That Captivating Muse (Open if Interested)

[Reverie-and-Jubilee]

(Looking for a partner for this concept. Take a read, and message below if your interested.)

 

His image was simply everywhere.

He laid the midst of turned sheets, sapphire eyes staring deeply at the viewer with such softness and vulnerability as one could barely see the rest of his youthful, androgynous face. Bright hair sprawled beneath him as if to give this beauty the halo he so rightfully deserved. Another piece had him upright, lithe frame still wrapped in those soft sheets as he stared wistfully out of the wide window, sat in a sturdy nook filled with cushions thrown about with wild abandon. Even with his gaze pointed away from the viewer that warmth and care would still reach out to whoever sought to capture it. This ethereal figure would be captured in many other places. Amongst the trees enjoying the sunlight, skirt flowing with the breeze as he basked in that field. In the darkness of neon lit streets, clothing accenting to desirable curve of his waist as he stood, ever waiting for one that could not be sure would ever come. 

Pictures like this and more would line the walls of the Saint Clara Gallery that night. And the public was simply eating it up. Bodies of patrons would bounce from piece to piece to piece. The energetic chatter having no issue drowning out the soft music that had once filled the space.

"I've never seen anything like it."

"They are truly a marvel, aren't they?"

"You can feel those eyes dig into your soul the more you stare at them."

"It's almost addicting, isn't it? That is a gaze you'd want to keep all to yourself."

The scent of cloying parfum, cheap cologne, and smoke would make a heady mix along with the heaps of praise to the works shown that night. The artist behind it moving coolly with a heard mad up of an array of critics, fans, and sycophants. "It simply came to me," he would boast. "The ethereal purity mixing with the sinful modernity of our world today. The contrast of daring highs and intimate lows. A piece of heaven dulled to be viewed with our mortal eyes. Genius, is it not?"  The crowd surrounding him became all aflutter with questions, statements, and the grander portions of praise all for the one that had the fortune of graciously capturing such beauty for their viewing pleasure. But there was one question that never seemed to cross any of their minds: What of the subject of his work? What of the muse? 

In that maelstrom of bodies, scents, and conversation not one would wholly notice that Muse walking among them. The click of heeled boots would mark his steps as he wandered the gallery space. Woven gold tresses famed his features all the same as the artwork, and yet no one would dare draw their eyes away from them. Coral lips would purse together as he navigated to a spot that was a bit more quite. All the while a flute of sparkling wine was clutched betwixt his delicate fingers. That Muse would find that peace, in a corner of the least crowded room. The image of his obscured face staring back as he took a sip of his drink. For the moment, he would find his peace.