Birth of The Mute
Warning: Contains talk of physical abuse
“Shit, they really got most of it, eh?”
Blueten sat, quivering, on a rickety stool in what appeared to be a small washroom made of rotted wood. The voice had come from a short stocky sylvari looming above her, roughly clawing her mouth open and moving her jaw side to side for a better look. There was a taller more gangly looking one just beside them, peering cautiously down at her. She squirmed and tightened her grip on the stool’s edges as the sylvari continued to pry.
“Ain’t much of a tongue at all. S’plains why she ain’t talkin’. Think it’ll grow back?” The stockier one continued in a sort’ve bemused grumble.
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