"Boyfrrrieeend?" the puppet sang, or sputtered, or slurred, or laughed, a fluid clap of moth wings beating against a dusty window. It was entirely delayed and dizzy, the world was a shadow of the peerless void. The bright side was it being less bleak. The dark side her being more wont to confessions. No filter for the things she'd say. She was full of her brand of truth serum. It bubbled and boiled within her. The stranger had her up and was guiding her somewhere, asking questions and talking about stairs. "I'm dead animal."
What was he thinking? She didn't live up there. Pierce lived up there. She lived down here... and who was this? A whirling figure she didn't trust or know. Why would she want anything to do with him? She was (probably vainly.) attempting to push him off her with a circular growl curving in the back of her throat.