Silence was loud and annoying. It made his sensitive ears ring, and the muscles of his back twitch. Day in, and day out, Ansem had the misfortune of existing with it. There wasn't much noise to be made in an abandoned fortress. Other than the chatter and gossip of other heartless, and the occasional creaking of rusting metal, Hallow Bastion tended to be dead silent. In the beginning, Ansem didn't mind, but as the days dragged on, he found it absolutely irritating.
Part of it was his fault. Ansem spent his time in a comfortable cycle with very few variations. He conducted self-studies, dissected the content of record books, and poured over the texts for days at a time. These restless revisions usually went on without any form of rest until he was pleased with the information he'd collected. Whenever satisfaction graced his tired body, he would retire to his chamber, waking and eating a day or two later to start the cycle over again. If he wasn't so ambitious and obsessed, he would have done away with the mundane a long time ago. But, what else was he to do?
What else was there to do? Ansem was too prideful to seek entertainment, or even find physical pleasure in (or with) himself. When he wasn't engrossed in his studies, or ventures to other worlds, Ansem resorted to lying on his back, and staring at walls. Not blankly. He thought too much to stare without reason. There were daydreams to fill the avoid he experienced. He preferred them over memories. Memories were pointless to review. Fresh musings were much more gratifying. They were instances he would never under any circumstances discuss with anyone. Not just because his fantasies were odd for his person, but because they were also fairly unusual.
He dreamt of bends winding under the palms of his hands for miles. They were limited and unbound with no end in sight; soft at the crests and earnest at the troughs. Planes of succulent, supple textures graded in disharmony. Sweet, fictional pheromones fabricated in his nostrils. He absentmindedly licked his teeth and resisted the urge to bite. He could feel his physical heart pound in his stomach and his mouth water. Drooling and aching was embarrassing. He was glad and peeved to be alone. Sitting up came with a caress and comforting mutter to himself. As interesting as it was, Ansem tried not to daydream too often.
When he had had enough of staring, and still neglected to return to his normal conducts, he did less extensive activities. Maybe Ansem chose an early morning to exercise (which helped the reoccurring anxiousness in his stomach), or an evening to record objects in a small sketch book. Or maybe, he spent the day tinkering with the inner mechanics of the castle. Whatever he did, it didn't keep his attention for much time leaving him no choice but to lie down again; giving into boredom for the rest of the day. More hand written staring. More uncontrolled slobbering. He hated to wake with such a horrible, stiff ache.
Perhaps it was because he was lonely.