Voice 2

As the words left her lips,she felt a strange warmth spread through her throat, then a sudden silence, as though the world had closed in around her. The sea's song filled the air, louder and more haunting than ever, a symphony of sorrow and release. She felt her voice slip away, carried on the waves, merging with the melody that surrounded her.

The woman before her smiled, a true, radiant smile, and Mira saw the weight lift from her eyes. The other ghostly figures in the water seemed to glow brighter, their forms growing clearer as the song shifted from mournful to joyous. It was as if they were finally letting go of the pain that had kept them bound to the depths for so long.

"Thank you, Mira," the woman said, though Mira could only watch in silence. "We are free because of you."

The figures began to dissolve, fading into the light that surrounded them. One by one, they drifted upward, rising from the depths like stars returning to the night sky. The last to leave was the young woman. She looked at Mira one final time, gratitude shining in her eyes, before she, too, faded into the darkness.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, the light was gone, and the sea fell silent.

Mira sat in her boat, the weight of the silence pressing down on her. She tried to speak, to call out, but no sound left her lips. She touched her throat, feeling the loss of her voice like a hollow ache, yet she felt no regret. The peace that filled the night was worth every word she would never say.

When she rowed back to shore, the world felt different, quieter, as though she was seeing it through new eyes. She couldn't tell anyone what she had done; her story would live only in her heart. But as she walked along the shore, she knew the sea would remember. And in the quiet of the night, she would sometimes hear the faint echo of a song—one not of sorrow, but of peace.

From that day on, the villagers noticed a change in the sea. It was calmer, more forgiving, and the storms that had once plagued their shores grew less frequent. Fishermen spoke of strange, beautiful lights they sometimes glimpsed beneath the water, as though souls were dancing in joy beneath the waves.

And sometimes, in the dead of night, if you stood by the shore and listened very closely, you could hear a faint song drifting over the water—a song that told of a silent promise, of souls freed, and of a fisherwoman who gave her voice to the sea. Mira became a figure of quiet mystery in the village. Though she could no longer speak, her presence seemed to carry an unspoken wisdom, as though the sea had left its mark upon her in ways others could only guess at. The villagers treated her with a new reverence, sensing there was something otherworldly about her—a respect borne from awe and perhaps a touch of fear.

Over time, Mira learned to communicate through gestures and expressions. Children would watch her from a distance, whispering about the "Silent Woman" who had saved the souls of the sea. Sometimes, they would leave small offerings at her door—shells, bits of driftwood, sea glass they had found along the shore—as tokens of gratitude for the calm waters that now blessed their village.

Mira, for her part, found solace in her new life. Though she missed the ease of speech, she discovered a deeper connection to the world around her. She spent her days by the sea, watching the waves, listening to the silence, and feeling the pull of the tide as if it were a heartbeat she shared with the ocean itself. The villagers would often see her standing at the water's edge, her gaze fixed on the horizon, as if she were listening to something they could not hear.

But one night, as a full moon rose high above the waves, something extraordinary happened. Mira was walking along the shore when she saw a glimmer of light in the water, much like the glow she had seen on the night she gave her voice away. She watched, heart pounding, as the light grew brighter, forming a delicate, shimmering trail that led away from the shore and into the open sea.

Drawn by an instinct she could not resist, Mira stepped into the water, following the trail. The ocean was calm, welcoming, as if it were inviting her to follow. She waded deeper, her feet leaving soft impressions in the sand, until she was waist-deep in the gentle waves.

As she moved farther out, the shimmering light formed into shapes—familiar, ethereal figures rising from the depths, the same souls she had once freed. They surrounded her, their faces serene, filled with a quiet gratitude that needed no words. Among them was the young woman who had first spoken to her, her gaze soft and warm.

Without thinking, Mira reached out a hand. The young woman took it, her touch as light as sea foam, and together they stood in silence, their connection transcending the boundaries between life and death, land and sea.

And then, to Mira's astonishment, she felt something stir within her—a gentle vibration, a hum deep in her chest. She opened her mouth, and though no sound came forth, she felt as if she were singing. It was a song not of words, but of feeling, an unspoken melody that flowed from her heart, merging with the voices around her. She realized, in that moment, that she had become a part of the sea's song—a silent harmony that would live forever in the depths, a memory carried on the tides.

As the moon's light began to fade, the figures around her dissolved back into the water, leaving Mira standing alone. But she felt their presence still, a quiet warmth in her chest, as if they had left a part of themselves with her.

From that night on, Mira knew she was no longer bound solely to the land. She was a part of both worlds, her spirit forever entwined with the ocean's silent song. And in the quiet moments, as she walked along the shore or drifted out on her boat, she could feel their voices within her—a soft, wordless melody that filled her heart with peace.

She had given her voice to the sea, but in return, the sea had given her something even greater: a purpose, a legacy, and a place within its eternal song. And though Mira never spoke again, she knew she was heard. The sea would always carry her song—a song of silence, peace, and forever, the Songs of the Silent Sea.