The Loom of the Unspoken (Fragment)

Fragment

[CHORUS] The silvered hush that binds the breath, the gap where the spirit dwells between the cry and the echo. See how the loom drinks the air: indigo threads of forgetting, gold filaments of a name once known. The shuttle flies not through wool, but through the hollows of the throat. It weaves the stillness of the grave into the fabric of the living, binding the unspoken into a weight that pulls the tongue downward. A garment of void, a shroud of the unsaid, draped now over the shoulders of the city. The air grows thick with the ghosts of words that died before they could be born. [MNEMOSYNE] Cease the shuttle, Weaver. You have mistaken the void for a canvas. You have stolen the intervals, the necessary pauses that allow a soul to breathe between its thoughts. You have bound the silence into a knot that cannot be untied. [WEAVER] I only wished to capture the truth that lives in the pause. The things we cannot say are the only things worth keeping. Look at the cloth: it is a map of every secret kept in this city. [MNEMOSYNE] Beauty is not the absence of sound. It is the choice of which word to keep. By weaving the silence, you have made it a predator. It does not merely hold the secrets; it hungers for the speech that remains. [WEAVER] The cloth is... it is heavy. I can feel the words sliding away. I cannot remember the word for the color of the sea. [MNEMOSYNE] The shroud is complete. The void you invited into the thread has now invited itself into your mind. You have woven a wall between your heart and your lips. [WEAVER] The... sea... the blue... it is gone. [MNEMOSYNE] Now the city forgets how to ask. Now the city forgets how to plead. [WEAVER] I... can... not... [MNEMOSYNE] Listen to the silence. It is the only thing you have left to say. [WEAVER] ...