. There was nothing that Muse did to attract any attention to herself. She was simply herself. And she was irresistible to any man, of any age. And that made her a threat to any woman. Every man she had ever met fell almost instantly in love with her. And it was a deep, true love. A genuine love. For Muse somehow could capture a man's soul. She had sparkling sapphire eyes that were hypnotic and mesmerizing, accented by her raven black hair. Once a man became brave enough to approach what he though to be the most exquisite creature he had ever seen, one look in her eyes and he was in love. It was as though Cupid's Arrow was fired straight at his heart from the blue eyes of the Muse. And thought he knew nothing about her, and she knew nothing about him, it was undeniable that he was truly in love with her. And she believed it. She believed it because it had happened all her life. Every boy she grew up with, every guy she had dated, every man she encountered, loved her. And there was nothing she could do about it.

         Muse asked her mother one day what made her different. "What do I do?" she asked. "Everyone says they love me. And I know that they're telling me the truth. I can just tell. Even though they've only known me for a few days, or even a few hours. I know that they really believe that they love me. That I'm the one they want to spend the rest of their lives with." She looked at her mother, anxiously awaiting an answer. "How can they love someone they don't know?"

         Her mother looked at her and said simply, "There's just something about you."

         "But what? I don't do anything special. I'm not exceptionally pretty. Why me?" Muse asked again, hoping for a better response.

         "Muse," her mother began, "there is just something about you. About the way you are. Something in you draws men to you like a magnet. It's nothing that can really be explained. It's who you are. It's your destiny. Fate."

         Muse thought about what her mother was saying. It seemed there was nothing she could do to change the way she was, the way she affected men. Fate. It seemed like such a definite word. You can't change your fate. It seemed as though Muse had already discovered her fate. It apparently had been determined on the day she was born. On the day her mother named her.

         By the time Muse turned 21, she had already broken countless hearts. It was unintentional, but unavoidable. Muse did not love any of the men who loved her. And at times, her fate seemed more of a curse. It seemed as though her destiny had become a double-edged sword. She couldn't help that men fell madly in love with her, but she also couldn't help that she could not return their love. And so it also seemed to be her fate that she would break their hearts and leave broken men behind her. But still the men felt nothing but love and adoration for her and even years later, they would still tell anyone who asked that they loved The Muse still. And that the heartache caused by her refusal was nothing compared to the magnificent feeling of loving her. There were times in Muse's life that she had half a dozen men declaring their love for her, asking her to marry them. But each she refused. She didn't love them as they loved her. But each vacancy left by a denied suitor was almost immediately filled. Her admires were as varied as they were many. There was a young and wealthy politician who offered her the world. There was a poor college student who offered her bouquets picked from the campus gardens. There was a handsome, intelligent professor who recited Shakespeare to her. There were celebrities who fell for The Muse while she merely sat in the audience. Comedians would forget their punch lines; singers would forget their lyrics, all after looking into the sapphire eyes of the Muse. And when the Muse waited for autographs, they only were reassured that they were in love. And because Muse naturally loved music and dancing, there were countless musicians and singers. Many of her musicians were twice her age and many were married with children. And when Muse confronted one of them as to why, if he was happily married, was he so sure he was in love with her, the man was unable to quite put his finger on it. "You're beautiful, and brilliant," he said. "And although I love my wife, I still find myself drawn to you. I have never met any one like you, who makes me feel the way you do. I want to be with you. You're a force. You live up to your name." And he kissed The Muse. She was the only woman other than his wife he had kissed in 23 years.

         As Muse grew up, she realized that there were certain perks to her gift. She was always on the guest list to the hottest clubs and the sold-out shows. She was backstage with rock stars. She received gifts as if every day was her birthday. And soon, the Muse began to rather enjoy the attention and embrace her fate. And as the perks became bigger and better, The Muse realized that she could definitely use her talent to her advantage. It was as though she had won the lottery. Nouveau riche. She began to flaunt herself, obviously looking for attention. A target. A man she could manipulate into giving her gifts, money, whatever she asked for. And it worked beautifully, as she knew it would, because it always had. The only difference now was that she had perfected it. She knew the mechanics of being a modern day muse. She had studied them all her life. And as naturally as it had come before, Muse had now perfected an art form. She could maneuver and control any situation with a man. There was nothing she couldn't handle. Muse knew exactly what she wanted and exactly how to go about getting it. And while each man was different and required a different approach, and different tactics, The Muse could read every man and instantly know what course of action to take. What she had previously thought to be a curse, she now looked at as a blessing.

         As the years passed Muse had everything a girl could ask for. She lived in the finest of penthouses and drove the finest, most expensive cars. She shopped at the best boutiques nearly every day, and she never paid a dime. She was adored by dozens of men, each eager to do whatever it would take to win her heart. But the Muse did not return their love. It wasn't that she didn't care for her admirers. She cared very deeply, in fact. Deeply for their love, and attentions, and gifts, and nothing more. The Muse went on to live her life this way for quite some time. Until one day when she made eye contact with a man on the street. She had seen him coming. He was handsome and well dressed in an obviously expensive suit. Definitely rich. Definitely for the Muse. She strutted closer and looked up at him with her sapphire eyes. Made eye contact. And something happened then that had never happened before. He walked away.

         She nearly fell over in disbelief. He had the most piercing blue eyes she had ever seen. It was as though they looked straight through her. But where every other man had stopped to talk or followed to catch her, this man had walked on by as though nothing had happened. Muse stopped on the street and turned around to watch as he walked away. Could she be losing her touch? She looked around and noticed several men staring at her, obviously debating whether or not to approach her. She did not stay to meet them, but rather ran after the man with the blue eyes. She thought, "Never in my life have I had to chase after a man." When she had nearly caught up to him, she slowed to catch her breath and compose herself. She tapped him on the shoulder, prepared to charm him as she had with so many before. But as he turned around and looked at her with his beautiful eyes, she found herself quite breathless and speechless. He looked at her, waiting for her to speak. Muse opened her mouth but nothing came out. And for the first time in her life, she knew how it felt to be on the other side of her eyes. For the first time in her life, The Muse felt love. She knew how the men in her life felt when she had looked at them for the first time. And sadness crept over her. She began to realize the weight of what she had done to countless men throughout her life. The man was still looking at her curiously. "Sorry," Muse said quietly. "I thought you were someone else." Her eyes remained fixed on his. He smiled and mumbled something about "not a problem". And then he walked away. Again. Never looking behind. Leaving the Muse alone on the street with a new found understanding of her power and a new found respect for all the men she had manipulated and used over the years.

         The Muse loved that man as deeply and as sincerely as other men had loved her. She loves him still to this day, although she knows nothing about him. But looking into his eyes that day was like looking into her own. She knew what she did to men because, finally, a man had done it to her. This man, this modern day Adonis, was to the Muse what she was to men. And up until that day, The Muse believed she had that power over all men. But she had met her match. She had instantly fallen in love, and he had just as quickly broken her heart. Just as she had done so many times before without thinking twice about it. And now that she had experienced it first hand, instead of feeling pride about her power and the many men she had conquered, she felt shamed, disgusted and devastated. The Muse's heart had broken. And she vowed to never inflict that pain, that anguish on another man again.

         It has been several years since The Muse fell in love and had her heart broken all in a matter of moments. It is said that she severed all ties to her lovers and admirers on that very day so many years ago. She lives here still, close by, all alone. Her once extravagant lifestyle has been abandoned. It is said that all the possessions given to her out of love have been thrown away. The fancy cars, the expensive apartment, the jewelry- all gone. It is believed that The Muse could no longer stand to look at anything that was obtained by her manipulative, scheming ways. Everything around her reminded her of the heartache and pain she had caused so many men. So she got rid of all the things that reminded her of their pain. But there was still another's pain she had to deal with. Her own. Her own heart now ached with sadness and defeat. And she was brutally reminded of her broken heart every time she looked in a mirror and looked into those sapphire blue eyes. The eyes of the man she loved. The story is that The Muse smashed every mirror in the house to avoid the sight of his eyes.

         She rarely went out after that day for fear of coming face to face with her Adonis. Or any man for that matter. For after experiencing such intense misery and sorrow, she will not risk inflicting that pain on another man. Ever. But on those rare occasions when she does venture out into the world, you would be hard pressed to recognize her as the confident woman she once was. She keeps her eyes to the ground and covered, with a hood or glasses, and will never make eye contact with any man. She wishes no one to suffer the way she does.

         Muse's name was Greek in origin, and in the great tradition of Greek history and mythology, our story, too, ends in tragedy. One day The Muse disappeared. It was several years ago, and no one has seen her since. Most people believe that she is dead. And dead of her own hand.

         However, there is a woman, frail and slight, with jet-black hair, who can often be seen on a bench in the park. She sits and feeds the pigeons that gather near a large fountain. She sits quietly for hours at a time, sometimes long after the sun has set, and talks to no one. She keeps her head lowered and wears dark glasses at all times. For behind those glasses are two scarred and mangled hollows where beautiful sapphires once shone. Legend has it, that on the day she smashed all her mirrors, she was so overwrought with grief and guilt, she grabbed a shard of broken mirror and stabbed violently at her eyes. You see, it was all in her eyes. It was her eyes that attracted, manipulated, and devastated so many men. It was her eyes that had shown her the damage she had done. And it was with her own eyes that she, for one brief, fleeting moment, saw the eyes of the man she would love forever. And it was with her beautiful sapphire eyes that she watched him walk away. All of the Muse's unhappiness was caused by her eyes.

         And that is the true story of The Muse. And the next time you walk through the park, look for a woman, in dark glasses, sitting on a bench feeding the birds near a fountain. She may very well be The Muse. And if you suspect that she may be, cast your eyes to the fountain in front of which she sits. For despite her Oedipal attempts she cannot escape her destiny, her fate. And the Muse is still in love. And now her once beautiful and powerful sapphire eyes stare blindly up at a handsome marble fountain sculpted of Adonis.