silent as the grave; sing

rein, mirakuru.

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A/N: I actually wrote this about a year and a half ago or so, where it disappeared into the depths of my files. I found it yesterday and thought it was a pretty well written story, so I am now posting it. Enjoy!

Title is inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean. Extra brownie points to whomever figure out where in the movie(s) I got it from.

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It begins with a song, inexplicably so. A song with no subject, rambling words following a tune trying to find a heart to burrow itself in.

They try to tell her about it, but to no avail. She doesn’t understand what a song is, because she can’t hear it. People explain to her that it’s like when people born blind don’t know what color is, and shake their head sadly when she doesn’t respond.

“Beautiful child…such a pity she’s deaf…” They murmur this to themselves, as though she could try to eavesdrop, but she knows what they’re talking about anyway.

Her father was always enraged at her. He had hateful eyes, those that spoke the truth when others were afraid to. She’s a dirty, worthless creature, a writhing mole on their pretty, white-faced society, looked upon as though she deserved what abuse she received. She wishes that man could feel her pain for once, suffer the way she did, and not bury his head in alcohol and late-night rendezvous with women he isn’t married to.

Ironically, she can play the piano well; her fingers strike every single note perfectly, frailty and tonality as lithe as air. Her teacher said she has great talent, one that rivals the masters, but to herself playing has the dullness of operating a machine, or playing a senseless child’s game. Never fun once you learn the secrets to winning.

He came to her one day, through the fires of hell, as she sits at the instrument, playing a song she can’t hear. A silhouette of the devil himself, but she thinks it’s beautiful. If she could hear what a song sounded like, it would be as wondrous as this sight.

Her father’s pitiful charred body is the last thing she sees of her past, and she’s carried away as her village is burning down, away, away to somewhere she couldn’t care less. He doesn’t try to say anything to her, but injects her. For a moment, she wildly, unreasonably thinks he’s killed her when her vision blacks out.

She wakes up seven, eight hours later and is disappointed to hear the faint hum of machines. He fixed her, she knows, she’s not broken anymore. It’s an act of kindness that will leave her in debt forever.

The next thing she hears, though, is someone, like a song probably, she’s never heard. “Forget what you knew before. Your life is here now, and your name is Kin.”

Breathtaking – words, words, and finally the accompaniment.

“And yours?”

“Kabuto.”

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coda - fin

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