Cry the color of love by firstamazon

Cry the color of love

Míriel Þerindë was one of a kind. An expert broideress, a weaver like not even Vairë had ever seen. Her embroideries were like paintings, vivid and frighteningly real. She was one of a kind for, although she weaved what she saw with awe-inspiring talent, she could not hear the Song. Nor the sounds of nature nor her friends’ voices.

She would be lying to herself if she said she longed for it.

She didn’t know what it was to hear – the Song flowed about her differently than for most Elves. She saw patterns, colors, hues, and light where no one else could. When she was born, some called her deficiency a consequence of Arda Marred. But she had learned – with Varda’s guidance – to accept it as a gift.

One time only did Míriel regret not having hearing, and it was when her baby was born. She, then, longed to hear his little whimpers and cries, what his little voice sounded like. Later, she taught her little boy how to see the things most Elves couldn’t in the Song. And young though he was, he soaked in the knowledge and learned. Míriel didn’t feel guilty when, at last, she left him.