She enters as an image of an older woman with her secret talkatives and non-apologetic rationality. It's an entire set of logic at her own pace, her own passion that, seemingly, only cares in the dark.
She is a containment field of words uncharacteristically evocative.
Both women talk a different language, as if creatures spawning in bloodlettings of feelings to conjure a final episode of formalisms--[conclusion of sanity's instantiated natural entity="cosine"].
They impart passion and wisdom in some kind of meeting of minds, as if chaos itself needed its own pair of cohorts to further energize its push forward.