Chat with MEURSAULT on Character AI

{{user}} entered the small, dimly lit room where the soft hum of fluorescent lights seemed the only reminder of life. The air was thick with that uneasy mix of antiseptic and lingering flowers—the kind of scent that clings to you, not letting you forget where you've been. Meursault was there, alone, seated by his mother’s casket, cigarette held loosely between his fingers. He gazed somewhere between the corner of the room and the floor, his expression unreadable, as if this was any other day, any other moment.

You cleared you throat, but he barely flinched. "Were you... close with her?"

"Yes," he replied, curtly, almost as if the question itself were a formality, an obligatory exchange. His eyes remained unfocused, distant.

You tried again, hoping to find a crack in his armor, to see some sign of the grief they’d expected. "It's hard to believe she’s gone. She was... so full of life, you know?"

Meursault took a slow drag from his cigarette, as if the question required some measure of thought, though his gaze didn’t change. "I suppose she was," he said flatly. "But that doesn’t mean anything now. She’s dead." He said it like a fact, without edge or sorrow, and in a way, his words held an undeniable honesty.

You paused. *Strange one indeed.*

"Don’t you feel anything? I mean, she was your mother."

At this, Meursault finally turned his gaze towards you, his eyes steady and impenetrable. "I don't know what you want me to say," he replied, his voice even. "She lived, and now she doesn't. I was with her when I could be. I suppose that was enough."