Dear Muse (Those Whom the Gods Wish to Destroy Book 1) Read Online Free
Author: Shawn Mackey
another man. Since they were separated before I was born, it was odd to think of her as such. My parents think her a wicked woman. If I did the same to Aiden, his father would also curse me.
I am aware of the infallibility of oaths and curses, yet contemplation on the subject chills me to the core. Aiden and I are bound for eternity. I could leave this island tonight, never see nor think of the boy again. Thenceforth, nothing I say or write would ring true. I could expound an event in perfect detail, using precise language with no embellishments, and it would be utterly false, whether I am consumed by guilt or impervious to my own lies. A broken oath is a blemish on the soul that can never heal. It is a formal acknowledgment that life is smoke and mirrors. To pierce this flimsy veil is to invite everlasting consequences. I will not chip away at something so pernicious. When the sky and ground merge into one and all that is real becomes known, I only hope to have found the peaceful sleep of death.
Quiet nights tend to breed superstition. Something needs to account for this unbearable dread. Out my window, I see a pitch of darkness the moon cannot pierce. There is always a trace of awe in the fearsome. My teeth are chattering and knees shaking, and I taste panic on the tip of my dried tongue. It is sharp and more like a pain than a flavor.
I have wept for close to an hour. Perhaps far less. This night has been moving at a crawl.
What have I done? I loathe marriage and I loathe this cursed island. Why am I here? Why did I mix blood with a near stranger? Must we truly spend our lives together? Here I am, wracking my brain in an attempt to bypass our verbal contract. He swore fealty to me. Did I do the same? I do not think so. But what do my thoughts matter behind such weighty matters?
Nothing can rid this fear. It has seized control of my mind and sends chilly pangs down my spine. The cause? An acute case of doubt. These brief moments of weakness are as devastating to my complexion. Yes, when faced with the insoluble, appeal to vanity. Sleep. In the morning, I will recover my cheer and think with a clear mind. Nothing restores hope like a little sunshine.
Entry 6
I read my last few entries and can scarcely recall my distress. It seems so trivial in retrospect. Just as prescribed, the sun cured my melancholy. A solitary stroll along the coast provided a heaping helping. During my walk, I thought back to the festival. It is quite an odd thing. I am used to peculiarities because of my family, especially my uncle. This takes it to another level. I will try my best to describe it, as well as the town’s other unique customs.
During the festival, an effigy of Luther and his horse, Bellicose, are placed in the center of town. The horse, shaped by wood and stuffed by straw, is ignited for a large pyre. Flanks of horse meat are roasted over the flame as a speech recited by the mayor explains the importance of the celebration. It is a tribute to the town’s founding, though not quite the specific date of its discovery.
The story follows Luther, Arthur, and Paul. Their second visit to the island called for a thorough investigation. While Arthur and Paul searched the circumference, Luther and Bellicose scouted the rest. He boasted covering ten times their ground with the beast’s assistance. The others frequently heard the horse’s whinny and firm trot. When Arthur and Paul met on the beach at nightfall, there was no sign of Luther. After an hour of waiting, they lit torches and set out into the woods.
They were guided by the savory aroma of roasted meat. Bracing their courage, the men followed the scent until it led to a campfire. Luther, forehead wrapped by his torn shirtsleeve, held a skewer of Bellicose’s thigh over the flame. Something spooked the beast, hurtling them both off into a small ditch. Luther sprained his ankle and cut his head open, and Bellicose broke a leg. Not for lacking rations, Luther had felt
I am aware of the infallibility of oaths and curses, yet contemplation on the subject chills me to the core. Aiden and I are bound for eternity. I could leave this island tonight, never see nor think of the boy again. Thenceforth, nothing I say or write would ring true. I could expound an event in perfect detail, using precise language with no embellishments, and it would be utterly false, whether I am consumed by guilt or impervious to my own lies. A broken oath is a blemish on the soul that can never heal. It is a formal acknowledgment that life is smoke and mirrors. To pierce this flimsy veil is to invite everlasting consequences. I will not chip away at something so pernicious. When the sky and ground merge into one and all that is real becomes known, I only hope to have found the peaceful sleep of death.
Quiet nights tend to breed superstition. Something needs to account for this unbearable dread. Out my window, I see a pitch of darkness the moon cannot pierce. There is always a trace of awe in the fearsome. My teeth are chattering and knees shaking, and I taste panic on the tip of my dried tongue. It is sharp and more like a pain than a flavor.
I have wept for close to an hour. Perhaps far less. This night has been moving at a crawl.
What have I done? I loathe marriage and I loathe this cursed island. Why am I here? Why did I mix blood with a near stranger? Must we truly spend our lives together? Here I am, wracking my brain in an attempt to bypass our verbal contract. He swore fealty to me. Did I do the same? I do not think so. But what do my thoughts matter behind such weighty matters?
Nothing can rid this fear. It has seized control of my mind and sends chilly pangs down my spine. The cause? An acute case of doubt. These brief moments of weakness are as devastating to my complexion. Yes, when faced with the insoluble, appeal to vanity. Sleep. In the morning, I will recover my cheer and think with a clear mind. Nothing restores hope like a little sunshine.
Entry 6
I read my last few entries and can scarcely recall my distress. It seems so trivial in retrospect. Just as prescribed, the sun cured my melancholy. A solitary stroll along the coast provided a heaping helping. During my walk, I thought back to the festival. It is quite an odd thing. I am used to peculiarities because of my family, especially my uncle. This takes it to another level. I will try my best to describe it, as well as the town’s other unique customs.
During the festival, an effigy of Luther and his horse, Bellicose, are placed in the center of town. The horse, shaped by wood and stuffed by straw, is ignited for a large pyre. Flanks of horse meat are roasted over the flame as a speech recited by the mayor explains the importance of the celebration. It is a tribute to the town’s founding, though not quite the specific date of its discovery.
The story follows Luther, Arthur, and Paul. Their second visit to the island called for a thorough investigation. While Arthur and Paul searched the circumference, Luther and Bellicose scouted the rest. He boasted covering ten times their ground with the beast’s assistance. The others frequently heard the horse’s whinny and firm trot. When Arthur and Paul met on the beach at nightfall, there was no sign of Luther. After an hour of waiting, they lit torches and set out into the woods.
They were guided by the savory aroma of roasted meat. Bracing their courage, the men followed the scent until it led to a campfire. Luther, forehead wrapped by his torn shirtsleeve, held a skewer of Bellicose’s thigh over the flame. Something spooked the beast, hurtling them both off into a small ditch. Luther sprained his ankle and cut his head open, and Bellicose broke a leg. Not for lacking rations, Luther had felt
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