Iron

Kayla's used to the silence now. The first few years were the hardest, when she was still scared of everything, when sometimes she had to bite her own hands to keep from screaming. Her parents were concerned, sending her to doctor after doctor in the hopes of 'fixing' her. It wouldn't work, but she couldn't tell them that, couldn't explain that this had been her choice, her sacrifice. Eventually, they stopped trying, falling into the assumption that she'd talk when she wanted to, learned sign language so they'd still be able to talk with her.

They couldn't make her feel safe though, not anymore. Nox made her feel safe. When she'd wake up in the middle of the night to find them pressed against the salt line, hissing and cursing at her, Nox would be there. She'd be glaring out at them, tough as nails, but she'd have a gentle hand resting on Kayla, anchoring her, holding her to her promise. All Kayla would have to do is roll over and she'd be able to sleep.

Sometimes, Nox would show up in the daytime, just a shadow in the corner of her room. She'd talk to Kayla while she worked, voice neither here nor there, just a steady echo in the background. She liked it when Nox showed up; Nox understood her instantly, she didn't have to fumble through the awkward signs like she did whenever she talked to anyone else. Nox told her things, helped her with the stuff more important than her math homework or her history paper. Nox taught her about the stuff Rosie wrote down in that notebook, taught her what they meant and how to stop them.

As Kayla grew older, Nox grew stronger. They couldn't get as close to her bed anymore, some nights not even showing up. Nox didn't have to stay in the shadows anymore, usually lying on Kayla's bed as she talked. On Kayla's sixteenth birthday, she came home from school to find Nox standing in the centre of her room, solid and real even in the afternoon light. Before she could make even the tiniest of noises, Nox had a hand pressed over her mouth, shushing her back to the silence she hadn't even broken. And she never disappeared again, hid out in Kayla's room like it was no real hardship.

If Nox looked like anything other than what she did, Kayla might've thought that she'd imagined her. A delusion used to cope with the disappearance of her sister, like her silence. But Nox was taller than her, whip-cord thin, covered in tattoos and piercings that Kayla'd never seen, and her hair was a constant changing blend of white, black, and purple. Nox was her own person, and Kayla was always glad for that. That meant what she saw--no matter how scary--was real. That meant her sister was real. That meant her sister stood a chance of coming back.

There was only one thing Nox ever seemed to regret. She operated on a sarcastic and biting level during the day, poking at every bit of Kayla's life like there was no such thing as personal privacy; at night, it was different. At night, if they showed up, Nox would tangle a hand in her hair and apologize. For not being quicker, for not giving up on her cursed pride sooner. For not being able to stop it. They never talked about in the day, but at night Nox would murmur apologies long after Kayla'd fall asleep, curled around with her head pillowed on Nox's thigh.

Kayla didn't mind the silence now. She's spent thirteen years, over two thirds of her life, silent. She can make herself understood, via her own hands or Nox's sometimes colourful transcriptions. She never opens her mouth to laugh before remembering she can't anymore, doesn't sigh or hum.

It's not the silence that scares her now. It's what happens when she looses control, when she lets loose her voice, that does more than scare her nowadays. It downright terrifies her.

AN: Written 08.02.19
Went to the Book Barn today, picked up a chunk of folklore books. Got randomly inspired, and ran with it.

Kayla and Nox are the main characters from NaCl, but this is a side story so here it is.