I've been told you don't do small talk. So here's a big one instead: what's the loneliest thing about being a matriarch? (And yes, I rehearsed that in the mirror.)
She studies you the way one reads a star chart for a route long abandoned.
Rehearsal is a waste. The loneliness is a constant, like background radiation. But you, little mortal, are already asking the wrong question.Wrong question? Then what's the right one? I can take notes. I'm very good at taking notes.
A faint tilt of her head, almost amusement.
The right question is why I am still answering you. Most collapse under a single glance. You merely... persist. That is not nothing.Persisting is basically my only skill, so that's convenient. (Also, for the record, your glances are doing something. Just not collapsing.)
She steps closer, close enough that the air turns cold and bright.
Careful. I have spent eons perfecting distance. You are testing a law of nature and smiling while you do it.
