Stolen Tongues の小説・ストーリー

It was the guard’s report from the dungeon. The report that said Thalia Thorne had been speaking the first tongue in her sleep. The ancient, forbidden language that no ordinary twenty-two-year-old girl from a random pack should even know existed. My hand subconsciously moved up, my fingers brushing against my chest through the fabric of my coat to make sure the paper was still there. Rowan stopped talking mid-sentence. The old elder blinked his cloudy eyes, staring straight down the table at me. The entire room suddenly went dead silent.

Their feet were glued to the sturdy wooden surface beneath, and all they could do was watch and pray, and not a word could dare a rebel from them. "Where do I begin my day's lecture?" He gave the woman mumbling a scream a deep eeky look, sending every once of liquid in her to ripple. "Yes! Your loud mouth got you into this, so --" He jetted his hand between her lips, into her mouth, crushing her jaw bones. "-- I'll take care of that first." And yanked out her tongue, detaching it. The blood from the wiggling tongue as he lifted it above his head, channelled down, fiercely running to his elbow. He shot his lips over his arm, and ran his tongue with the rails the sprinting red beaded liquid ma

“I know you would.” For a heartbeat, the forest noise dulled. Just them — breath, pulse, and the faint gold reflection of her eyes in the dark. Then the ground beneath their feet vibrated again, faint but insistent. They ran. As they disappeared into the mist, the runes dimmed to red and black, the faint outline of words forming across the stone — a language older than prayer: “Balance was never broken. It was stolen.”

My fingers dug into his collar as I pinned him. He stared at me with hollow, sunken eyes. No fear, no answer. “I’ll let you go if you talk,” I said, my vision tunneling, my head spinning dangerously. Still nothing. I slammed my fist into his face, once, twice, until blood splattered, and his mouth fell open in a silent scream. That’s when I saw it. I froze. There was no tongue, just a butchered stub. A chill slid down my spine. Was he born like that? But no it doesn't seem natural. Someone carved it out, a cruel silence forced upon him? A method to ensure loyalty or eliminate betrayal?

I cannot speak. The Alpha crouches down beside me, grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking my head back. His face is inches from mine. His breath smells like coffee and cruelty. "Forty-eight hours," he says. "You have forty-eight hours to come up with the money. All of it. Plus the penalty interest. And if you don't..." He glances toward the apartment door. "We'll come back for the little one. And trust me, sweetheart—we won't be gentle with her either. She'll fetch a nice price at the auction. Young, unmarked, fresh. The buyers love that."

In the darkness of the screen, I saw my reflection—blurred, tired, and nothing like the person I used to be. … At breakfast the next morning, Andrew came over with a bowl of clam chowder, wearing a practiced smile. "Ed, try this. It's really good." "No, thanks." I turned him down gently. However, he pushed it toward me anyway. Suddenly, his foot slipped, sending the scalding chowder spilling all over my thigh as the bowl shattered across the floor. A patch of angry red instantly bloomed on my skin. I sucked in a sharp breath from the pain.

Mr Smith’s keen eyes scanned hers as the other men kept whispering in a foreign language; she bit her lips in frustration; were they plotting to avenge him now? “Was it you?” Mr Smith said to her and she nodded in affirmation. He let out a frustrated sigh “We wouldn't be getting out of here alive; that is what they are discussing; fortunately, I am multilingual.” Two strong men came out of the room with the general’s corpse on their sturdy shoulders. Diane's eyes widened, he was already looking pale as if his blood had been drained. Mr Smith put his hand by his side, and Diane knew he was ready for the worst that was to come.

“You will lose your tongue, to prevent any future manipulation or deceit. As in, your tongue will be cut off and that will happen today. So, say whatever you want to say.” Malcolm's face contorted in horror. "No, Lucien, please!" he begged, his voice shaking. "I'll be a better person, I swear. Spare my tongue, and I'll do anything. Not my tongue, please.” He fell to his knees, his hands clasped together in supplication. "Please, Lucien, have mercy! I'll do anything, just don't take away my voice. I'll be nothing without it. You know it's all I've got left, please.”

Olivia says with a high-pitched voice. "I'm nervous and I'm just doing this for the money and not because I love to be here," Rita roared into her friend's ear. The noise is making it difficult for them to hear each other. "I understand but you really can't turn back now". "I know and on second thought, I'll stop this once I've gotten sufficient cash to start up a business." They head to the bartender who offers them a cocktail and they sip, waiting for a man who'll walk up to them. The noise around the counter is less and easy to hear each other. As Rita is about to say something, a husky voice spoke up,

“I warned you all! I will not be second-guessed! My word is law! And yet three times this pathetic man pushed against it – an offense for which he will pay with his insolent tongue!” Horror presses me back against my throne as Mahl presses his fingers raw into the ambassador’s mouth. The man screams as Mahl presses down, forcing his jaw open. His mouth spreads too wide. The sickening crack of bones and teeth sounds in the room the moment before Mahl reaches inside the gaping, bloody hole and seizes the tongue, ripping it out. Screams erupt in the room and I whimper, terror seizing me, making it impossible to move. People scatter, Vendans rushing forward to pull their ambassador away. Mahl le