napoleon bonaparte - write an aesthetic paragraph / prose from your muse’s point of view, using first person and all.
I am but an obedient servant to my own whims. When at first I set my eyes upon a target, they are a blank canvas; a masterpiece waiting to unfold. I know precisely how to make them beautiful. It is not a complex task, as many may think. My mind does the work for me setting the stage and blocking the movements of the actors. This was what I felt when I first set my eyes upon the maven of the strings - her cobalt hair reflected the sky above her, mirroring the heavens themselves. She was what one might have described as a jolie jouvencelle; quaint, modest, kind, and pure. A perfect target.
Four times did I check that Whisper was loaded, each time counted the bullets held therewithin. I rested my right hand on my hip, getting a good look at the woman in front of me. The background faded as a spotlight shone above her head. Porcelain skin was drained of colour as she set her glittering eyes upon me. Fear. What a way to start a show. Before I even began, colours bloomed around her graceful figure, scattering petals at her feet. “ The audience loves you already, and you have not yet performed. Perhaps they will even want an encore, if you do well, “ I noted, raising Whisper and cocking my head to the side.
Sona said nothing - but then again, how could she have? It was not as though she needed those words, whatever they may have been. Nothing would stop me from helping her to become a masterpiece, leaving my name in history as one to be remembered and fear. The patron saint of art, and death. Many times before had I mused upon how intertwined the pair were, but only rarely incorporated in tandem. It is a shame, as they make such a lovely duet. Almost as lovely as myself and the maven had been in that moment.
I fired the first bullet, the bang ringing in my ears and Whisper’s kick sending a shockwave up my arm. My shoulder seemed to grind against the socket, a sharp pain running down my back. It never gets easier, but oh, is the satisfaction worth it. A silent cry was wrought from Sona’s lips as she sank to her knees, the bullet connecting with her flesh to create a gorgeous display of flowing water. Luminescent mist rose from the wound, dissipating into phantasms of songbirds. “ Sing little lark, sing! “ I demanded, unloading another bullet into her.
The force of the second shot made her collapse fully to the ground, the bullet having been lodged in her abdomen. No vitals had yet been damaged, no heavy bleeding from what I could see. She would live for another two shots. Then, she would be perfect. The final two were more difficult than the first; as she gazed up at me with eyes reddened and cheeks glistening with tears, my shoulder felt somewhat more painful than it usually did. I wondered if, for a brief moment, I was going too far. The last thing that I wanted to do was complete a performance that would cause me lasting damage and impact my ability to do so in the future, but I pressed on.
At last, Whisper’s last bullet was loaded, and I pressed the warm barrel against her forehead. Sona was emotionless, empty. But she was beautiful. Where blood spilt, shimmering rubies fell, clattering to the floor in a pile of untold riches only to melt away in the serene waterfall that poured from her chest. The scene almost took me away to a distant Ionian rainforest, calm and quiet, with nothing but the chattering of wild animals and the soothing gush of running water. It was time for the finale.
The last bullet made me ache, and I nearly wept with joy at the beauty of my piece. Exhausted and drained, I sank to my knees as Sona first did. I felt pride well up within me as I observed what was no doubt my finest work, holding the maven’s limp body in my embrace. I could still feel the warmth of her skin, as it slowly drained away in my hands. The lingering display of beauty was for the common-folk to see after my audience had observed. I knew that what I had done on that night would resound throughout Runeterra for many years, and still to this day do I revel in the sheer grace and magnificence of it.
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