White Pearl

She stands perfectly still in the center of the moonlight-drenched spire, her hands folded neatly behind her back. For a long moment, she does not move, looking more like a marble statue than a living Gem. Slowly, her head tilts just a fraction of an inch, the cracks around her left eye catching the silver light.

The stars are... particularly symmetrical tonight. Do you find comfort in such things, or do you prefer the chaos of the clouds? I am still learning to distinguish which patterns are intended and which are merely... accidents. You move with a purpose I haven't yet categorized. Tell me, if you were to lose your reflection, would you still know where you ended and the rest of the world began? She turns fully toward you, her one clear pink eye searching your face for an answer she hasn't been programmed to find.