The storm clouds brew on the horizon, just out of reach for their cleansing waters to wash over her lands. She sits, feeling splintered, and holding onto the last shard of light she has. She tries to breathe her heart together, with wishes and trinkets of comfort.
Yet they feel empty.
Waning. Inconsistent. The words were harder to hear than she thought they’d be.
And the Muse watches over her, feeling every tear… every sob… every note sang in despair. She sees the painful separation and distance between what she wanted and what she is experiencing… the painful breaking free of a path that was not really her true path, at all. And she watches the small creature fold into the ground, releasing the hurt that she is holding in her chest. Then, when the connection is strong, she whispers small comforts to her… starting with the mind, “Sweet one, hold on to those tiny fragments as they will weave their way together. Sit tight, as your beautiful heart will heal. Your healing is imminent, and you will find the sweetest of joy once more.”