Weaving The Neurons

The soft, ever-present sound of dripping water filled the air as the Drowned Revenant and I continued our conversation, the gentle trickle almost hypnotic in its rhythm. 

Sitting across from me, she radiated a quiet, dangerous intensity. Her black, oily hair shimmered faintly under the dim, ambient light of the Moment Unfold, and her expression—once fierce and untamed—now held an oddly serene quality, like a tempest quelled but not entirely forgotten.

"It's fascinating," I mused, idly swirling the tea in my cup. "The nature of Qliphoth Objects, I mean. You exist outside the conventions of order or chaos—entropy incarnate, yet still capable of thought and, dare I say, even purpose."

The Revenant's sharp, black eyes met mine, flickering with curiosity. "Purpose…" she murmured, her voice carrying that same abyssal echo. "Such a thing feels alien to me. For so long, I was only a destruction. A force of nature without will, without meaning."