A myriad of muses

Sannan sank to his knees, immediately, reversing the positions. He looked up at Kondo and smiled playefully at him.

“Is this better, then?”

The way Sannan so eagerly sank to his knees before him, it almost reminded Kondo of...

@chaldeasfate

“You don’t seem very threatening when you’re pouting like that since you have to look so far up at me, you know.”

For every “⏳” I receive, my muse will openly talk about a bit of their backstory.

“With no heir to take the throne...”

“What of Arthur’s sister? Surely she could...”

“The people would never accept it...”

The way the spoke of inheritance and legacy, as if her husband hadn’t been buried mere hours before. The two of them had no children - everyone assumed she was simply incapable, or Arthur had been too busy to lay with her. None of them knew the truth, of course.

Who would the crown belong to next? Morgan was most likely, but Guinevere was suspicious of her. This was exactly what she wanted, after all.

All that left was...

For every “⏳” I receive, my muse will openly talk about a bit of their backstory.

It had been some time since he began seeing that charming woman. Kisses stolen when nobody was around, late night walks leading to something more, only to sneak out before even the servants awoke. A secret between them, all at her insistence. Lamorak would have gladly paraded around with her by his side for all to see, but if this was what she wanted then he was gladly oblige. Already she had him wrapped around her little finger.

Morgan. Something in the back of his mind told him to be wary. He knew that name. But names could be shared. How many women were called Elaine? Too many to count.

Still high on adrenaline from practice sparring, he was more than eager to sweep Morgan of her feet and spend some time with her, doing whatever she pleased. But just his luck, someone was already talking to her. That blond, bright, frustrating, prick of a knight, Gawain.

“...And behave, mother.”

“When have you ever known me to step out of line?”

“...”

“I jest, dear. Take good care of your siblings, will you?”

Mother.

Gawain’s mother.

King Lot’s wife.

Morgan le Fay.

For every “⏳” I receive, my muse will openly talk about a bit of their backstory.

“...Well, that could have gone a lot better.”

Another attempt at an arranged marriage, down the drain in seconds. The bright red hand print on Hibiki’s face was beginning to throb, a reminder of how he had messed up. Another would possibly join it later, depending on how his parents reacted.

He couldn’t bear to settle down with some girl he had just met, all for the sake of family politics, pretending he was perfectly happy with a wife and a child to continue the Maeda name. Hibiki didn’t hate the women his parents set him up with. Most of them were good people who deserved a husband that would treat them well.

It’s just that his interests lay elsewhere.

Hibiki braced himself when he saw the young man who came with the latest woman approach him, now alone after she had stormed off.

“I’m ever so sorry about my sister, she’s... often led by her emotions.” The man held out a hand to shake, a comforting smile on his face. “Dorian Belfaidus, heir to the Belfaidus family crest. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

For every “⏳” I receive, my muse will openly talk about a bit of their backstory.

“Mama’s here now, Iambe… It’s okay…” The nymph gently rocked her child, humming an old lullaby to soothe her tears. The rocking turned to a sway, which soon became a light dance, the movements not stopping until her daughter’s cries ceased. Only then did she put Iambe back to bed.

Jokes, songs, poems, dance. Iambe was a strange child, always calmed and entertained by the arts, even at such a young age. Echo was sure she had a bright future ahead of her. One far away from disgusting, lecherous gods and the fear of being struck down by jealous goddesses.

For every “⏳” I receive, my muse will openly talk about a bit of their backstory.

The only word to describe him was perfection.

Soft curls framed a handsome face. A body tanned and toned from frequent hunting trips. A voice she could listen to forever, whispering his words back to him as she watched from afar.

Narcissus. Even his name sounded beautiful. It reminder her of bright flowers, gently swaying in the breeze by the riverside.

For how long had she followed him, waiting to gather the courage to approach her love? 

Today, she would take the leap... Or at least come closer than usual. Be less stealthy. Let him make the first move.

Soon, they would be together. She would have her happy ending at last...

“Who goes there?”

“Guinevere wait….” Lancelot said as he spun towards her fleeting form. She had avoided him as long as he had been here and while he could understand… At the same time he cared about her and didn’t want her to go. He wanted to help her. After all that had happened…after all they had been through…he knew it was selfish but he still wanted to help her. To save her.

“Guinevere….I’m sorry about what happened but can we not talk?” The knight said softly as he looked towards the ground.

“Lancelot...” Guinevere stopped, turning to face the knight properly. Perhaps it was time to stop running from her problems and face them. If anybody would listen to her, it would be him. The one who had stood by her as both a knight and a lover. A hand gently lifted his chin up to look him in the eye, the strong face she had tried to keep up clearly ready to crumble.

Well if everyone else is saying it-

“...Sir Lancelot. How pleasant to see you.” Suddenly the lines along the wall were extremely interesting. Of course, Guinevere couldn’t hide from her former knights forever, but for Lancelot to be the one to catch up to her almost stung.  Already it was obvious that just one look would break her stoic mask, making her a mess of emotions.

Not that she had ever been good at keeping her emotions in check around him anyway.

Send me “have you evers” and I can only reply with “yes” or “no”

…Did he regret it? Christ, he was sleeping with the widow of the man his own father killed. They were caught by Lamorak’s fellow knight, her son. Thanks to his stupidity, his recklessness… 

Little Perci was all alone in the end. At least Tor and Aglovale died on the job, unlike him. If he hadn’t been foolish enough to fall in love - if it could even be called that. He had been too wrapped up in her to even think about it. At least he was killed before his bad luck ruined any other families.

Did he regret it all?