I'm Setting Off, But Not Without My Muse

Lydia stood on the shoreline, sand and water under and over her feet. It should've been a grounding experience, but now more than ever, she wanted nothing more than to fly away, to just drift off across the ocean and sky, endless and forever. It was a beautiful picture, the beachside was, and if she had more energy, more passion, she would've gladly painted a thousand pictures for it. Today, however, it was all hollow. The beauty and serenity of the seaside was nothing but a cruel mockery.

Lyrics and poetry swirled around the driver's head. She may have been the island ferrywoman, but that wasn't all she was good at. Her paintings were more widely known across the Syndicate, but she was a songwriter, too, although she always preferred to keep that particular skill private. It was a sacred, special secret that only she knew...

Writing words and notes on the invisible paper in her mind, sealing it away in the bottle of her heart, she continued to stare out into the vastness of the sunset hanging over the crystal-blue waters.

"Is it romantic how all my mortal wants immortalize me?" she hummed so quietly, even the waves wouldn't be able to hear her over themselves. Is it ironic how what has defined me for... how long? I've forgotten... But I remember how much I wish for, how much I used to have. That has become all that I am anymore. "I'm not cut out for all these cynical clones, all hungry for their thrones..."

The Syndicate might've been a colorful, dynamic bunch, certainly not clones in the literal sense. Each member was so outrageously unique that Lydia was sure that there were no others like them anywhere in the entire multiverse! But, on the inside, they were all exactly the same. Hunters, thieves, backstabbers. All of them. Even herself. She wanted out. There were things she desired; secret wishes that she could never share with anyone. But she had a good feeling that even if her secrets and desires were unique to her, she was far from the only one to long for something more. They were all clones. None of them were happy with the world they created, but the web was so tightly wound, none of them knew how to escape.

"Take me 'cross the sea where all the poets went to die, I don't belong!" There was only one person in the entire multiverse Lydia knew she was completely safe to be completely herself with: her husband, Sam. "Oh, my beloved, neither do you!" So many times she'd fantasized about making a run for it, fleeing from the island in the dead of night with Sam right beside her. But it was impossible. They both knew that. Even if they managed to successfully escape, a life on the run, a life constantly lived in fear, was no life for them. They didn't know how far the Leader would go to bring them back, but they didn't want to find out.

Lydia suddenly turned toe, facing back towards the mainland. A mountain jutted out from its center, so high and mighty that the tip disappeared into the clouds entirely. That was the only place Lydia could go to nurture and indulge her fantasies of escape and freedom.

"Those Paradise Peaks look like a perfect place to cry, so I'm setting off!" Ordinally, she would've wanted to bring her muse with her, but he needed to stay back and run the bar, so Lydia made the long and lonely trek up the side of the mountain alone.

She was about three quarters of the way up by nightfall. If there was one thing she was grateful for, nobody needed a Fast Travel tonight.

"What should be over burrowed under my skin in heart-stopping waves of hurt," she continued to sing to herself, voice low and quiet. Even as far away as the mountaintop, she didn't trust the island not to have eyes and ears everywhere. Even if she knew most (if not all) of the Syndicate smiles were false, painted, they would still bow before the laws of the land before they ever admitted how much they wanted to break or change them.

What she was thinking of was something that wasn't really allowed to be talked about. It might've been 10 islands ago, but if anything, that "anniversary" was what made it so fresh on Lydia's mind. On Island 13, her best friend, Lady Loves Dies, was exiled. She betrayed the Syndicate by being deceived by a god and allowing demons and sin to infect their paradisical home. Even though Lydia knew there was no reversing the sentence, and she and Lady should've considered themselves lucky that Lady wasn't just executed, it didn't matter how many islands they went through, the ferrywoman still missed her old friend dearly, and she knew Sam felt the same way. Paradise wasn't the same, wasn't as perfect, without her...

But Lady's absence wasn't the only thing weighing heavily on Lydia's old, aching heart. The rest of the Syndicate was no better. She wasn't out of vitriolic thoughts for them yet. One man in particular, Yuri Night, never ceased to be a thorn in her side.

Sometimes, LD, I think you were the lucky one. You were exiled a couple islands before he became a problem. You're lucky you never met him. Even though it was never explicitly stated, Lydia was fairly sure that the only reason he became her handler was to punish her for reckless driving on one of the islands. Why else would they ask him, someone eons younger than her, to tell her how to do a job she'd been doing (and doing expertly) since Island 1? She would've thought they would've forgiven her by now, but if Lady's exile was anything to go by, Paradise didn't forgive, or forget. They really were all cynical clones, weren't they? Lydia didn't forget or forgive either.

"I've lived too long, drove too far, to watch some fame-chasing sleaze tell me what are my dreams, my life, worth..."

Even as far up and away from the shore as she was, Lydia could still make out the edge of Paradise from here. Take me 'cross the sea where all the poets went to die, I don't belong... But these Paradise Peaks are a perfect place to cry, so I'm setting off...

The ferrywoman wanted so much, and yet so little. All she wanted were beautiful scenes so that she could explore the world beyond, and sad prose so that she could explore the world within. As she continued to walk along the mountain trails, she looked at some of the flora budding up around the path. She felt some of the vines and stems tickle her feet when she finally turned off that aged, broken path. She'd made this trek far more often and far more times that she cared to admit, even to herself.

In some ways, she felt as though she hadn't moved in years. Not only was this mountain the same as it ever was, the same one she visited almost weekly now, but so was everything else. It didn't matter how often the islands changed, the misery, corruption, and fakeness were always the same. The one good constant was Sam. She wished he could be here now, her red rose, a symbol of love, blooming even out of the cold, hard ground of the mountain, through the cold, hard walls of her heart. He was the only thing that offered any light and warmth anymore. She could still paint a thousand pictures of him. This time, though, they would be pictures she never shared with anyone else except him.

She was tired of the Syndicate's constant surveillance. It wasn't even just the legal surveillance she took issue with anymore. It was just knowing that all eyes were always on each other. The backstabbers, always hungry for more power and ready to thieve it by any means necessary. The Syndicate was swathed in cloaks and daggers, only narrowed eyes visible as each membered remained bitterly wary of one another. This was no way to live. True freedom and peace came from being allowed to live as one wished, with no one around to see or judge it.

Now Lydia bathed in cliffside pools with her calamitous love and insurmountable grief swirling through the waters with her. Take me 'cross the sea where all the poets went to die, I don't belong... But these Paradise Peaks are a perfect place to cry, so I'm setting off... Even through her insurmountable grief, the salt water from her eyes mixing with the purified water of the springs, thoughts of Sam kept her grounded better than any beach trip ever would. He was her insurmountable love, her muse. I'm setting off... but not without my muse...

As much as Lydia wanted to flee the islands forever, she wouldn't go without Sam. So long as he was still around, she supposed that she could survive another day. He made it a little bit more like Paradise. Not without my muse... no, not without you...