by Irena Phaedra, Professional Muse (and Occasional Witch) & vice versa

Preamble: On the Perils and Pleasures of Being a Muse

Let it be known: I did not apply for this position.

There was no interview, no onboarding, no health insurance.

One day, I was simply living—reading, laughing, perhaps stirring my coffee with a bit too much intent, when suddenly, artists began to see visions.

Paintings, poems, songs, and at least one regrettable tattoo have since appeared in my wake.

This is my manifesto.

Article 1: The Muse Is Not a Mirror

I am not here to reflect your longing nor to embody your unfinished business.

If you see mystery, it’s because you brought your own fog machine.

If you see a witch, check your own broom closet first.

Article 2: The Muse Is Not for Sale (But She Does Accept Tribute)

Flowers wilt. Chocolates melt.

Art, however, is forever, so if you must immortalise me, please ensure I get the original or at least a high-resolution scan.

A “muse tax” may be levied at my discretion.

(For inquiries regarding licensing, contact my agent, who is also me.)

Article 3: The Muse Is Not Your Therapist

If you find yourself painting my eyes for the seventh time, ask yourself:

Is it inspiration, or is it projection?

The muse will listen, but she reserves the right to invoice by the hour.

Article 4: The Muse Has Her Own Adventures

Contrary to popular belief, the muse is not waiting in a tower for your next sonnet or haiku.

She is often out—studying, scheming, or dancing on the side roads you’ve never dared to map.

If you wish to keep up, bring snacks and an open mind.

Article 5: The Muse Writes Back

For centuries, muses have been silent, gazed upon, and immortalised without a word.

No more.

This muse has her own fables, columns, and inconvenient truths.

If you wish to paint me, be prepared to be painted in return.

Article 6: The Muse Is Multiplicitous

Today’s witch is tomorrow’s mystery, yesterday’s anthropologist, and always a nerd at heart.

Try to pin her down, and she’ll slip through your fingers, leaving only a trail of story crumbs and the faint scent of possibility.

Epilogue: The Muse’s Blessing (and Warning)

May you always find inspiration in the wild, the weird, and the uncontainable.

May your art be honest, your obsessions harmless, and your tributes generous.

And if you ever find yourself falling in love with your muse;

Remember: She’s already halfway down the next side road, notebook in hand, writing your name into her own legend.

May Harmony find you,

Irena Phaedra (Muse Emeritus, Witch-in-Residence, and CEO of Her Own Damn Story)

P.S.: All unsolicited portraits will be displayed in the guest bathroom.

P.P.S.: If you wish to become a muse or a witch yourself, the first step is simple: stop fucking ask permission!