*~.Imagination.~* wrote:From the mind of a gifted child,
Who had the ability of a Silvertounge,
A Goddess was born.....
She lives high above the heavens, where the stars sit below her, and she can look down upon this planet of ours with a mix of fondness and disgust in her gaze. For there is a mix of people sitting on this Earth, some of which she favors, whilst there are some she would be happy to write out of existence. This Goddess was named Ashire, and unlike most of her kind, was created by the very humans that she ruled over.
A child, not yet 10, had sat hunched over at his desk as he scrawled messily on a sheet of notebook paper. He was writing as swiftly as he could, as if afraid the words would disappear if he didn't record them right away. This was probably the last place you would expect a powerful Goddess to be born, yet it was indeed here that she started out.
Abruptly the child stopped, and with a grim expression, rose from his seat. He faced the wall, and read aloud from his paper.
"A Goddess to rule the writers, to grant inspiration and muse. To bring our knowledge forward, and to push our insecurities back...." he started, continuing on to describe this Goddess, from her abilities, to her looks, to her responsibility and personality. And then, knowing exactly what would happen, he stopped reading, and as his final word slipped away, something happened.
Suddenly, a strong wind started. The child used his arm as a shield to stop the wind, and the things flying about, from hitting his face. The curtains in his room whipped open, and papers flew wildly around his room until, just as abruptly as it had started, the wind ceased. As papers and envelopes drifted to the ground, the boy removed his arm hesitantly, revealing the figment of his imagination come alive.
Standing before him, was a Goddess.
She looked rigid and stiff from where he stood, and an odd swirling decorated her skin. When closer, he could see that, just as he had written, her pale skin wasn't skin at all; it was paper. Just like the rest of her. However it blended together so perfectly that one could hardly tell that she was practically a paper maiche' person. And the swirling was ever moving words and phrases encircling her body. The more emotional she was, the darker and larger the words, making it possible and all too simple to literally read her emotions off her. At that moment, she was practically emotionless, so the words where a light grey, fading into her paper skin.
She turned to the boy, already knowing who he was, as he had written her with the knowledge of him already there. She looked at him for a moment, then pointed to the ground.
"Kneel before me, humble child." she commanded. Though her voice was stern, it was not unkind. The boy did as she said, going onto one knee and bending his head without question. The woman had a small sheath, where one might put a thin dagger, strapped to her side. However, instead of a weapon, she pulled out a raven black quill, long and seeming to glow in the light.
"I thank you, young writer, for giving life to the words you have written. And for that feat, I grant you muse and inspiration forevermore. Never again will you be left without thought, your mind blocked, unable to think of a way out of your writing predicament. You have now honor, gifts of muse, and... Another gift." she said thoughtfully. The boy looked up at her quizzically.
"The gift of choice." she announced to him. "Being a Silvertounge is both a gift and a curse. You wrote me with the ability to choose if my talent took effect whenever I read aloud, and now you too have that choice." she told him. His features lit up and he rose, knowing now that this had indeed been a good plan. Now there really was a ruler for the writers, and it wasn't just a fantasy he cooked up in his mind and dreamed about when boredom took over.
Now he had powers, and the ability to control them. Now he had a Goddess for him and all the creative writers. Now he had his dream come to life.
And all the gifts she gave him lasted. He grew to be a famous writer, making millions off his book, though, still the humble lad he was before, kept little of it. Instead he donated it to writing associations across the nations, hoping to give other children the same skill and joy he got from writing.
And the Goddess too helped them; granting deserving writers muse and inspiration, banishing writer's block and doing her best to live up to the expectations thrust upon her all those years ago by that little humble child.
