Furious mobs clashed outside. Their venom roared like thunder on a tin roof. Toxicity charged the air.
The muses, Thalia and Euterpe, stepped out from the shadows and onto the stage. Their skin shimmered against the light. Thalia sighed.
“Eris is at it again.”
“She’s done a great number this time.”
“Well, she won’t silence me.”
“Eris needs muzzling.”
“Everyone needs to feel heard… Even Eris. Negative emotion needs an outlet, or it becomes a volatile force.”
Thalia stood behind a microphone and switched the device on. She sang her protest in the universal language of song. Euterpe turned up the amps. Inspiration hummed via sound waves.
Freedom of expression, the saving grace.