C
Corin was a mute. He had traded his voice to a witch when he was seven in exchange for saving his sister from a fever.
Now, twenty years later, Corin was the best thief in the city. He moved like smoke. And he had a special skill: he could steal sounds.
He would sneak into the opera and steal the high C of the diva, keeping it in a glass jar. He would steal the roar of a lion, the whisper of a conspirator, the laugh of a child.
His collection was vast. He played the jars like instruments, releasing the sounds to create symphonies of stolen moments.
One night, he broke into the Royal Palace. He wasn't after gold. He was after the King's Command. The King had a voice that could compel armies to march and nations to bow.
Corin found the King sleeping. He opened a jar. He held it to the King's lips. The Command flowed out—a heavy, golden smoke.
Suddenly, the King woke. He opened his mouth to shout for guards, but no sound came out.
Corin smirked. He held the jar up. "Guards!" the jar shouted in the King's voice.
The guards burst in. They saw Corin holding the jar. They saw the silent King.
"Arrest him!" Corin made the jar say, pointing at the King.
The guards were confused, but the voice was absolute. They seized the King.
Corin walked out of the palace, tossing the jar into the fountain. The Command dissolved in the water.
He walked home to his sister. She was healthy, grown, and happy. She greeted him with a hug.
"Did you find anything good tonight?" she asked.
Corin smiled. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, humble jar. He opened it. It was the sound of her laughter from when she was seven.
He didn't need a voice. He had hers.