Oct 24, 2001
by BlackRose
They used to say that he hummed his prophecies. That his voice could entrance. Spell singer. Words that pierced through a man's soul, breathed on sweet tune and whisper. That Mullenkamp's legacy lived on in his veins and found life on his lips.
I have never heard him hum. I have certainly never heard him sing. His voice is first in his arsenal of weapons, before knife, before sword, before the wicked blades that curve from his fingertips. It can be anything that he needs of it - sharp, cutting, low and smooth, harsh, piercing, mocking, sweet, laughing, angry. Anything at all. But I have never heard it raised in any kind of song.
To them he gave his music, prophecies hummed like arias. To me he gives only words and silence, but I have learned the scales hidden within them.
