Her Voice

Rhys reclined on his foot. He watched the scene unfold with a mixture of guilt to and admiration. He heard her voice as it flew through the air. It was loud and clear. It showed him the ones she ran from, the ones she wanted to forget, and the ones she loved. It was the story that she struggled to tell him, and he understood her perfectly. She wanted the works to be seen, yet they were all ignored.

As she sang, something shifted within him. With each verse, her voice grew stronger and more resolute, as if finding its footing on uncertain ground. It soared and dipped, rising like a dove from the pieces of her despair.

Then there was a moment of pure clarity. The moment when he realised that her voice was her instrument—the melody and harmony of her soul. This was all she needed.

Sophie was not mute; she was not disabled; each note confirmed that. She was strong and powerful, and her voice was the deadliest weapon she had. He smiled as he thought of Eliana. If she ever saw this, sh