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 As the darkness of night began to subside in the eastern sky, Crystal Dawn rose from her makeshift bed of furs upon a large flat boulder overlooking the valley beneath them. Sensing that the sun would rise soon, a cock began to crow on a farm below, causing their horses to stir a bit. Her lover from the previous night was still sleeping.

She stood there in the crisp morning air, awaiting the sun’s arrival. The sound of her voice speaking low rhythmic verses woke him, and as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he saw her standing slightly at a distance. As he looked up, he could make out her nude silhouette against the dim orange-red disk of the newly risen sun that appeared to sit on the horizon. He thought to himself that she must be the most beautiful woman who had ever lived.

After the sun had given birth to the new day, she returned to the rock, covered herself, pulled a pad and pen from her bag, and began to write. Being so young at eighteen and unaware of anything or anyone beyond himself, he asked Dawn if she was writing something about him or the incredible night they’d shared under the stars and the consecration of adulthood he would now receive in the village below.

She responded, “The stolen moments we shared last night are now written for all eternity in that starry night above, you beautiful young man.” And then she kissed him passionately. After the long kiss, she continued, “What I write now are my thoughts on my upcoming flight across the ocean and my slow journey into the mountains to prepare for another trip to meet my best friend. According to some ancient records, she and I are going back to visit another dear friend who desperately requires our guidance.”

She wrote:

It always seems that we know very little of the great people of history until after they are forged into the substance from which their legend sprang. Of course, truth and myth become more entwined over time. If we knew all the day-to-day details of their lives, would the image that grew over the years, decades, or perhaps even generations be shattered entirely?

On the other hand, we may learn that time dilutes their true greatness and that only eyewitnesses had the gift of providence to see it fully. And what of those who helped shape them and put them on destiny’s path? In truth, could those who influence and shape the people who are remembered by history be the bigger story? Yes, just as recorded in ancient Greek mythology, muses have mentored the faces of history over the millennia.

However, real-life muses were mere mortals, unlike their Greek counterparts. Could those mortal muses have been as great or even more significant than those they inspired whom history remembers instead of them? I pray not. Indeed, I question whether any of those muses have any sort of greatness compared to those they advised and helped incubate.

Sometimes, what I genuinely fear is the opposite. Can those muses who inspired greatness sometimes be so hideous and vile that they force those who would otherwise have faded into mediocrity to bubble to the surface of history? I believe that as a muse, I am or may have been both. Today is the day before I travel back to Geneva. In time, we will know how we will be able to aid and protect him.

—Crystal Dawn, Supreme Revered Mother VII

Only an hour ago, completely unknown to Dawn, five young men followed the leader of their small gang through the deep darkness of that moonless night. They all were brandishing knives, and hearing two people making love just a few yards away, they knew their targets were nearby. Food scarcity had brought them out of the desert deep into unknown territory. The leader tested his improvised Taser-like weapon to be sure that if there was any security, they would be stunned and couldn’t protect their intended victims.

Dawn would bring a great ransom. Yes, their prayers to the Deities had been answered. Several tons of provisions would be easily exchanged for her. However, her young lover would receive only death. The victims were shielded from seeing their attackers approach because of a second massive boulder behind them. That same boulder blocked the view of an almost blinding light that appeared in front of the gang. Two dark female figures stood in between the young men and the light.

The first woman called out, “We are the angels of life and death; you must choose how you will return to your families. Move one meter further, and you will return dead, or retreat and return alive.”

The men instantly tossed their knives and retreated, believing they’d seen the supernatural. After the young men had run over the next ridge, the second woman spoke comically with a slight twenty-first-century southwestern drawl, “Sweetie, that was a hell of a lot of fun.”

“Yes, they will run home with their pants full of poop.” She laughed. “What’s next? I’m loving this.”

“Time for us to move on. Dawn owes us big, yet again, sweetie.”

“You promised that before this trip was over, we would have sex with some naval aviators.”

“Oh, yeah, let’s, but I said fuck with, not fuck in the literal sense. I do that a lot, you know. I’m anonymously known for giving them random and unexpected thrills across the decades. Where did you come up with that ‘We are the angels of life and death’ bullshit?”

“I don’t know, just seemed to be the right thing to say. Would you have actually killed them?”

“Well, I didn’t have to resort to such, so just leave it at that.”