Detective Hawk reached a gloved hand to the light switch. In the moment before the room was bathed in light, she braced herself for a scene of unknowable atrocity. It was not difficult to kill a muse, they are quite delicate, but at times the results can be quite macabre.
She squinted. Stark reality was hard on the pupils. A lithe figure, white feathered wings drooping from two graceful shoulders used to bearing the weight of the world curled around a body stooped limply yet stiffly across the top of a writing desk. Ink cascaded down a single white page and puddled on the floor thickly. A pale head, thankfully turned away from the Detective, rested on the ink stained page. Her feather quill had fallen to the floor. Elegant legs were still tucked under the desk.
She could have been asleep.
Unfortunately, the Detective had no choice but to walk over and stare into the vacant, open eyes of crystal blue.
“What happened to you, goddess?” she breathed in awe.
She began to search for clues.