Location: Underwater. Still. The novelty level is now approaching absolute zero. Even the colourful fish are starting to look repetitive.

  Couldn’t take it anymore. Between the vague, unsettling groaning from the abyss, the memory of the Siren’s Wail Coral jamming my scrying, and yesterday’s non-stop, low-frequency humming accompaniment courtesy of the Hair apparently developing an interest in experimental soundscapes, I decided drastic measures were needed. Specifically, a Personal Silence Bubble charm.

  Not a full-room silencing field – those are complex, energy-intensive, and tend to unravel spectacularly if a sufficiently loud noise occurs nearby (like, say, a giant squid bumping into the house). No, just a small, localized bubble of pure, unadulterated quiet that follows me around, maybe three feet in diameter. Enough to read a book, drink my tea, or just think without unsolicited sonic input from hair, house, or hadal trenches.

  The components are a bit esoteric: a mote of 'captured quiet' (harvested from a sound-dampened chamber – luckily I keep some stored), three solidified echoes (don't ask), and a single breath held perfectly still within a quartz matrix. The weaving process involves layering frequencies of anti-sound, tuning them to nullify ambient noise within the designated field. Delicate work. Needs focus. Needs stillness.

  Which, naturally, was asking too much. I managed to get the basic field established, a faint shimmer coalescing around me. The constant clicks and pops from the reef outside faded. The house's groans muted. Even the Hair's residual hum seemed to dampen slightly. Bliss. Absolute, near-perfect—

  Thwump.

  The Hair, which had been pretending to sleep coiled on a nearby armchair, apparently sensed the unnatural pocket of silence and decided it was deeply suspicious. Or perhaps just boring. It lashed out – not aggressively, more like a curious cat batting at a dust mote – and one thick tendril passed directly through the shimmering edge of the nascent silence bubble.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The effect was instantaneous. The bubble didn't just pop; it imploded with a sound like a startled mattress exhaling forcefully (whumpf!), sending ripples of distorted silence outwards. The Hair recoiled as if stung, shaking itself indignantly. My ears popped from the sudden pressure shift reversal. The solidified echoes disintegrated into useless powder, and the captured quiet dissipated back into the general noisy reality. So much for that. Ten seconds of peace, ruined by follicular curiosity.

  "Seriously?" I glared at the Hair, which was now trying to groom itself nonchalantly, pretending the entire incident hadn't happened. "Was that really necessary?" It ignored me, suddenly finding a stray thread on the upholstery utterly fascinating.

  And then, as if the universe itself decided my attempt at seeking quiet was personally offensive, the entire reef outside exploded into light and activity. One moment it was the usual daytime shuffle of colourful fish; the next, corals were pulsing with internal light, schools of previously unseen silver fish darted everywhere in frantic, shimmering clouds, and strange, feathery organisms unfurled from crevices, glowing with blues and greens. Even the water itself seemed thicker with bio-luminescent plankton. It was like someone flipped a switch from 'aquarium' to 'underwater rave'.

  The Hair instantly forgot its feigned nonchalance. It scrambled back to the window, pressing against the glass, utterly captivated by the sudden light show. No more humming, no more sulking, just silent, focused attention on the chaos outside.

  Well, isn't that just perfect? The moment I try to create silence, the world outside decides to throw the loudest, brightest party imaginable. Fine. Whatever. At least the Hair has a new distraction. Maybe now I can actually hear myself think, even if I can't stop hearing everything else.

  Probably mating season for something. Something flashy and noisy and inconsiderate. Fits right in around here. Right, tea. And maybe I'll just stare at the underwater disco with the Hair. Can't beat 'em, join 'em, I suppose. Even if 'joining' just means watching through thick, warded glass with a profound sense of weary resignation.