Where Words End [Inactive]

[Nocebo]

Nocebo submitted a new role play:


Where Words End - Music is the strongest form of magic

Set in a parallel universe where music is given life and shape. Rather than just hearing music you can see and touch it, and the form/personality it takes on depends on the feel of the music itself. For example, a song with lots of raunchy guitar and drums may take on the form of a strong, muscular man but quick, orchestral music may take on a the form of a small bird. This magic called music is at the center of the worlds culture. Composers are treated like royalty and musicians make up the...

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[Nocebo]

"I'm canceling the match today."


The other man curled his lips back in surprise. He gnashed the teeth that were bared behind them as he spoke.


"What the hell!? You can't do that!"


"I can" Jeremy interjected "The weather today is too arid. I can't play like this; I'll break a string, or my fingerboard will come loose."


A vein jumped at the mans temple. His annoyance had clearly amplified and it continued to build upon the minutes in Jeremy's presence. It wasn't uncommon for other contestants to harbor contempt for him. His violin gave him an advantage from the get-go, and his attitude stuck out the same way his instrument did among the synthesizers.


"Who cares!?" The man said with exasperation. "You have the upper hand in the first place anyway. This will even the score."


Jeremy swallowed back a mouthful of bitter words. He knew his opponent wasn't going to let him go just by a few retorts. The man had caught him in a compromising situation; it was his biggest chance to defeat the "Screaming Stray."


"Alright, Fine. I'll play you." said Jeremy, squaring his shoulders. He unslung the violin case strapped around him before tenderly setting it down. Jeremy moved without fumbling, working from the muscle memory of each match's beginning. When he flicked the case's locks open, it was like flicking a switch within the crowd. They coagulated into a more proper audience, rather then their former semblance of loiterers and the lost.


The other man had started setting up as well; the unmistakable pieces of a synthesizer placed around him. The technology was simplistic but preformed its sole duty without a hitch. It's dull, reflection-less metal looked somehow pitiful.


It took Jeremy quite some tuning to get his instrument adjusted. He worked the pegs left and right and listened for the right sound, secretly bemused with the thought of himself as a lock-pick. Once satisfied he propped the violin upon the nook of his shoulder.


"Ready?" Asked the other man from across the lot. He sat crouched on the balls of his feet, ready to run the program.


"Yeah" said Jeremy, positioning himself to play.


The air in front of him began to shiver as Jeremy drew the first note with his bow. By the first measure of the the song, the air had seemingly warped and bent into the form of a dog sized feline. Similarly, the form of a bear had manifested itself from Jeremy's opponent's music. These beings the music had given life, were opaqued and their outlines undulating. They moved and pulsed to the tempo.


Jeremy's cat stalked forward with each low, whole-note that reverberated over his strings. At the pickup in Jeremy's song, the feline sprang; launching itself with an explosive force of energy. It barraged the bear in a fury of teeth and claws for every staccato note played. Jeremy's opponent had reached the refrain of his song but every beat was abortive; the violin rang higher and clearer. The bear swung obtusely at empty space.


Jeremy thrust his bow upwards with more power than previously to play the final note. He had expected this to land the finishing blow but his feline stumbled; the note that Jeremy played was out of tune. Without noticing it his strings had been slipping from the weather, and went flat. He had no choice but to reach around for the pegs while he continued to bow haphazardly. He had clamped the violin between his head and shoulder to keep it from falling, but it slid out of position while readjusting the strings.


Jeremy's opponent exploited his shortcoming with little hesitation, the bear pinned Jeremy's cat in a matter of seconds. Jeremy had only one string tuned at the time but he swung his violin back into proper position, and began to slide his finger up and down in a cogent glissando. The feline simultaneously raked its claws along the bears underside, and used it's hind legs to kick off and away from it. This time, the final note was a connected between the feline's fangs and the bears throat. Jeremy's cat tore through where the jugular would have been.


The shape of the bear began to distort; fracturing and fading. It was now silent, lest the sound of the synthesizer's unremitting error signal. No blood was spilled, but the victor was obvious. Jeremy remained undefeated in the Chord.

 

[Ashmorne]

The night outside was dark as Arielle stole away from her family's villa. She looked down at her plain dress, different from what her family usually wore. Yes, this was the clothing she secretly purchased to disguise her status. She adjusted the black dress's bodice, and pulled her cloak about her shoulders. Covering her hair, she walked down the alley ways till she got to her destination. Worry left her mouth with a bitter taste, but all that faded away when she reached The Chord. The air crackled with anticipation, and her heart longed to hear the first note shatter the tension in the air.


She waited in the audience casually, blending in. She gazed at the opponents, bright eyes analyzing. Tonight, The Screaming Stray played. Arielle's eyes widened as she watched him then his legendary violin. She navigated her way to the front of the crowd. She had been coming to The Chord long enough to know that he was the best.


The match began, and she watched with bright eyes. Notes pierced the air, and she clasped her hands as she got lost in the music. The Screaming Stray, whose name she heard was Jeremy, moved with an out of place graces. In the end,agile violinist had won with a bit of effort...his instrument only slightly out of tune. She clapped her hands, but her ears missed the tune of the violin's tender voice.


She gazed a moment in the clamor of the win, as she stood still.


This, she thought, what could be better than this? Arielle looked up, violet eyes flickering, unable to turn her gaze away from the stage where such beautiful music had made a home.

 

[Nocebo]

Jeremy exhaled a sigh, and with it fled all the tension in his muscles. He had not realized the fact that he was clenching his jaw until he relaxed himself. It continued to throb dully as Jeremy finished tuning and packed up his instrument.


Jeremy knew if he were to look, his eyes would met those of his glowering opponent's; he could feel them boring into his skin. And if he were to focus his ears and listen, he would hear the methodology and numerals of the bets transpiring around him. Jeremy however had no interest in those things. He simply awaited his prize money, idly thumbing the strap of his violin case. Just moments before Jeremy had stood in the same spot as his music transpired over the court. The audience's eyes and ears on him. But now, Jeremy felt extrinsic. He did not like to linger long after a match, for although he wanted to be recognized the limelight did not shine gold. Jeremy did not need, or crave, the attentions of others to thrive. He merely sought the proper footing in public domain to acquire an influence.


Jeremy clicked his tongue before turning around and trudging into the crowd. Even without his violin case forcefully nosing itself between people, most moved out of the way for Jeremy. Whether this was an act of respect or disdain he did not know. His best guess, was probably both. All Jeremy was focused on was finding the match's referee. Sure, the prize money for winning a Chord match was nothing close to an upperclassman's fortune but in the slums citizens could barely make ends met as they scraped by on minimum wage let alone wish to save up enough to cross the border out of the slums. To Jeremy every cent counted as a step closer to reaching his father.

 

[Ashmorne]

As crowd began dispersing after the final Chord match, she lowered her eyes and readjusted her hood. No one could recognize her here. Her father did not approve of a young girl going to the Chord, a place filled with betting, fighting, and roughness. She had to hide her tell tale Shahar hair and violet eyes. She kept her eyes on the ground as she scurried away, watching her feet go one step in front of the other. Her mind was filled with thoughts of violin notes, how they soothed her tensions.


She understood the voice of it. The only other time she felt this at peace was when her fingers fluttered over the keys of her family's piano...alone. When she was not confined to the restrictions of the sheet music selected for her. Her thoughts took on interesting routes, and she became lost in her own mind. She was moving fast, rushing to leave the crowds before anyone recognized her. Moving so absentmindedly, she tripped on her feet, colliding into the another person also traveling quickly. She stumbled back, hood falling back, startled by the impact. Her purse fell on the ground, and she hurried to pick it up. Peering up, she embarrassedly looked to see the who she had collided into. The Screaming Stray, the talented violinist stood next to her. She felt a blush coloring her face as her eyes widened a bit. She curtsied low, lowering her gaze.


"I- I am sorry," she spoke softly. "I should've watched where I was going,"

 

[Nocebo]

The crowd had begun to dissipate when The impact of a body suddenly threw Jeremy off course. He stumbled forwards a step, violin case clattering in protest. Looking back he saw the girl that had bumped into him. The force of their collision had caused her purse to fall, and her belongings to be strewn about. She peered up at him as she hurriedly gathered her things, her eyes a strikingly unique violet. Strikingly unique, but somehow familiar in a way Jeremy couldn't place. He did not entertain these thoughts for long however.


"I- I am sorry, I should've watched where I was going," she apologized softly and curtsied, seemingly flustered.


"No, it's alright" said Jeremy, mildly surprised. It was rare to behold such etiquette as a curtesy among the lowerclass, or at the very least such etiquette from an upperclassman to a lowerclassman such as himself. Though the way she was dressed suggested it was not the latter.


Jeremy spoke nothing more as he crouched down to retrieve a few stray objects and hand them back to her. He payed little attention to what he held in his hand but rather looked back into her violet eyes, this time noticing speckles of copper ornamenting the inner iris. He had a habit of meeting other's gazes dead on, but not in a manner that was intended to be intimidating or threatening.

 

[Ashmorne]

Arielle met his gaze, causing her to falter for a moment. He looked at her with a quiet intensity...not a look that she feared, but rather one that she admired. He looked at her as if he knew her, and that unsettled her just a bit. His eyes were the color of glacier ice...but not in anyway cold, just rather faraway. They stood in striking contrast of his dark hair and angular face.


This was Jeremy Hessi...the Screaming Stray whose music thoroughly enchanted her. She gazed at him a moment more, then blinked. Feeling a blush rise, she realized that she was indeed staring. Clearing her thoughts, she allowed a slow smile to spread on her face. She bowed her head slightly.


"Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but you are Jeremy Hessi, are you not?" she asked, tucking a stand of hair behind her ear. "I only ask because your music is quite captivating...natural, even,"


She clasped her hands in front of her, looking at him. Hopefully, he would not think her too forward. It was not every day you meet someone whose elegance in music was unparalleled. How he got to be so talented, she did not know. She faltered another moment, hoping he did not recognize her trademark Shahar features, hoping he would not realize her secret. Quelling her thoughts down, she stood patiently waiting for his reply.

 

[Amaru]

The speakeasy known as “The Treble Clef”, or, to locals, “the underworld” was a converted wine cellar that lived up to its nickname; crumbling ochre walls awash with widening coloured lights, from the candles quietly diminishing in their glass holders. The bar was an open secret, one of few places where music was played in the slums outside of The Chord, however it was an underworld in more than name. Smelling of urine, and a sticky floor that made stumbling more than a drunken preoccupation; a large bar of polished wood down one side stood out, almost ironically, as the only object of sophistication in the joint. It attracted a rough clientele who were now beginning to filter into the spacious cellar, Isidore sighed as she worked, washing down the spilt liquor (at least she hoped it was liquor) off the tables from the night before.


She overheard snippets of men and women as they brushed past, providing her with the news of the lands. “Best match yet! Thought he nearly ‘ad him then!” a burly man said as he stumbled into his equally unstable partner, before they steadied themselves, taking pieces of the wall with them. “And you see the Stray with that woman? Someones gonna get lucky tonight, eh?” they laughed and nudged each other. Grumbling she carried on her tasks, she’d never much liked The Chord, using such beauty to fight, but she still lamented the fact others were out enjoying their evening, whilst she was stuck here, in a cavern, cleaning stains glistening with substances far from polish. Unfortunately, on this, she and her grandfather agreed.


“A size contest, that’s all it is!” the old man called to anyone that would listen “If they wanna fight, let them use their fists like real men!” Isidore had been too absorbed in cleaning to watch him. Apparently he’d gotten into the whiskey again. Some of the fresh faces began to eye Caradoc with increasing bemusement. Before further harm could be done, she weaved her way through tables, groping hands, and impatient patrons beckoning more and more fervently for a refill. “Grandpa! Put that down,” she grabbed the glass and slammed it down on a nearby table, “what have I told you?” lines on her face, prematurely forming much to her dismay, furrowed in annoyance. He turned to her, red nosed and hazy eyed, “Who’re you?” he asked. Sighing, and lifting a calloused hand to her face, she assumed her usual position behind her grandfather, and lifted the old man out of his seat ignoring his protests. “Come on, lets get you to bed –I’ll be right back down,” she waived assistance from the barkeep, “I’ll manage. I always do” she said, the latter under her breath.


Escorting Caradoc up the stairs behind the bar, to their shared bedroom, she began to wonder if this was her lot in life. Serve rude guests. Serve rude grandfather. All for a pittance and a shared room with this drunken lout.The room was barely big enough to fit two beds in: dark woods, dusty, a single window that faced an alley, which was near-constantly denied sunlight. A single dresser and wardrobe sat as solemn spectators to the pitiful scene. And it was pitiful. Her only respite and solace now flittered through the air, almost a palpable atmosphere brewing around her. The band was setting up, sound checks with sharp notes and enlivening snippets of melodies. The instruments were poor, some out of tune, and mistakes were common place. But the energy the soulful or lively folk tunes imbued was mesmerising; the sole light and life she clung to. She decided to grab her guitar, a relic from her grandfather’s past, and see if she might join them later. The music, she thought, is why she stays. Music, she thought, is why she lived.

 

[Nocebo]

Jeremy knew to advert his eyes when he noted color rising to her face, cheeks dusted a shade of pink, still an air of silence quickly took its course in settling over their awkward exchange. Jeremy was set to bid a parting and break their stalemate when she spoke again.


"Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but you are Jeremy Hessi, are you not?" she asked him, fidgeting with a lock of hair. "I only ask because your music is quite captivating...natural, even,"


Jeremy felt a sense of delight at her praise. If there was anything that awoke his muted heart, it was his passion for music. His body however remained loyal, it revealed nothing of the gratification in her words. The girl had spoken his real name too. Obviously, she was not at the chord unprecedented, for most knew of Jeremy only by his alias. She must have been watching for a while.


When Jeremy looked back at her, a soft smile had highlighted her face. Oh, Jeremy thought, I recognize it now. Those eyes, that pigment. They belonged to that of his childhood memories; memories of an elderly man's aged knowledge and a young girl's brimming youthfulness. Their eyes held vitality of different breeds, but shone the same color lavender. His memories of the grandfather and granddaughter were hazy, like that of so much of his childhood but Jeremy remembered the elder as one of his former musical instructors. The man had come from a long lineage of pianists, but he was a gifted teacher. Clear and concise as he taught young Jeremy the basics of musicianship. These lessons were sometimes joint with those of the young girl's. Though Jeremy always had a naturally developed intonation, that man was the one who gave names to the notes in his head, and taught him the language of music. Even then Jeremy was committed to chasing the shadow of his father.


Jeremy revised his train of though, realizing he had let the gap of silence widen in his nostalgia.


"Yes, I am. Thank you." He paused before adding ", very much."

 

[Ashmorne]

He said nothing for moment, just looking at her for a small blip of time. He seemed to be thinking about something, or looked as though he was trying to figure something out.


"Yes, I am. Thank you." He seemed to choose carefully ", very much."


A shadow of recognition had fallen across his face just before he spoke, as though he knew who she was. Her breath stuck in her throat eyes widening, she could say nothing. Did he recognize her? She realized her hood had fallen when they collided, her obvious eyes and hair not shielded by anything. Her heart beat faster for a moment, though she stayed composed...no sense letting any of the worry that had begun to bubble within her mind come pouring out. If he saw, he saw. Blinking quickly, she nodded her head.


"Of course. It's not often you see that much talent here. And a real instrument is even rarer," she mused, using the little knowledge she had about the slums in her favor. She knew her words came out even, but she feared that he thought her words to be mere rambling. Her thoughts clicked, wondering if he knew of her identity. Wondering if it would matter. Her paranoia boiled in her belly. Why had she been so clumsy? And why had she allowed herself to linger? The lanterns on the street went up, darkness falling.


Great. Arielle thought to herself. In all my time going to the Chord, I might be recognized. And now, it's dark too. She held back a sigh at the thought of walking through the city alone in the quiet darkness once the crowds had dispersed. Usually she did not stay to the very end of the Chord, much less after. She began to steel herself walk back by herself, looking at Jeremy to see if he would say anything...hoping that she had not indeed annoyed and wasted the time of someone whose music she greatly admired.

 

[Nocebo]

The street-lamps suddenly sputtered to life, casting a yellowed hue of cheaply facilitated lighting over them and filling the air with a low buzzing like flies. Shadows contrasted the contours of Jeremy's face with the arrival of the new lambency. The becoming of night had taken him by surprise. It came without intermission, and Jeremy did not realize how quickly the time had passed.


The girl peered beyond him, looking uneasily beyond the street-lamp's small spotlight and into the slum's aphotic phase; a city painted with black ink. Did the thought of walking through the slums at night discomfort her? Or perhaps even it was the fact of being alone with himself that was discomforting. He shifted the strap of his violin case.


"Yes, I'm lucky to have it" He said in response to her musing, and added "Are you alright? Walking home that is..."


Jeremy's sentence trailed off to be lost in the darkness. He thought about showing her to the "Underworld", a bar nearby. Though Jeremy found it tacky at best, as he wasn't much for those sort of establishments, it had tired housing on its upper floor. Apart from the Chord it was one of the few places in the slums where music went about unchastened. Much of it was played upon little more than mâché instruments and threadbare strings but the feel was still there. The bar was open to anyone willing to dig deep enough and look hard enough to uncover its existence. But Jeremy had suddenly felt too forward. He wasn't unkind but he was often impersonal, the kind of person who didn't bother acquainting himself. Her presence however didn't put him off in the way that strangers did.

 

[Ashmorne]

"Are you alright? Walking home that is..." he asked, question in his voice.


"Oh, I suppose that I'll be fine. I'm just not used to walking the streets so late in the evening. I've never been here in this area after dark," she said with a small laugh.


Arielle looked back at Jeremy's face, realizing that she had been caught staring at the freshly-lit street lamps. She looked at him, he was fidgeting, adjusting the strap of his violin case. The yellow ambience of the lamps cast shadows on his face, giving his cool blue eyes a slight glow. She looked at him with a small smile. Arielle didn't spend time with too many boys, many of the high-born men close to her age so easily bored and irritated her. They were all the same, talking about politics and suit coats...devoid of deep passions, full of themselves, without regard for others.


This boy, however, this talented, intriguing musician...no, she would not mind spending time with him at all. He looked at her, his face losing some of the detached expression he was wearing. It made him seem familiar. Seeing him in this different light caused something in her mind to click.


Of course. She recalled her music lessons with her beloved grandfather. He was a patient man with her, teaching her expertly the art of piano. Out of her family, none of her 4 brothers had wanted to make the piano their specialty, all choosing different things. So the elderly Elan Shahar had taught Arielle his craft. They spent long hours together, learning, and enjoying each other's company. Yes, her grandfather understood her like no one else. She remembered that her lessons sometimes coincided with the violin lessons of a dark haired, blue eyed boy. A dark haired, blue eyed boy that she now realized the be Jeremy Hessi.


She felt her eyes widen, lips parting slightly. She put a hand to her chin. Could it be possible that he already had pinpointed her identity? The way the recognition had sparked on his face had confirmed her suspicions. Yes, she was sure of this.


"Say, I think we may have met before. Do you know an Elan Shahar?" she asked, wanting to confirm her theory.


Why was she talking so much? She almost regretted asking the moment it left her lips. Arielle didn't usually share things about herself. She liked to keep to herself, and observe...she wasn't known to blurt things. But something about Jeremy had made her comfortable enough to talk. She closed her mouth, there was no taking back her words now.

 

[Amaru]

“Quiet round here without the old man, where is he?” the barkeep said as Isidore came over, “hang on” he turned away, lifting himself heavily off the counter he’d been perched against, to serve the increasingly bustling place; the music was about to begin, Isidore could see the three musicians struggle to fit on the slightly elevated area in the opposite corner to the bar and door, as close to a stage as it got.


Two held haphazard string instruments that threatened to snap at any moment, long wooden boxes with wiring (stolen from some unfortunate household, she thought) strung across. The sound wasn’t too unpleasant, the musicians were amateurs amongst amateurs though. The two played in unison, plucking a jaunty tune as the third accompanied with a metal-tube fashioned pipe.


“You saw him earlier,” she called as the barkeep returned, as he eyed the entertainment with part-trepidation, part-humour. The musicians were trying desperately to impress, attempting a collage of colour to wash over those dancing or nearby, but instead managing haphazard spikes of unpredictable colours that struck out rather than wash over, much to the delight of the patrons; each acting a dramatic death when struck. “Anyway,” she continued, mirroring the smile, “I put him to bed. I’ll have the snoring to look forward to later. Still, could be worse.”


As if on cue one of the strings broke. The musicians swore as their carefully constructed chaos collapsed into a grey pooling sludge before vanishing, drawing equal parts laughter and groans from the crowd. “You know,” he said sidelong to her, eyes brimming with humour, “they say it’s not the instrument you use, it’s how you use it,” he laughed at the hopeless attempts the musician made to fix the instrument, “lucky some of us have both to save the day, why don’t you take over?” He reached over to grab her cloth, “We’ll call it an early night, it is Friday after-all.”


The seed of concern had been planted, she refused the guitar and decided to go check on Caradoc, for fear the old man had fallen out of bed, or urinated on hers, again. Traversing the narrow staircase, and, battling with the mangle of voices only marginally better than the now-silenced music had been, called ahead of herself (walking in unannounced had cost her before). With no response, the flutters in her chest grew when she found him gone.


Here we go again.


His wonderings had become more common place recently, hunting cats stealing his (imaginary) ring was a recent highlight. She grabbed her coat, changed her shoes, and with a brief explanation to the knowing barkeep left into the frost-scented night, pulling her tattered brown leather jacket tight around her. As she chose a direction, calling his name, a sardonic smile crept across her face. Well, she thought bitterly, it is a Friday afterall.

 

[RandomBomb]

The man walked into his lonely house, dust filling the air as he strode in. He was heading up to the upper class tomorrow to attack a home. Maybe it'll just be some mayhem, or maybe a life. James wondered why this whole thing happened. And then he remembered .


James was six years old. He was at the nearest Chord for his parents to earn some money... And then he stepped in. His hair, pale gold. His eyes were pure silver. And he was an extremely experienced musician...


James shook off the memory, tears filling his eyes. Those Upper Class wouldn't get away with this! His parents died that night. And he was left to fend for himself with only a beat mixer to play. But he was learning fast. He headed over to the bar, just as a man (NPC) walked out. James needed something to dull the pain. He walked into the bar, the smell of alcohol filling his nose. He walked up to the bar, and asked for the strongest drink they had.

 

[firejay1]

Felicia stayed in the shadows, even as the streetlamps turned on. She didn't know why she'd come out here again. If her stepmother found out, she'd probably arrange an "accident" for Felicia, and she couldn't afford that, but still she came out, at least once a week and increasing in frequency as time went on. She wasn't afraid the others in the slums would recognize her as an upperclass, even most of the upperclass didn't, but she'd learned a while ago, that if you want to survive, you make connections, or make sure no one sees you. Well, that or be a part of the Chord, and be able to protect yourself, like the Screaming Stray, earlier. No one messed with the Screaming Stray. That said, no instrument, no Chord, vocals not included.


She remembered her stepmother's shrill voice this evening, before she'd slipped out. "That girl could never learn music! I don't know why I put us all through this. I should have known better than to adopt an illegitimate from the slums. She can't compose, she can't play, and for sure she can't make instruments. What is she good for? What did she learn in the dirty little place she came from? Hmph."





The memory unsettled her. The only way her stepmother'd get rid of her after all the trouble she'd gone to to adopt Felicia was to assassinate her, and she wasn't sure she could hold off professional assassins. Maybe that was why she kept coming here. Here, she'd been invisible. No one had expected anything of her, and no one had been out to get her. She was safe here, and her scared little soul desperately wanted the feeling, despite her logical mind scoffing at the unnecessary danger she was putting herself in.


Slipping into a well-known bar, she ordered a small drink. She didn't want to be tipsy when she sneaked back in. Music wasn't shunned here, but singing was still considered beneath the standard of "music," so she sang quietly, watching as a very small ballerina materialized and began dancing over the counter-top.

 

[RandomBomb]

James looked over at a woman standing at the bar. "Hello. My name's James. What's yours?" He hoped she wasn't upper class. Then she wouldn't be back much. Whatever. He wasn't the most social person either. "You play anything? All I can do is sing." He smiled and drank a bit of his drink.

 

[firejay1]

Felicia stopped singing abruptly and turned to the man who appeared to be speaking to her, distrust clear in her bearing. "Felicia." She told him quietly. "I'm the same as you. I can't play anything." Her body language screamed go away, even as part of her was dully curious about him. Even here, singing was not considered "music." Hesitating, she inquired "What kind of songs do you sing?"

 

[RandomBomb]

"Usually stuff about my past. But I do covers as well... All I need is this little beat mixer." He hit a simple preset. That was him beatboxing to a fast beat. Then he began to sing " Til' I Collapse" by Eminem. He didn't really believe that he could compete in a Chord, cause nothing ever happened. A couple of knives came out from nowhere, and James got a headache. That was odd. Usually nothing happened except for pain. There must be a curse on anyone who sang. That was sad... Just because singing was disapproved doesn't mean it should be cursed.

 

[Nocebo]

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