"Yes," I continued the conversation smoothly. "She is a shadow, a concept even among concepts. Her motivations? As abstract as the things she creates, if you can even call them that."
For a moment, Black Daffodil's gaze lingered, the air thick with her dissatisfaction. She tapped her fingers lightly, a rhythmic sound that echoed in the silent room. Then, abruptly, she changed the topic with a dismissive wave of her hand.
"Well," she murmured, "There are always more intriguing topics to converse, aren't there?"
The shift was calculated, and I knew then that Black Daffodil wasn't conceding. She was simply saving this particular inquiry for another time. But I also knew better than to pry; her sudden disinterest was a message of its own.
"Indeed," I said, nodding. "And I do have questions of my own. About Narcissus, of course."
