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He Doesn’t Play Music; He Rewrites You - Comm by Daxl
The first thing one noticed about him was not the color.
Nor the flowers, untouched by time, resting against his chest. Not the gold threaded through fabric too deliberate to be called ornament.
It was the silence.
He did not fill it.
He held it.
Fingers resting lightly upon the strings, not in hesitation—but in choice. A harp, perhaps. Though in his hands, it had never been just that.
Once, they had called him to courts.
Not to play—but to decide.
A note, placed carefully, and a doubt would take root. A chord, and a certainty would falter. Kings had listened, though few ever realized when the story had stopped being theirs.
That was long ago.
Now, there was no court. No crown. No need.
And yet—
His hand moved.
A single note.
It did not travel. It settled.
Somewhere, far beyond him, something shifted. A thought reconsidered. A feeling returning where it did not belong.
He tilted his head, listening—not to the sound, but to what it became.
“…Still listening,” he murmured.
Of course.
They always were.
Another note followed.
Not a melody.
An opening.
And that was enough
Little narration belongs to me
Commission made by the one and only
, an excercise of him depicting me as a bard. I think I probably belong to the College of Lore. Who knows?
Hope you like the piece
With love
Jomagaher
Nor the flowers, untouched by time, resting against his chest. Not the gold threaded through fabric too deliberate to be called ornament.
It was the silence.
He did not fill it.
He held it.
Fingers resting lightly upon the strings, not in hesitation—but in choice. A harp, perhaps. Though in his hands, it had never been just that.
Once, they had called him to courts.
Not to play—but to decide.
A note, placed carefully, and a doubt would take root. A chord, and a certainty would falter. Kings had listened, though few ever realized when the story had stopped being theirs.
That was long ago.
Now, there was no court. No crown. No need.
And yet—
His hand moved.
A single note.
It did not travel. It settled.
Somewhere, far beyond him, something shifted. A thought reconsidered. A feeling returning where it did not belong.
He tilted his head, listening—not to the sound, but to what it became.
“…Still listening,” he murmured.
Of course.
They always were.
Another note followed.
Not a melody.
An opening.
And that was enough
Little narration belongs to me
Commission made by the one and only
, an excercise of him depicting me as a bard. I think I probably belong to the College of Lore. Who knows? Hope you like the piece
With love
Jomagaher
Category All / Fantasy
Species Gecko
Size 2098 x 2000px
File Size 1.82 MB
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