MaroonSorrow: I have positive reviews! Thank you very much! *bows* This my first Fanfiction ever! I was wondering whether or not to make this a three part thing, as had originally been planned, or whether to make it longer. I might do something on the real reason Legato cherishes and comes to idolize Knives, ( not really slash, but if you ask for it...?) This isn't going to be a romance though! It was never meant to be one! Also, in the first chapter, Legato is supposedly about seven.

THANK YOU REVIEWERS!!

Apple: Yeah, I try to avoid stereotypes when possible. If you can't tell, I I'm a huge Legato fan too!! ^_^

Yma : Yes, there'll be more... How much more depends on what the readers tell me. Irony is fun, don't you think?

Sephiroth1ripley8: Thank you! * eyes grow to the size of saucers* The next chapter should explain a lot...

Phychotic Llama: I have trouble writing long chapters for some reason :P

Black mist, empty and dark but somehow comforting and familiar...? Legato's mind was regressed so far, he couldn't register that his mind was vague, everything was so indistinct that he could not even worry or process a single thought, he just felt an awareness of movement: traveling without once moving. As if the silence had wrapped itself around his body and then grown, until the quiet was a living thing, and he was inside of it. In this forlorn fog, a static awareness slowly spread through the dim mist of his mind as his destination approached. Then, Legato was lying in the drab bed he had loathed all his life, feeling awareness creep behind his eyelids as he floated to the top of a immeasurable well. As his eyelids fluttered, the half thoughts of the place he had been were indisputably erased by the rough texture of the sheet, the smell of neglect, the hollow aura of the stagnant, lifeless room devoured by shadowed corners.

~~~~~~~Ch.2 Resonating Dark

In the room I have spent the entirety of my existence in, there is not a shred of life, shred of my " heart" should I have one. I have heard, from the visitors to this room though, that it and I have much of the same aura to us, one of disrepair. This room inspires prostitutes to philosophize, children to fear, animals and priests to die, and to me... it is nothing, a hated place, like the rest of the world. In this room I have listened to the maddened voices screaming from all directions, in this room I have screamed forever, the voices of a hundred people resonating in my mind, demanding to be heard. Locked in this room as a child, I was forced to sit here, my brain an open doorway for the passing thoughts of anyone to invade. Hour on days upon years I sat here, living three hours for everyone that passed. Now, I can still hear them, I know them so well, the dregs of humanity, which is nothing but dregs!, their thoughts no longer madden me, for I have learned all there is to know about them, I have mastered the art of thinking and listening. I believe my brain has adjusted, because I am insane now, I imagine. How could I not be, knowing everything that a hundred know, and never forgetting it?

As I know of humans, if I were a different child, I would be unable to speak, to write, to understand ... anything, for I have not been let out of this room unless it was for some punishment since my birth. I have crafted my understanding out of the words and writing in the brains of others. The ignorant bitches who run this hovel dare to assume that I have received my knowledge from that the devil, they whisper of me in dank corners where they assume I can not here them. " There are things on Heaven and Earth not dreamt of in your Philosophy..." I learned that quote when a wealthy patron stopped by one night, as is my custom, I scanned his brain.... that night I learned of Literature. And now, that I have learned to concentrate my mind so that I may hear in far away places, this room no longer imprisons me as it once did. I have wandered into the mind of many a librarian and spent a pleasant? hour there. Desecration of the word, to say that I am happy.

Having had spent forever and a few hours in " my " room, I have thought of just about every problem I know of, found a solution, and moved on. In the beginning, when I was just four or five, I would wonder about my parentage, deluding myself with idle dreams, until the day I was listening on a cooking woman talking of her own " mysterious " heritage. It was then I realized how pathetic I was behaving. Since that day, I have learned more and come to a different conclusion then I had then, for now, I can distance my emotions. Mine is the cold calculated kind of madness, I believe, rather like a serial killer, planning with utmost cool, his next murder. There is one crucial difference between me the serial killer though, I have none of the emotions that drive him. There is no room for such emotions in this empty room of mine. Though the murderer may believe that he has distanced himself, he has not. He has not erased him emotions, just buried them under a thin layer of bravado, righteousness or anger.

I murdered several men today. I feel no regret. I wonder, if I screamed this thing, silence, at the beating hearts of every person in this harem, would they die? Today's experience has opened up a whole new field of thought, but particularly, there is one more thing in this room today. Silence, or at least its memory... I remember, I never could comprehend that word.

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* Legato... Legato. Legato! Are you listening to me?* My mother pasted an serene face on. * But mother, I still don't understand...* Silence is the sound when there is no sound! The sound that you won't let me hear!" * But how can there be no sound? How can there be a noise that is no noise-* Legato ... shut up! * ... and we waited. * Do you hear that? Hear it, silence? * I replied, * I hear your heartbeat, the cook talking, the fact that you say I'm simple and that I ..." my mother was looking at me with panic in her eyes. That was the day I understood that reading thoughts is not a endowment everyone has.

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On that day, I came to the conclusion that my " talent " was not at all inherited from my mother. Therefore, it must be the blood of my father that ran rampant in my blood. As fallows, my father must not be human, because if my blood, diluted with my mothers human impurity was still enough to elevate me above all the other humans I know, than my fathers blood could not be of a human bloodline. So all my problems derive from this beginning, father. You disappeared and relinquished me to indifference, condemning me to insanity, taking with you any answers you might have had. As I came to this conclusion, well satisfied with myself, I then perceived the first stirrings of an cold outrage in my heart. There will be a reckoning for this, Father, count on it.

MS: This feels like a " filler" chapter... Ugh. I felt like my premise needed explaining, so... I didn't just want to say " At the time of this story.... blah, blah " Please review!