She stands on steps millions have stepped on before, and somewhere she can hear a faint thrum. It's only an echo, but still there.
It's strange, how dull it's become this echo of things long gone. Once upon a time, she'd had so many voices calling to her, begging for attention. It was a time where she'd sat back and arrogantly chose those worthy enough to be written down on her scrolls. When minstrels had been her servants, singing joyful praise to her and her sisters. Now all she got was a faint thrum, and string leading to marks left behind by those she might have scorned in the past.
The past is long gone, and no one seeks to revive it. Even here, on these steps where so much History was made, and continues to be made, so few will remember for so few wish to recall the past. Even when the taste of the past was a sweet one.
Less and less cared about what their pasts, where they had come from. The future was bright, the past nothing but dust and rock. And she helpless to do anything about it
She'd taken a tour of the town, stopping at Capitol Hill, where there was a mansion. In the mansion stood a room filled with statues of men whose names were barely remembered. And above that, alone and almost forgotten, stood a statue of her, ready to mark down all the things that happened in that room. But it lay forgotten now, unused.
She'd looked up to the clock, finding it ironic that time went on and that the significance of a Muse without anything to write about was noted. The room stood empty, would only be filled on rare occasions,and it seemed to have brought a certain finality to her thoughts. Nothing lasts forever.
She'd left, finding herself on steps to a man in a chair that so many laureled, and looked out to the horizon. Those close to her, family and friends alike, often wondered if she regretted things happened in the past. There are always things she wished she could have changed, but hindsight is wonderful that way. She could not say she felt regret. sadness and pity, on occasion, that she knew well. Guilt was another emotion that was familiar to her.
She suspected she had plenty to regret. But even her own past did not bring it. Even with all the hardships and heartbreaks, she had gained so much. Even now, all she had to do was look at her son and she could only smile.
He reminded her of the power of Legacy. History was fine and dandy, but it was nothing more then facts unless you left a Mark. Through her son, she could leave one. Had left one because his Story continued. Still, that was his and not hers. She wanted her own mark. Her own little sign of 'I was here'.
She looked to the book on her lap and smiled. Legacy, without regrets. She wasn't the first to do it, not even the last, but then History did tend to repeat itself.