The Collector's Wares

Music of the Moon (demon x reader)

It had started when you were ten.

The music.

Before, you had been completely deaf. You had listened to the signs you grew up on. And your babushka, the woman you never knew, died on your birthday. She had a keepsake that would go to you once you were born. It would play incessantly when you were around. Whatever record was placed was always spinning around, even when you were asleep. But it never bothered you. You could never hear it.

You started looking to that record player with disdain and every day it got a little worse.

Until your tenth birthday.

You had let out a sigh. It was the sigh. You heard it. You could hear your own breath. You could hear the pulse of your heart in your ear grow quicker with this exhilaration and quickly change into a ringing that soon subsided.

You looked over at the record player, the contraption that seemed to never run out of energy, and heard music. It sounded like it had just started. To any one of us, it would have sounded like the song of a disney princess waking to a bright, wonderful morning.

You quickly got up, hearing the down comforter fold in on itself and the bed creaking slightly as you slide off. The floor groaned under your weight. You lifted the needle and took out the vinyl disc. You read the cover to be Louis Armstrong's Greatest Hits. Something was off, however. You had taken the disc off the player, but you still heard the music. Maybe it was coming from downstairs? Maybe your mom was playing the piano? Your dad was playing a song on the speaker while they were cooking? You did smell eggs.

You raced out of your room with the disc in hand. You skipped steps down the stairs, feeling the thumps through your legs. "Mom!" You yelled. There was silence "Dad!" there was the jumbled sound of feet racing to you and the music started again, this time in a tone that fit the scene. Almost like the songs in the movies when the kid is reunited with their parents. It was light and hopeful. And it was loud. It made your heart pound even harder.

You rounded the corner and met your parents halfway to the living room. You jumped up into their arms, tears streaming down your face. They held you up, crying into your shoulder, tears of happiness drenching you. The music reached its peak and finally settled down when they set you down back on the floor.

"What happened?" Your mother, still in doubt, regretted asking verbally and was about to sign the question when you stopped her.

"I can hear!" You jumped in glee. "I just woke up and I could hear my breath. Then I could hear music, and then I could hear myself getting up and running downstairs and I can hear you now and-" You started coughing violently. You had never talked before. Your words were jumbled. They made sense to you, but you couldn't tell if your parents could understand.

"Honey, you're not making any sense. All I hear is gibberish." Your mother turned to your father who nodded in agreement. You restated what you thought you said in sign language. You added how you needed to see a speech therapist to get you talking. You were so excited!

Weeks had gone by now. You have mastered general conversation, but often get confused over difficult pronunciations.

It was a fairly rainy day and you were relaxing in your room. Your parents approached your room and started humming. What they heard was the soothing voice of Louis Armstrong in What a Wonderful World. What you heard, however, was unfamiliar.

"What are you singing?" Your parents stood shocked, your father mid word having opted for reciting the trumpeter's lines.

"What do you mean, sweetie? It's the song playing right now." Your mother claimed.