“My name is Calliope,” she repeated as she pulled out her phone from her slender purse clutch.Her fingers shook as she queued up a ride for the both of them, her heart racing as the reality of what she was doing hit her.But as she glanced up to look at her Zorro, she felt that undeniable energy pulsing like a sonar and the noise inside her quieted.
“But my friends call me Callie.”
She could not deny the heat of his gaze as he watched her.It should have been creepy, or even bothersome, but Calliope did not feel such things.She only felt as if she wanted to remain under that dark, intense green gaze forever.
“Calliope,” he murmured, tasting her name on his tongue.It was the most seductive sound, and then that flicker of seduction turned cheeky, sweet.“Like the chick from Hercules?”
Calliope couldn’t help the faint giggle that escaped her throat at the naive sincerity in his voice.There was a youthfulness to his tone, which told her he was probably young.Old enough to drink, but not old enough to know a muse outside of the famous cartoon movie.Which should have bothered her more than it did, but then again, Calliope was, by mortal standards, also young.She was created, molded into the body of a timeless woman, her features and beauty adjusting along with the beauty standards of time itself.Physically, in this present time, she had morphed into the body of a woman in her late twenties, early thirties, which worked in her favor, both in her personal life and her professional life.Even in the supernatural realms, amongst the gods and goddesses, she was revered as an eternal beauty, a youthful spirit, even though she was not much younger than Hattie or Athena.
But she’d also spent so many yearsbeingyoung and effervescent, that she felt quite old.At least in comparison to most of the twenty-somethings that showed up at the university.
Which was another reason she’d felt so drawn to David, a man in his late forties desperate for more than his careful, curated life.
It was refreshing at first.He was older, wiser, and it was clear he had a message, something to say.She felt the ache in his throat, in his very being, when she touched him.But that ache was so much more than a desperate attempt to speak his truth.It was a dark void, kept at bay by his unattainable dreams.And when Calliope gifted him everything he wanted, the gates that held that void shattered.
And it grew.Poisoning everything and everyone in its path, including her.
Calliope stared back at the young Zorro, at his dilated pupils, his kiss-swollen lips.Even in the light of the streetlamps, she could see his clothes were fairly basic.A deep blue button down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of black dress pants.But it was his shoes—black and white Converses—that stood out as the most visible sign of his youth.
Though Calliope preferred many of the finer things in life, as was the desire of a muse, she could not help but appreciate the sight of this man, in all his glory.Young and sweet.Full of life.Of hope.
And perhaps that was what Calliope craved more than anything else.Hope.
She shook her head, dispelling her momentary stare, not wanting to be awkward.She captured his gaze with hers, her soul pleading with his to somehow understand what she could not say.Though she knew he couldn’t.
Even if they were sober, under different circumstances, he wouldn’t understand what she was offering.
Love me.Love me and I will give you everything you desire...
Everything you want.
Unfortunately, everything Calliope wanted was not something she could ever truly obtain.Because she was created to inspire humanity, with her voice, her words, her beauty.She was meant to be worshipped for her gifts and not her soul.
“Like the muse,” she whispered, her heart wanting nothing more than to be known, to be seen in all her nakedness at that very moment.For him to know the truth.About her, about her curse.About what she wanted, truly.
But there on the street in the crisp LA night, she was not just a muse.She was just a woman who wanted to feel alive and inspired.
Offering her name to a stranger was dangerous all on its own.It made her vulnerable, it gave him power over her.
But Calliope was not thinking straight.The desire within her to connect, to feel that spark of hope and fire this stranger was able to somehow make her feel, was too tempting.
And it had been too long that she’d felt inspired and alive in the way this man made her feel.And if she was being honest, no man or woman had ever gotten to her so easily.So effortlessly.
Calliope knew the morning would come and wash away this perfect moment.
Because morning always came for a muse, and once Zorro had his fill of her magical charms, once he’d obtained that spark he desired, he’d go on his way.Create something wonderful, perhaps even change the world.
But Calliope rationalized that she could handle it.She was no stranger to being left, and as long as she remembered her place, remembered to hold back her heart, she would be fine.He was a means to an end, a spark to ignite her long-dead and burned out fire.There were plenty before him, and perhaps he was only a stepping stone to the plenty after him.But in order to get there—back to her life as a muse, back to her canvas—she needed him, even if it was only for a night.
I want it all.I want everything this masked prince is willing to give me.
Even if it’s just for a night.
One spark of inspiration is all I need...
It had been ages since Calliope had taken a lover home.
To her private space.She’d learned early in her actual youth, it was much easier to be what her patrons needed, to serve them where they would be most inspired.And perhaps, she felt a sort of detachment in doing so that kept her protected.She needed a space she could work without distraction, a place to rest her heart as much as her head.A place untouched by heartbreak and desire.A temple of her own.
