A/N: I was standing by my locker in school, on my way to my Swedish-class, and then I had this idea. It felt magical. On the other hand, everything feels magical right now, 'cause I HAVE A FAKE-SKELETON-HAND IN MY LOCKER! I know what it feels like to hold Skulduggery's hand… It feels beautiful!
Disclaimer: I don't own Skulduggery Pleasant, Derek Landy does. Oh, the jealousy…
The Sound Of Silence.
One day, out of the blue, he was used to the silence. He never expected that day to come. For two-hundred years, even in war, he'd woken up dreading, but waiting nonetheless, for the moment when her voice would call for him. And every morning he had sighed with disappointment, feeling that never-leaving ache in his chest when it didn't.
She wasn't one of those people who just talked and talked because they dreaded the silence. She had been an almost strangely energetic woman. She had loved art and music, and she'd always had some song to play or a picture to paint. She had been so different. His exact opposite, if you didn't look close enough. She was a mortal, so weak to his kind, and he was a powerful Adept, feared by most.
He thought about the many times he had told her about the enemies he had made, about the evil that lived within his own body. But she had smiled – he would always remember that bright smile, even if he lived to be a thousand – and told him that he didn't need to worry, that she was a grown woman and could take care of herself.
He had tried to leave her, countless times. He had tried to tell himself that she was better off without him, because he was dangerous. But she had held a power over him that was greater than any spell. A mortal woman had wiped away all of his willpower, simply by sighing in her sleep. And all of his wishes to leave were disbanded on the day that he still counted as the happiest in his life. He could still remember it so clearly, every freckle on her face.
He'd woken up, blinking against the sun that flowed in through the uncovered windows. Drawn curtains usually meant that she was up, but he let his hand wander across the sheets next to him anyway, just to make sure. It was empty. For some reason, one he'd never know, she liked to get up early and wander about the house, before she lay back down next to him.
He turned back around to face the window, not expecting to hear her arrival.
As predicted, he didn't, and a few moments later he felt the mattress bounce as she jumped onto it, before she lay down and he wrapped his arms around her.
"What was with the delay? You're usually here before I wake up." He had asked as she made herself comfortable.
Cinnamon-coloured eyes had met his, and her face had lit up with joy. She leaned up to his ear, whispered "I'm pregnant" and pressed a kiss against his temple.
He smiled where he lay, watching the ceiling, just like he had when she told him. She died a month later. She had been shot by a mugger on her way to the grocery-store. When the mortal police told him, he had almost started to laugh instead of cry. She had a sorcerer for a husband. A mage. Someone who could perform powerful, destructive magic. And she was killed by a mugger. He had tracked him down, of course. His Gist ripped the despicable little man into ribbons.
The first year had been horrible. He had stayed in the house, unwilling to leave the place where he had been met with warm smiles instead of terrified looks. He had thought about her every minute of every day, as well as the baby. He still wondered if it would've been a boy or a girl, if it would've looked like him or her, or a mix of them both. He imagined it with her freckles, regardless of its gender.
After thirteen months, he had walked out of the house without a word. The only thing he'd brought was a picture of her, the only one he had, where she looked far more elegant than she'd ever been.
He had heard about the war against Mevolent, and he had wished to help, but he was unable to leave her. Now that she was gone, he joined the Resistance. He met his fellow Dead Men, and they were like her, in a way. They didn't treat him like the monster he held within.
When Skulduggery's wife and child died, he sympathized with him in silence. He understood, but he told no one. She was his secret, something sacred that he hid deep within.
After The War he had tired of all the corruption that ensued when the Sanctuaries fought for their areas, and so he had created a haven, unbound by society's rules. His one rule, however, had been inspired by her. She had been a strong pacifist, and so he decided to avoid violence the best he could.
He had an artist repaint her portrait on a bigger scale, and had it put on the wall above his bed, and then The Midnight Hotel was opened. It gained popularity, if that's what you could call it, and soon there wasn't a day when it was empty. And yet it was lonesome. The people who checked in quickly turned into one big blur of faces, and life became monotonous.
Although he may have gotten used to the silence, he definitely missed the noise.
A/N: I'm in an angsty kind of mood right now. I don't know why. I would seriously appreciate reviews on this, I want to know if I pulled Shudder off. I'm also very proud of the fact that I wrote this without mentioning his name, for some reason…