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Τερψιχόρη | Lyra Terpein (terpsichord) wrote in forgotten_gods,

Terpsichore had never been to this club before, and for the life of her, she didn't know why. Approaching it, the muse could feel a pulsing energy, a whispering yes that threatened to tease the wildness out of her, to turn her inspiration inward as it went outward.

It was a feeling she hadn't had in years, of approaching the house of a god at the height of their power, the fiery lick of power stealing over her skin as she showed her ID to the bouncer. Even churches in the Dark Ages hadn't possessed this pressurized feeling of bottled might, that chill that only comes from the residence of a living, still-worshiped god.

And it was good. The power was foreign, it was not her pantheon or any the Muse was accustomed to worshiping, but the energy in the air threatened to turn her inside-out, tugging at her skin until she could just dance.

Even as she moved, as she did what she was born to do, those around her moved with all the more energy for their extra burst of inspiration. As a moth to the flame, the redhead moved gradually towards the DJ, the room getting hotter.

This place hummed with her, hummed with Kali with an undertone of Terpsichore- not by name, no, but the very air seemed to fuel her, feeding into her and letting her breathe inspiration, movement, dance.