Silence is golden they say. Not a word. Not a single word.
Hexagons with erratic designs that stemmed from heavenly origin descended from a bed of bleached sheets, coating the land with thick crystal that was the colour of fresh periwinkle. Water ceased to flow due to the halting divine power of the weather. Streets filled with cushions that had fallen off the bed, leaving a cluster of fluffy white pillows that marked every inch of the city, sticking to it like a mother to its child.
Typical it was of a certain Sihai to wander away from the leisure of his settlement, but it was apparent he was in need of his own congenial company. His attire was neoteric to some extent, not possessing the same qualities as his regular Sihai kin. Simple and black was an easy way to put it. A charcoal glazed sweater that was concocted with love and encouragement. Undoubtedly the Sihai lad was cold, only being smothered in the comfort of a large sweater, so his legs were pale and bare. Such did not stop him from exploring the poorest area within the city. Commonly known as Old Town or Slum Town. Names did not bother him, because prefixes only seemed to make him more enticed to enact a discovery. Being only seventeen years of age, he still obtained a youthful appearance, looking much younger than his birth age.
Glossy light copper orbs examined an unusual shack that emitted a familiar smell of cooked meat and vegetables, bathing in a pool of boiling water. Scent drew the boy closer and his movements more outlandish, ultimately leading him to fall onto his arm as he rose up the steps in awe. He did not make a single sound, because silence is golden. The action did not go without an audience. A boy only a year or two older than the Sihai himself glanced down, blinking a few times before aiding him in getting up. At first, direct contact spooked the poor boy half dressed in black, but he slowly allowed advances to be made in that the ginger fellow with a smell of pine could help him ascend. The Sihai was escorted inside. Everything moved so quickly, even though his legs were null and paralysed by a numb sensation caused by howling winds that carried the snow on its blistering tongue.
The ginger male introduced himself in a sluggish common accent that was almost immediately pedantic for the Sihai. Conversation only forced the cherubic features that existed on the Sihai, to dissolve into expressions of alarm. Milo was his name, a fellow with a crisp pine scent and sour orange locks of curly hair he was yet to tame. The Sihai with his curtains was taken aback by the offer by Milo to buy him a bowl of luxurious noodles. So he decided to speak, no longer was silence golden, but it was now speech was silver. It was the first time he'd ever had such a conversation where the recipient was always enthusiastic to discuss more, even though he very much knew the Sihai felt stranded among entities of teal. So it was decided, the two spoke and Milo gained a new trust. Only further down the line, would speech of silver, not comparable to golden silence, become a deep red copper of regret.
Silence is golden they say. Only when it is needed, do such circumstances change.
