Tonight, a visit from the Muse. Haven't seen her for a long, long time... thought she was gone forever. First she comes as an old crone, a black hag from the Medina or the graveyard on the hill. I'm kicking, unable to wake up... afraid to surrender to her sickening embrace. I kick, kick, kick... the sheets stick to my sweating body like a spider's glue.
Out there in the desert, beyond the walls of Obo, a razzia approaches from the east, drums beating like Ravel as the camels and horses march in step under the stars... their shrouded riders flickering in rhythm through the uneasy landscape... lunar shadows of the faceless Moors....
The crone allows her robes to melt away. It's all a disguise, I know it.
I'm Domino, she says, standing at the end of the bed, her dress clinging like she's just come out of the water.
Ah Domino.... She's very beautiful, this muse. So my song will be beautiful.
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