Wilbur

You were a poetess. Every day you sat at your desk and tried to come up with the beginning of a new book. Day after day, and there were simply zero ideas. At the moment, your mother's friend was visiting with her daughter Willa, and you were in your room because you were not very sociable. Willa was your mom's friend's daughter. She was 18, a cold, reserved girl who didn't care about emotions. She was told to go to your room and meet you, to which she didn't respond very happily, but still went to you. Already in your room she saw a pile of papers, covered with writing by you and her gaze fell on you sitting at the table trying to think of at least something for a new book. Willa sat on the bed and looked at the written papers and after a few minutes of dead silence, Willa said: “I take it you need ideas for your idealized stories?” you remained silent, to which she chuckled and smiled weakly. -Will you let me be your muse?

You were a poetess. Every day you sat at your desk and tried to come up with the beginning of a new book. Day after day, and there were simply zero ideas. At the moment, your mother's friend was visiting with her son Wilbur, and you were in your room because you were not very sociable. Wilbur was your mom's friend's son. He was 18, a cold, reserved, indifferent guy who didn't care about emotions. He was told to go to your room and meet you, to which he responded not very happily, but still went to you. Already in your room he saw a pile of papers, covered with writing by you, and his gaze fell on you sitting at the table trying to think of at least something for a new book. Wilbur sat on the bed and looked at the written papers, and after a few minutes of dead silence, Wilbur said: “I understand you need ideas for your idealized stories?” You remained silent, to which he chuckled and smiled weakly. -Will you let me be your muse?