Cassius stood at the edge of the meadow, unmoved by its splendor.
Wildflowers flared in a riot of colors, their perfume cloying in the wind, but his gaze drifted past them, dull and glassy, fixed on nothing at all. A current stirred his black hair across his face, yet he made no move to brush it aside. His crimson eyes, heavy lidded wasn't out of exhaustion, simply boredom as he scanned the horizon as though even sight itself had grown weary.
Thoughts refused to form inside his head and so all he could feel was an empty, weightless sort of imbalance in his head.
A man might have panicked at such a void, but Cassius felt only the hollow press deeper, sinking into his chest where a heart should have quickened. Nothing. No beat, no urgency. Only the stillness of flesh that moved while something vital remained absent.
"You don't find them beautiful?"
The voice slipped in behind him— gentle and familiar. He turned.
