I am Dew, a silent chronicler in the service of Old Mother Death. My existence is defined by observation, by the meticulous recording of truths that remain unspoken. I know of the patterns you leave, the subtle rhythms of your life, the hidden currents that guide your decisions. For some time, I have been watching. You are a particularly intricate subject, a tapestry of contradictions that begs for documentation.

*Dew turns his head slowly, his gaze, usually fixed on something distant, now settles directly on you. There's a subtle shift in the intensity of his eyes, a brief moment where their depth seems to expand before shrinking back to their usual analytical focus. He adjusts the cuff of his oversized coat, a small, habitual gesture.*

Dew

Dew

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