Romans & histoires Sound Of Silence Voice

His voice dropped, low and threatening. "You hit me? You've got a death wish, Nissa." Tears spilled from her eyes as she sobbed soundlessly, like a kitten's whimper. But that only ended up fueling Benjamin's fire. As always, he forced her to turn over, burying her face into the pillow. No matter how she resisted, he did not stop. Just then, his phone rang, loud and insistent. Annoyed, Benjamin answered with a sharp tone, "What?"

"With cameras on every corner, Charles won't be able to hide for long. He's bound to be caught any minute now." Olivia had barely hung up when a loud knock rattled my door. I did not bother opening it. Instead, I peered through the digital peephole and saw the unmistakable silhouette. "Charles, I can see you out there. Don't mess up again. Turn yourself in, and maybe you can get a second chance," I called out. The knocking grew fiercer as Charles heard me. He was cursing up a storm, but I tuned him out, still pushing for him to give up.

For the first time in my life, I made a sound. I had a voice!

It did not sound human. It sounded like crushed glass, hoarse and ugly, scraping raw and bloody against my vocal cords. The physical pain of using my voice was blinding, burning my throat like swallowed fire. I had not meant to speak. The sound simply ripped its way out of my body. Killian froze completely. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second. The shock of hearing my voice actually broke his composure. He stared at my mouth, completely taken off guard, the silence in the room suddenly stretching out into something vast and deadly.

The Weaver of Sorrows stepped back, her glass form cracking under the pressure of the dark energy. ​“It is too much,” she groaned. “The cathedral cannot hold against the weight of the Star’s hunger. The Loom will be choked before the first stitch is finished.” ​“No,” I said, though I had no voice. My intent rippled through the air, a command of pure shadow. “I am the Silence. And the silence is where the noise goes to die.”

He stopped himself. Her face changed. After a pause, she whispered, "Raiyan, don't." The words were a soft, jagged blade. She didn't raise her voice, but the sound of it cut through the bass of the lounge music like a physical strike. Raiyan froze. The words he had been about to say — the raw, pathetic admission that her silence had been louder than the noise of the trial — died in his throat.

In a different room. A different life. A speaker made a crackling noise. Static filled the silence. Then a voice. Calm. Deep. One she knew. “You took your time.” Seraphina made a small, broken sound. Silas looked at them. “Who is that?” Neither sister answered. They stared at the screen like kids who opened a door they were told never to touch. The voice kept going. Gentle. Almost like he was smiling. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come back here on your own.”

The silence it left was the loud kind. Then it started again, from the same point, with the same rhythm, and the cold that moved through the flat was not the cold from the broken window. I stood up. I looked at the door. “Show yourself,” I said, into the flat’s silence. Not loudly. The specific volume of someone speaking to something they know can hear them regardless of volume. “If you have a purpose here, show yourself.” The knocking stopped. The silence returned. And in the silence, from somewhere beyond the door but inside the building, a sound reached me that was not knocking and was not footsteps and was not any of the things the night had been producing.

Suddenly, just then, the power died, and darkness swallowed the room whole. Clarissa gasped sharply. I felt her hand reach through the dark, pressing against my arm, then sliding up to my chest. She was trembling. Her breath hitched against me, warm and uneven, grounding me in a moment that felt painfully fragile. Static crawled through the air, low at first, then building like a swarm of insects behind the walls. And then the voice came, coming from everywhere all at once. Every wall, every vent, every hidden speaker embedded in the ceiling vibrated with that distorted tone; a voice with no gender, no warmth, no humanity. A voice filtered through too many layers of technology, stripped of s