Magic and art, myth and creativity. Part of why they go so beautifully together in stories is because it’s often hard to tell the difference. Poet or wizard? Musician or changeling? Spell or song? We don’t properly know where creativity comes from, so we revere it and distrust it in equal measure. That’s the thing about humans, isn’t it? We both love and fear anything we can’t put away in a cupboard at the end of the night or tuck into the bottom of our bag. It’s hard to say who treats the muse with more subjective awe—consumer, or creator. Those who don’t create are mystified by those who do, imagining them plunging into an abyss and returning with art. But those who create are equally mystified. Why am I like this? Why can’t I stop?