One might unearth almost anything with enough searching. Being a muse is mostly this—a sifting through of memories to find something of merit, hauling it to the surface where it can shine. The endeavor has, at the best of times, an exotic appeal. Forgetting is a concept the angel knows only through observation. Every moment of her long existence echoes through her like the unfading peal of a bell, things she would rather forget every bit as loud as those she would remember.
