|
ooc: A little something for TAO.
Sombra
There will be no moon tonight and she would sing of the absence of its light. But the pain within her throat will not allow the raising of even the simplest of words above a whisper. Song – even that is denied her. Despite her power, despite that additional power which she has seized from the Other, that power which too is hers by right, the wound in her throat, the wound which left her gasping and vulnerable – VULNERABLE! – refuses to be healed by any magic that is hers to command. And so the sky will be black this night, devoid of light, beautifully vacant, wondrously still and terribly empty, and she will be silent.
Her features, still not fully tangible but verging upon a genuine fullness, contort into a soundless snarl. The humiliation is great. Greater than the pain. But a pain so great as this is also a sign, a sign that hers is now a life of no small substance for the immaterial can not be so wounded. And if her substance is so real as this pain would indicate then the Other’s substance must indeed be greatly diminished. Her expression grows thoughtful. It will be some days yet before her voice returns, and these days will be spent in silence. But neither these days nor this silence will be wasted. Her voice will raise no song to the stark and black emptiness of the sky this night, but a song will sound in her heart, a wordless song of defiant hatred, and soon enough the song within her heart will find voice in the pain of the Other.
|