Qualified

We surround Fear like a mob of hovering mothers, fussing with the afghan at her feet and shoving newly warmed beverages into her now steady hands.

She smiles timidly at our efforts. "You guys, I'm fine. Really." Disgust huffs away, back into the kitchen.

Joy shakes her head, beaming. "We're just in shock Fear. You had us so worried." She lays a hand on Fear's knee.

I don't know how she had sensed the change, but within minutes of Fear speaking, Joy had burst through the door, throwing a bundle of sunflowers on a nearby table. Anger and I had shoved our argument aside. Our differences were many but we were united in celebration of Fear's return to reality.

I took in her appearance from my point on the other side of the couch. Her eyes were clear, her cheeks rosy, probably on account of the many layers of blankets we had piled on top of her. She sipped at her mug of hot chocolate, dodging the floating marshmallows with little flicks of her tongue. She was uncharacteristically calm. Her eyes didn't examine her liquid for hazards nor did she flinch at the crashing noises emitting from the kitchen. She was truly at peace. So strange.

"Fear," I say, pulling her gaze to mine. "What changed? What brought you back?"

"This," she says, putting down her mug and lifting up a small business card. She offers it to me and I read, in scrawled lettering:

I must create a system or be enslaved by another mans; I will not reason and compare: my business is to create.
Read more at: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/w/williambla165311.html

I must create a system or be enslaved by another man's; I will not reason or compare: My business is to create. - William Blake

I flip the card over and on the front is my name and underneath is one simple word: Creator. My eyes grow heavy with tears. I hand it back to Fear and ask, "What does it mean?"

Her smile expands, lighting up her face as she sits taller. "I'm qualified," she exclaims, shoulders back, sitting tall. "It means I create my own standards and I do not hold to anyone else's expectations but my own. I am my own master."

I nod absently, swiping a stray tear from my cheek. The words are a balm to the ache left from Myths' reveal. "My business is to create..." I whisper, accepting the proclamation as my own.

"That's ridiculous."

We all turn to find Disgust, hands on hips, mouth pursed, lips sour from her exclamation.

I sigh, sinking back into the couch. "Well, that was good while it lasted." Round Three is about to begin.

....