The broken queen wanders among the dead.
This sentence, in its entirety, just popped into my head last night as I was working on my latest WIP. Where it came from is anybody's guess. With it came the image of a field covered by the corpses of a recent battle. Scavenger birds swooped in to feast on the offered banquet. Meanwhile a solitary figure picked its way carefully through the remains. Stopping every so often to inspect an object on the ground. I sensed the figure was looking for something important. She wore a regal gown cinched tight at the waist with sleeves that reached her wrists. Perched upon a head of flaming red hair rode a tarnished crown encrusted with sparkling jewels, some of which were missing, as if they had been pried out to pay for assorted necessities. The broken queen wandered among the dead seeking what only she could discern
Is the Broken Queen my muse?
Many writers in the past have described their muse, that mythical figure who whispers in their ear, and drives them to pour their souls out upon the page. Descriptions have ranged from angry midgets kicking them in the shins to shadowy beauties who hovered over their shoulder as they wrote, guiding their hand, breathing life into their words.
Until this moment I've never given any thought to what my muse might look like. But the image fit what I imagine a writer of dark fiction would have as an inspiration. Leaving only two possible options. My muse has revealed herself to me. Or my muse, who wishes to remain unseen, has given me but a glimpse of a future work. Of a place that exists so far only in my subconscious imagination. A place ruled by a broken queen whose kingdom encompasses a shattered landscape of eternal despair where the sun never shines and the gray clouds blend seamlessly into the dull countryside.
Do you have a muse?
What do you imagine they look like?