He said nothing of her as there was nothing to be said.
She was unremarked upon because she was unremarkable in every way.
Her hair was bland, coloured and styled as every girl her age, her makeup done so as to make her features as indistinguishable as possible from all the others. Her attire was inorganic as well, and even the chains around her neck and wrists were standard.
She lived in a void, not blanketed in the darkness of ignorance, nor in any particular hue of morality, but instead covered by a blinding white mist. It clouded her judgement like a film across her eyes, obscuring all colours and turning them a hazy grey. It was a mixture of every idea ever conceived, every judgement ever placed, every mercy every extended, every war ever started, and every life ever ended.
She was inoffensive in every way, and whenever a flaw was found in her, she laboured the sweatless work or removing that part of her and thowing it to the ravenous void.
Eventually all of her would be erased, and she longed for the perfection of her new body, given and created, of and by, the void.
She was close, so close, and was otherwise indistinguishable from the milky air she clothed herself in, her form vapour-like and pale itself.
She discarded her own name and carved upon herself a new one, the only thing left that she had chosen for herself.
"Philosophy"
