[She watches him, pale grey eyes reflective as a mirror and her attention unwavering.]

We believe it must be a mutation of some kind, or perhaps a certain development of the neural pathways that closely resembles that of whatever creatures the symbiotes once bonded with naturally. You see, we're imperfect hosts for them - merely acceptable, as opposed to ideal. But without us, they would be extinct and no one would be left to counter our Enemy as they change the course of the multiverse.

[A pause, lingering. The shape of her there on the stone bench seems oddly large, oddly too pervasive. As if she is as much a part of the structure here as the flowers and trees, the hallways which led him here. Eventually, she asks:]

How do you feel?