FEAR. -What are your muses biggest fears?
Simple, like any painting should be. A blue sky. Now, if it's splattered with clouds or flecks of rain doesn't matter. Through it, the blue shines. The weight of a sword in his hand is unforgettable, felt nearly the same as the weight of his arm. That familiarity stretches to the stench of death as well.
Familiar, it is, his father's cold eyes staring through him as his body lays still on the ground, his clothes soaked their own distinct deep red. The same shade at the end of his blade...
Familiar, as always, the looks sent from all his surrounding siblings. Hungry. Crowding around like animals at feeding time.
... The bend lies in who that corpse changes to. It happens in a flick of flames. The candle wavers for a moment and suddenly he'll be the one laying in his own blood. Some unknown hands taking his place on the handle. Some nights, it's one of his siblings. A few, even his mother and aunts lie there. ... He's yet to see her there, but he knows it's only a matter of time.
Fears weaken you. A twist of your mind to mock you and lead you by the nose to some great lie. This, however, is grounded in reality.
These dreams are reminders.
