Work Text:
A harsh, icy blizzard was raging on the university grounds; useless blown out lamps standing out in the parks and open fields of the school, while the dim lights of dorms and lecture halls shone through the snow. In a way, it was beautiful to recognize that each of those lights had at least one person inside of them, living their life and having an interesting story to tell.
But the lights and noise were also getting in the way of his work, so Dalv put blinds on his windows. What was happening out there didn't particularly matter to the student right now. All that mattered was getting this piece done, and Dalv knew he wouldn't be able to get any sleep beforehand.
Dalv was currently hunched over on a ladder, the cape covering his shoulders, horns on his head and purple skin giving him a particularly ghastly appearance. He was using a hammer and chisel to carefully etch away at a large marble statue of a particularly muscular looking man, adorned with a head five distinct points, like a star, and an intricate cloth hanging off of the figures hips and covering his legs; the folds and wrinkles along it looking so realistic that one could imagine removing it and wrapping it around themselves.
Along with what he was currently working on; busts, other full statues and small wooden figures were displayed around Dalv's room, as well as paintings and the occasional sketch done on simple pieces of paper. These are all very distinct forms of art, a lot of them using techniques that would only be known by people who’ve spent a large portion of their lives studying the fine arts, but all of the pieces had one central thing in common. Or rather, one subject in common.
They all had the same star headed man as the main focus. In fact, a majority of them included him as the only focus; the only pieces containing other monsters being ones that seemed to be admiring him to an almost biblical degree.
After a couple more minutes, the sound of iron repeatedly tapping on stone ceased, Dalv deciding that it would be a good idea to take a break and examine his artwork for any imperfections he could fix or improvements that could be made.
Slowly and carefully, the monster began descending the ladder. Dalv noted a slight weakness in his limbs, but it didn't seem like that urgent of an issue. He was more prone to fatigue that other monsters, and he was likely just a bit tired from working on this project. But it was important that he finish it, regardless of whatever his current condition may be. He needed to add to his portfolio in order to make sure he's considered for his master's degree, and this felt like one of the best pieces he's made yet. His magnum opus.
But it could be better. It could always be better.
These thoughts were halted when Dalv finally got down onto the floor, his knees buckling underneath him and causing the monster to fall forward with a gasp; the hammer and chisel falling to the floor with a loud clattering sound as he let go of them to stop himself from falling directly on his face. Dalv's SOUL suddenly began beating faster and faster, and his breath suddenly began quickening as he held his chest with a wild yet confused look in his eyes.
How long had he been working if he had felt this exhausted? Why did the symptoms only affect him when he stopped working? Had he come down with something? Dalv didn't know the answers to any of those questions; or he didn't care to dig deeper than he wanted for them. Right now, he just needed something to keep him stable.
Dalv laid there for a moment, trying to catch his breath and regain his composure. Eventually, he got up onto his shaking and unsteady knees, bracing himself for a second before lifting himself up with all of the strength he could manage. His vision became fuzzy for a moment, figures and paintings moving in and out of his focus as he stumbled forward; each step taking a surprising amount of mental and physical effort as he fought the desire to drop down again.
Suddenly, Dalv felt his hand touch something rigid, long, and stable. He hadn't even realized his arms were outstretched, but Dalv's reflexes caused him to immediately collapse onto the object, wrapping his arms around it and gasping for air; his entire body shaking and shuddering as he held it as tight as he could.
After the monster had gotten his bearings more, and his vision had recovered, he looked up and finally recognized exactly what he was holding onto.
His current project. Dalv was grasping his leg.
He looked…beautiful. Imposing. Powerful. The singular light turned on in the room above him was shining behind his head and giving him an air of authority, almost like a deity. Whether it was the angle he was viewing him from, or his current very poor mental and physical state, Dalv felt like all he could do was revere the man in front of him.
It was slightly silly to think of the statue as ‘he’ rather than ‘it’, but Dalv thought it felt right at this moment. His muse, the person he'd been drawing non stop for the last year, had come to him in a very dark place. When he started trying to study and replicate different styles of the past that he felt enamored with at the start of his college career, Dalv felt listless and lost. He had a lack of focus, and felt like everything he created was artificial and soulless; like Dalv was just going through the motions and not feeling any true inspiration. This, combined with a sense of isolation that's loomed over him for his whole life, created the perfect situation for a very bad depressive episode.
One night during the episode, Dalv had a dream; something extremely rare for him. Normally his sleep was uneventful and, truth be told, very boring. But on that night, Dalv had a very vivid dream that he hasn't been able to forget since. A man with a star-shaped head and a gentle smile on his face, working in a seemingly endless field of corn. Both him and Dalv were outside and it was extremely bright; everything above Dalv being a very beautiful shade of blue except for what looked like an extremely large ball of light. Dalv himself was resting under a tree and drawing something. He didn't know what compelled him, but Dalv found himself suddenly walking towards the man and holding his face gently, letting his thumb run over the rough and tender skin of his points before leaning up and giving him a tender kiss on the lips.
If someone were to ask Dalv if he has ever been kissed, he would hesitate before saying yes; because the feeling of that man's lips on his own in his dream felt so real, it felt somewhat wrong to deny that it had never happened. Sometimes, when Dalv is truly isolated and feels alone, he remembers the feeling of the star-man's lips on his own to attempt to make himself happier. Often, it just gives him a painful longing in his chest that he knows will never be fulfilled.
After the kiss, Dalv gently woke up at the earliest hours of the day, barely before anyone else had gotten up. He stared at the ceiling; almost thinking that, if he willed it enough, that endless blue above him would return. It didn't, but what did return ro Dalv was a desire deep inside of him to create.
So create he did.
Paintings, sculptures, figures, poems– anything that he could make. Dalv used all of these to try and capture the essence of that dream the best he could, especially the Star-Man. Despite the fact that Dalv had only seen his face for a scant moment in his dreams, it had burned itself into his mind and given the artist enough of a reference to last him a lifetime.
This man– his muse– has given Dalv a sense of purpose that he hadn't ever felt through the entirety of his life previously. Though it also came at a cost. He's lost sleep, forgotten some assignments and managed to isolate himself even further; the few friends that he had not seeing the monster for several weeks at a time. But he found that it didn't bother him after a while. The fervent nature of his inspiration has kept him going, ignoring the mental and physical troubles surrounding him and letting him continue working.
Dalv was never truly a monster of faith; never truly believed in anything other than what he could see and touch with his own hands. But, as he lay there underneath the man that had given him purpose, clutching his form as if letting go would cause him to fall into an endless abyss, he wondered if it was fitting to call what he was doing a form of worship.
A pang of guilt struck the artist, causing him to falter and move his forehead onto the leg of his muse. He began shuddering, small tears pricking the edges of his eyes. Was it right to devote himself like this? To give himself completely and utterly to a man who might not even exist, to an experience he'll never be able to have?
Dalv didn't know the answer.
Or at least, he pretended not to know.
In the silence of the room, as Dalv kneeled and silently begged for forgiveness at the effigy of the man in his dreams, a name seemed to ring through his head. It was said in a voice that couldn't possibly belong to Dalv, with a paradoxically gruff yet soft tone that reminded Dalv of the field in his dreams.
Dalv looked up again, taking a deep breath as he looked around at the art around him and as the name reverberated over and over again in his head.
“...N-...North Star.”
Dalv thought it was pretty fitting. Ancient stories tell of monsters that used a bright light they called a Star to navigate the surface world, sailors and adventurers using it as a guide to always find their way back home.
In a way, his muse was his own ‘Star’. It gave him light in a time where everything else around him was dark and empty. It gave him guidance at a time where he was lost. He didn't know where his Star would lead him; but even if it had him walking on hot coals or trudging through horrible storms, he would keep following him.
With a new sense of resolve, Dalv took a deep breath and exhaled, lifting himself off of his statue and shaking his head slightly, trying to regain his composure. He was finally able to stand on his own legs without fear of falling down, using this ability to step back and look up at the statue, analyzing it intently.
The face needed to be redone slightly, and the pectoral muscles needed more definition.
It was good, but it could be better. It had to be better.
For him.
Dalv picked his tools up off of the floor and walked over to the ladder, ready to throw himself back into his devotion yet again.