She watched the world through a sheet of glass.
Flowers blossom as she opens her eyes. The sky is a radiant blue. Dewdrops glitter in the light, perched on emerald leaves. She does not smile. She does not laugh. She opens her eyes, and they are blank, and they are dull. And they are dead.
The trees boast vibrant foliage. The sun is bright and relentless as laughter and the cries of children waft through the air. She lies on her side, staring out the window, lashes blinking slowly and evenly, and those azure eyes could have been the envy of the world. But they are glazed over, and she watches the world move on without interest.
The sky is on fire. The wind is painted with vivid colors, saffron and burgundy and crimson. The very Earth is alive with a passionate soul. The air is sharp, heralding winter, and the people celebrate while they can. But still she lies there, eyes still blinking slowly and dully. She will not speak a word. She will not make a sound. She will not move a muscle. Her chest does not even lift. But her eyes open, then close, then open again.
Winter has arrived. The trees droop, snow weighing down their branches. The bitter cold keeps everyone indoors. The city is silent, cloaked in white and shades of gray. All sound is muted. A hush has fallen over the world.
The girl blinks. Once. Twice. And moves no more.
For how could her parent have known that she was both mute and blind?
