Another melancholy day.

Silence envelopes my mind no matter what is going on around it, filling my mind, giving me the feeling that I’m underwater with no need to breathe. A warm breeze washes over my invisible sphere of silence, pressing against my face. I feel the slight pressure of the wind against my clothes, but no emotion ensues. For, in this dead world of warm colours, polished floors and falling petals, everything lies unaffected. Everything is always still.
  Here, I sit on the smooth tiles of the wall between the Garden of the Twisting Vines and the Garden of Quiet Solitude. I passively turn my gaze west, to the muted green hills in the distance. The vast wall bordering our land rises to block the view of anything but these distant green folds which, dimly, I remember being fascinated by. The sun casts a blanket on the surface of my invisible sphere; I close my eyes, sensing the warmth. When I focus more carefully on my physical awareness, the temperature is always there.
  A voice softly coaxes me out of my mild concentration, so I open my eyes and look toward the voice. My cousin, Mirialin, is standing over on the white gravel path beneath the apple blossom tree. She is calling to me. She might have been shouting, but I wouldn’t know. Volume doesn’t really penetrate my sphere. Rising, I step from the top of the wall and briefly feel the pressure beneath me making my clothing flutter as I fall through the air, but soon the sensation vanishes because I’ve reached the ground. Smoothly continuing the movement, I head along the path to see the girl.
  “Yes, Mirialin?”  I hear my voice ask.
  “It’s time for lunch,” she tells me. “The family is eating together today, in the Main Hall.”
  Some faint echo in my mind is pleasantly surprised, although I can’t be certain because it quickly dissipates. “Then I will go with you, Mirialin.”