PROLOGUE : THE MIRROR
The room was silent, only disturbed by the regular breath of the man in front of the mirror.
His reflection stared at him with the same mute question that came back every evening, like a blade suspended above him:
Must I speak? Or must I remain silent?
He touched his lips with his fingertips. That simple gesture reminded him of the terrible power that rested there, between his teeth and his tongue.
A power said to be able to give life, or to give death.
“The word, the silence…” he thought.
“Can one speak of one without the other? Can one separate the fire from its ash?”
Yes, for they are two distinct words, two different acts.
No, for they are inseparable, linked like shadow and light.
And this truth burned his mind:
Through speech, he could betray, kill, condemn, manipulate, accuse, wound.
But through speech also, he could save, free, console, build, appease.
Silence, itself, was not neutral. It could protect, keep, spare.
But it could also condemn, abandon, let die.
Then he took his head in his hands and whispered:
If my tongue carries such gigantic power, how can I use it without destroying?
I do not want to wound anyone… and yet, each word I hold back or pronounce pursues me like a judgment.
His reflection, implacable, answered nothing.
Only that silence, again, which seemed to provoke him.
