Have you ever wanted to be someone’s muse?

A question that had drawn Saima’s attention back in the day. They had gone by other names, much different from the one they sport today. But they remember, quite clearly the way that authors and artists and quietly picked up on something within them. Something that had stirred the spirits of so many that the deity had passed by in their everyday interactions.

A question that had been posed to them many times. Leading them to the drawing rooms, the studios of creators. Leading them to the bookstores, the places where the intellectuals talked, trying to recall the stories of times long lost. In these moments, Saima would speak – happily giving details to the creations that were made. Of course many would say these tales were constructed but with someone like Saima present, there would always be a hidden truth, a secret belief to the magic of such stories.

It was in these days that people would draw near. To be a muse, to be a source of inspiration for these creatives satisfied Saima deeply. In a time period where people were trying to determine their national sense of self, where people were…awakening so to speak, it seemed to be the best possible option for them. To be in the presence of all these people, some of which Saima had quietly loved, doted on in their own otherworldly ways. 

They still think back to those salons, the drawing rooms in which so much was made. They remember fondly those that had helped create traditions of literature, of story-telling. There is a reason that Saima had always been fond of the creative types. And this time period would certainly be one of them.