Some feelings return.

Terpsicore is ascetic, improvisatory, sherbet hued, Erato, a voice of suspicion and many hisses, Clio, her last commanding notes tumbling as rumors circulate. Melpomeme, all blues and mistaken early on, every beat ridden like a whale gainsaying oomph. An echo of flame, ailing Calliope still makes love in public (especially the flying public). Her echo requires a stop-start pattern of marriage songs, blizzard, and dance.

The lines break up around Clio's supplicant remains. Polyhymnia was rushed off, bombing on stage.

Did Euterpe get paid for that?

No, no one pays for her sabotage, her exacting dignity in rebuttal or her tongue-in-cheek feelings moving on.