The concept of "powering down" was, entirely frankly, a logistical nightmare for Elara.
For the first three minutes after Julian guided her toward the plush, velvet sitting chairs near the grand fireplace, she simply sat there. She kept her spine perfectly straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap over the cheap linen of her commoner's dress, and her glass-bead eyes locked onto the unlit hearth.
Julian sat in the chair opposite her. He rested his elbows on his knees, watching her with a mixture of amusement and deep, underlying concern.
"You look like you are bracing for an artillery strike," Julian noted softly into the quiet room.
"I am attempting to execute the 'do nothing' protocol," Elara replied, her voice maintaining its flat, clinical baseline. "However, without a designated focal point or a kinetic objective, my cognitive processors are struggling to establish a resting state. It is highly inefficient."
