Excerpt from Anne Rice's "Lasher"
In the beginning was the voice of father.
"Emaleth!" whispering close to her mother's belly while her mother slept. And then tsinging toh er, the long songs of the past. Songs of the Glen of Donnelaith and of the castle, and of where they would sometime come together, and how she would be born knowing all that Father knew. It is our way, he said to her in the fast language, which others could not understand.
To others it sounded like humming, or whistling. It was their secret tounge, for they could hear syllables which ran too fast for the others to grasp. They could sing out to each other. Emaleth could almot do it, almost speak-
"Emaleth, my darling, Emaleth, my daughter, Emaleth, my mate. " Father was waiting for her. She had to grow fast and grow strong for Father. When the time came, mother had to help her. She had to drink Mother's milk.
Mother slept. Mother cried. Mother dreamed. Mother was sick. And when Father and Mother quarreled, the world trembled. Emaleth knew dread.
But Father always came after, singing to her, reminding her that the words of his song were too rapid for mother to comprehend. The melody made Emaleth feel as if the tiny round world in which she lived had expanded and she was floating in a playce without limits, pushed hither and thither by Father's song.
Father said poetry which was beautiful, especially words that rhyme. Rhymes made a thrill pass through Emaleth. She stretched her legas and her arms, and turned her head this way and that, it felt so good, the rhymes.
Mother didn't talk to Emaleth. Mother wasn't supposed to know that Emaleth was there. Emaleth was tiny, said Father, but perfectly formed. Emaleth already had her long hair.
AWW THATS SO SYMBOLIC!!
"Emaleth!" whispering close to her mother's belly while her mother slept. And then tsinging toh er, the long songs of the past. Songs of the Glen of Donnelaith and of the castle, and of where they would sometime come together, and how she would be born knowing all that Father knew. It is our way, he said to her in the fast language, which others could not understand.
To others it sounded like humming, or whistling. It was their secret tounge, for they could hear syllables which ran too fast for the others to grasp. They could sing out to each other. Emaleth could almot do it, almost speak-
"Emaleth, my darling, Emaleth, my daughter, Emaleth, my mate. " Father was waiting for her. She had to grow fast and grow strong for Father. When the time came, mother had to help her. She had to drink Mother's milk.
Mother slept. Mother cried. Mother dreamed. Mother was sick. And when Father and Mother quarreled, the world trembled. Emaleth knew dread.
But Father always came after, singing to her, reminding her that the words of his song were too rapid for mother to comprehend. The melody made Emaleth feel as if the tiny round world in which she lived had expanded and she was floating in a playce without limits, pushed hither and thither by Father's song.
Father said poetry which was beautiful, especially words that rhyme. Rhymes made a thrill pass through Emaleth. She stretched her legas and her arms, and turned her head this way and that, it felt so good, the rhymes.
Mother didn't talk to Emaleth. Mother wasn't supposed to know that Emaleth was there. Emaleth was tiny, said Father, but perfectly formed. Emaleth already had her long hair.
AWW THATS SO SYMBOLIC!!