Breathing got strange these days. No matter how much I tried, every breath started to sound like a sigh. I was sitting down at the Strudlhofstiege in mild January-weather and sighed my song. I hadn’t heard from my own muse for days and as a golden shimmer lit the wall, I couldn’t believe my luck. There she was in all her beauty, smiling at me so gentle, that my next sigh felt warm and legit. “Here you are”, she said. One look and me and she raised an eyebrow in suspicion. “What happened to you?”

“Well”, I started eloquently, “I think, I might be doing something wrong. Or is it supposed to feel that way?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I am talking about my client. Everything started out alright and then all of a sudden woosh!”

Woosh?” My muse looked at me like a doctor looks at a patient who glued himself to a refrigerator. “What exactly is going on?”

“Am I supposed to fall in love with a client? Is this, how it works?”

My muse sat down beside me and the plants around us started to grow blossoms in unbelievable speed. “Well, that can happen, of course. Normally it is the other way around, but it can go in both directions. It is really not that much of a problem. Musework always improves, if real love is involved.” She looked in my unhappy face. “Or are you worried, because you are married? Your heart is very flexible; you can love a lot at the same time. And by the way, someone said to me recently: You can not choose, who not to love.”

That really was not helpful at all! I could not even respond to that. “But there is something odd going on”, was all that came out.

My muse smiled lovely and gave me an encouraging shoulder pat. “There is really nothing wrong with falling in love. Love is always a good thing.” Two yellow butterflies found their way to the sweet smelling blossoms, and leaves began to grow and turned from light green to a darker shade in a few moments. “So, tell me, who is your lovely client and how did you find him?”

“I only have that one, that I wrote you about.”

“You wrote me about someone? When?”

“That was three days ago. You send me a message and I wrote his name and everything. Did you not get it back?” A wind stormed down the stairs, jolted the flowers, and my muse stood up quickly. “Who brought you this message?”

“It was a dove. She looked so cute with this huge scroll.”

The face of my muse changed from very suspicious to openly angry. Very elegant angry, but still… “Very funny”, she said, not to me. “There really is something odd going on.” She sat down again, took my hand and looked straight into my eyes. “Tell me, who is this client of yours!”

“His name is Ronin. I met him in Vienna. He is really nice and he needed a muse.”

“He needed a muse? What for?”

“He needs a muse treatment or something like that, so he can keep his job as a guard in the Maze of the lost hearts.” And my muse was up and on her feet again. “A guard of the maze?” The wind became a storm. “We muses – and we muses alone – are the guardians of the maze of the lost hearts. So, is he a muse?”

I shrugged: “I don’t know. Well, I can feel a lot of magic coming from him. So, he might be?”

My muse looked down with clear worry: “Tell me, is he by any chance dressed as a knight?”

I nodded with growing uneasiness. “He is riding on a pale horse…”

“The pale knight”, she said and she closed her eyes, as she realised, what has happened. The storm rose upwards. “I got tricked”, my muse said. “I got tricked!” For an instant anger rushed over her beautiful face like a fiery flame. Then she looked calm again. Soft and gentle was her smile, as she looked down to me:

“I am sorry, but we are in trouble now.”

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