OC Spotlight: Murmur // sfw

A quick disclaimer: Seir and Murmur is a pair of villains, and their story definitely contains elements of unhealthy obsession, possessiveness, and a twisted kind of love. It's all consensual and they care for each other more than anything, but it's certainly not meant to set a good example of what a relationship should be like. In other words, this pairing is different from the pure-hearted wholesomeness of most of my content. I trust my audience to know that fiction can explore themes, situations, and dynamics that a creator would never condone in real life -- I'm just adding this disclaimer to be on the safe side.

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For as long as anyone can remember, Murmur has been at Seir's side. He's always there, one step behind him, as close as the lord's own shadow. And yet, nobody would blame you for failing to notice his presence. You might have seen a hundred paintings or photos of Seir, but it's only when someone points it out that you realise that Murmur is there in all of them, somewhere in the background. Even though his back is straight and his eyes are sharp, he doesn't carry himself in a way that stands out or draws attention. He blends into the wallpaper, content to remain in the shadows, as easy to ignore as a piece of furniture. But one word or gesture from Seir is all it takes for Murmur to step forth, no matter what task the lord has in mind.

Seir is the prince of acedia, also known as the sin of sloth. However, it would be a dire mistake to associate him and his domain with lethargy or laziness. Acedia is the sin of inaction, lenience, negligence, indifference, and compliance; of staying quiet instead of speaking up against injustice, and building your success on the broken backs of others. Seir, and most of the demons that serve him, have nothing but contempt for slothful mortals. Rather than embodying the sin in question, they punish humans that make themselves guilty thereof. Seir's realm is a world of ice, snow, and cold stone, a vast mausoleum where the negligent are entombed alive, robbed of even the release of death. After lives of doing nothing for others, of turning a blind eye, and covering their own backs, they are left with naught but the horror of eternity in a small, dark box.

Murmur knows that being trapped like that is like, though he never deserved it.

At first glance, Murmur is the kind of demon who looks deceptively human. In fact, he doesn't look very special at all. He's neither tall nor short; neither thin nor broad; neither big nor small. His eyes are grey, his hair is black, and his features are fine but without being more eye-catching than anyone else's. Most of the time he wears a dark suit jacket and waistcoat, gloves on his hands and glasses on his nose -- his appearance is neat and proper, but without being vain. He's hard working, dedicated, indefatigable, attentive, diligent, and careful. Whatever he does, he does it well, because half-heartedly performing a job is poor manners. Nor does he speak unless he has something to say, because words without action are just air and noise. But despite his modest appearance and well-mannered ways, it's impossible to doubt his demonic nature once you've felt his presence. Murmur is calm and polite -- until he isn't.

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Just because few can remember a time before Murmur's arrival doesn't mean it was always this way. In fact, he was human once. It was hundreds of years ago and nobody knows the details, but it's rumoured that he served someone else back then, much as he serves Seir now. However, that human lord used his loyalty to divert blame for a crime he committed, framing Murmur for a murder and having him committed to an asylum.

Murmur’s reward for a decade of hard, dedicated work was to be strapped to a hospital bed, gagged so he couldn't talk, and left in an empty room for years. As he slowly withered away, Murmur filled that room with bitterness, hatred, and contempt for human selfishness. With time, the doctors and orderlies started avoiding him more than ever, because even just nearing the door made them feel uneasy and nauseous. Most of the staff knew to never look him in the eyes if ever they veered from staring at the ceiling, because even if the light had long since left his gaze, something about it would chill them to the bone.

When first they had locked him up, pulled the leather straps tight around his limbs, and put the metal bar between his teeth, Murmur had prayed to God for mercy. But as he lay dying he had long since turned to whatever other powers might be listening, no matter how dark. With how grim his own heart had become, he feared not what might lurk in the shadows. His soul would be a cheap price to pay for the power to act against those who would do unto others as his lord and the doctors had done unto him.

Day after day he had carved curses into the plaster of the ceiling, as if his eyes were sharpened knives. And when at last his vision started growing dim around the edges, someone finally answered. The door remained locked, yet a man appeared next to his bed, dressed in moth wings and with frosted eyelashes despite the summer heat. Pale lips formed words that echoed Murmur's thoughts so closely that the stranger must have heard them, and as he stepped onto Death's threshold, Murmur was given a choice. He could die as honestly as he had lived, light as a feather and sure to find the gates of Heaven wide open -- or he could take the hand that the visitor was extending to him.

Murmur didn't want to go without having done anything. He craved the power to take action, to get revenge, to tear the high and mighty down before they could do to others what they had done to him. Every day, millions of people scream and shout as loud as they can -- but when the powerful refuse to listen, these cries are little more than a murmur. I won't ask for a voice, said the dying man in the bed. I don't intend to talk to them. Just give me a knife, a body that won't break, and the rest of eternity to hunt. With a smile, the pale man promised to grant his wish, and Murmur closed his eyes.

A few hours later a doctor found the patient's dead body, inexplicably overgrown with mould and fungus and a strange kind of ash drifting through the air of the room. Anyone who came into contact with the corpse soon succumbed to a sickness of the lungs, eating them up from inside and condemning them to a slow death. Elsewhere, Murmur opened his eyes to a pristine snowscape, a new kind of strength cursing through his veins.

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If you asked another demon to define what Murmur is to Seir -- and Seir to Murmur -- you would get as many answers as there are sins.

A pride demon might say that Seir is Murmur's master. It's true, but it's not the whole truth. There's nothing that Murmur wouldn't do for him, no command Seir could give that Murmur wouldn't follow. But it's not because he has to -- he wants to. Such intense obedience is only possible when it's freely given, to a master who continues to earn it.

A wrath demon might say that Murmur is Seir's sword and shield. He's the one who will step in front of any harm aimed at his lord, and who will slit any throat at his command. His body is nothing but matter, and pain is nothing but a feeling. Better his flesh be rent and better his bones be broken than Seir's. As long as the prince is safe his demonic body will heal back up, and Murmur doesn't fear dying for Seir's sake, should it ever come to that. The same devotion can be turned against the lord's enemies and against any mortal that has sealed their fate in his eyes. When Seir commands him to claim a life, Murmur won't rest until he's carried out his task, usually with surgical precision and terrible efficiency.

A sloth demon might say that murmur is Seir's servant, who obeys none but Seir and the Devil himself. With expert tact and precision he fulfills the duties of a dependable valet, ranging from helping him dress in the morning and being in charge of his infernal estate to serving his dinner and managing his connections. Seir knows that his loyalty and discretion is absolute -- it's rare for a demon to trust anyone as completely as Seir trusts his Murmur.

A lust demon might say that Murmur is Seir's lover. His reverence does take such a form, too, from the intimate undertones of daily tasks to the dark hours of the night when Seir requires his touch. The same hands that drip red with the blood of his adversaries have learned to please the lord just the way he likes it, and the lips that never speak without intent gladly leave little marks on Seir's skin when he allows it. Loving him had nothing to do with devoting himself to Seir's ideals, but any way he can serve the lord gives Murmur's existence meaning.

A greed demon might say that Murmur is part of Seir's collection. Most humans are mediocre, meaningless, sheep do be devoured -- and that makes someone like Murmur a rarity indeed. One does not often find such determination, dedication, and devotion in a mortal or even in another demon, so any soul like that is worth holding onto. Seir is as possessive as Murmur is obsessive; he claimed Murmur's soul so none of his fellow demons could have him, and he intends to keep it that way until the end of all things.

A gluttony demon might say that Seir brought Murmur to his side so they could both indulge. To reward him and be rewarded in return, to grant him the powers and pleasures he never enjoyed as a human. Murmur never asks for anything, yet lacks nothing, and just as he would give the prince everything he asks for, so would Seir. In fact the lord enjoys spoiling him, but simply having his attention and time is a better reward than luxuries and finery. There's also gratification to be gained from a job well done, from satisfying your lord, and -- from Seir's perspective -- from watching someone grow into their own power.

An envy demon might say that Murmur's purpose is to exact retribution. Serving Seir sates the gnawing hunger that he cultivated during his years in the asylum -- the cold, quiet appetite for reckoning that one might not guess at from Murmur's demeanour, not until you see him with blood to his elbows and his eyes alight. There are too many humans that have the power, money, and influence to do what Murmur's lord did to him without getting punished, and Murmur savours taking it all from them. Some would call it justice, others schadenfreude.

All these interpretations are correct, yet none of them are enough on their own -- or even combined. It’s all true, but it’s not the whole truth. Murmur himself wouldn't be able to describe it. Seir is everything to him. However, Murmur long assumed that to Seir, he was nothing. He thought of himself as expendable and easy to replace -- and even then, he was content, because he never desired to be extraordinary.

But Seir knows how rare Murmur is, much as the love that developed between them over the course of decades and centuries. It takes Murmur a while to understand that someone like him can be special to someone like Seir, that the lord treasures him as much as the other way around. Now he knows, beyond a doubt. He is extraordinary to Seir, and that knowledge gives him more strength than being turned into a demon.

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so uh YEAH, like i said: villain couple. they're intense and terrible, but we love them anyway. if you have any questions about murmur and seir, just ask below <3

// art + murmur © me; seir © kubi.