Sweetest Silent SongHe sits in the window that shows the view most like Heaven with an empty book in his lap, stroking it like an inconsolable child. Silent.
I have never had the words to comfort or express. My language has always been that of clashing spears and cold hard coordinates; I can mimic the masters of pathos when it serves me well, but when it comes to speaking my own true emotions I am as dumb as the butt of a spear. Any elegance I may have, I learned from him.
Once I had the honor of belonging to the sweetest song in Hell.
And now that voice is silenced, perhaps forever. The gash across his throat boasts itself like a second mouth mocking the uselessness of the first. The memory of seeing him take it will forever drown out the rest of the battle; the blood of the one who inflicted it has long been washed from my hands into oblivion, but the consequences remain.
His pen is just as silent now. He no longer writes, for with no ability to reproduce the music or narrate he composes all j