The drawing room, ever-shifting in its grandeur, pulsed with an almost imperceptible rhythm.
The walls breathed in tandem with the void, as if they were stitched together from the same unseen fabric that made up Black Daffodil herself.
It was nothing unusual, at this point.
The aforementioned Black Daffodil sat across from me, her faceless void resting upon interlaced fingers, her gown an ever-changing shimmer of indigo, swirling with constellations that refused to remain still. The air around her was thick with amusement, but there was something else, something heavier lingering beneath her usual playfulness.
She seemed to be very curious about my true feelings regarding the god's corpse.
I didn't wait for her to speak first about it. "You already know how I feel about it."
Black Daffodil tilted her head, the motion as fluid as ink dispersing in water. "Oh? And how is that, I wonder?"
