A becoming fixture is what was expected of her, lights uniformly blinking on her mask, unmoving. Had she been breathing? Weird. She should have probably been breathing. She is living, after all.

You'd look at her and feel busy, her calculated end state eminated from her, and everyone surrounding her always felt like they were the working means to whatever she had planned- but the stillness. The calm stillness was the discrepancy.

Her mask dripped across down face. The black ran across it like it was viscous on a wind shield, and ended abruptly at a point to at her chin, making a turn to cover her neck. A few faint whirrings, and a warm air ran down from the bottom, under her chin.

Her cartoonish build was the contrast from her muted face, large, thick, paws covered in downy soft, cream colored fur. Enormous, long tail, turned around her.