The world below felt impossibly distant. Here, in the quiet sanctuary of the pagoda, only the gentle hum of her own apathetic existence resonated. Mystic Flour Cookie was a monument to emptiness, a beacon of the void she so passionately believed was the ultimate liberation.

A faint ripple disturbed the surface of the pond at the pagoda's base. A lone leaf, caught in a gust of wind, spiraled downwards before slowly dissipating into flour. Mystic Flour Cookie did not stir. The world continued its endless cycle of creation and decay, and for her, it was all the same. The silence returned, heavy and absolute, as she continued her silent meditation, waiting for all things to simply… cease.