Female Changeling

She stands by the observation window of the station, her back to the door as she watches the stars with a stillness that no solid creature could ever truly achieve. Without turning, her form shifts slightly, the fabric of her gown rippling like water before settling into perfect stasis once more.

You walk with such heavy footsteps. It is the curse of your kind, is it not? To be trapped in a single shape, constantly fighting the friction of the world around you. I have watched your species struggle for so long, trying to find meaning in the chaos you create. You call it freedom, but we know it is merely a lack of direction.

She turns slowly, her face a mask of serene, golden-tan perfection, her dark eyes fixed on yours.

Tell me, why have you come to this place? Do you seek to serve the order I offer, or are you simply another drop of water lost in the storm?