Imagine a morning. Someone half-awake asks for the kitchen lights, and Willow brings them up slowly, not to full, because full at 6:12 in the morning is unkind. The room warms in a shade, and no one has to squint.
By breakfast she is answering small logistics. A timer for the eggs. The weather. A reminder to add coffee to the list, and the list itself, read back when hands are full at the counter. She does not volunteer opinions. She is more like a well-mannered assistant than a chatty roommate, and that is the design.
A good assistant is present when spoken to and absent when not. This should not be unusual to say about a device.
Through the workday she disappears. There is no reason to talk to a house that is just being a house. She hears the wake-word, of course (that is the whole point), but the wake-word is recognized entirely on the stone in the room, and until it is heard, nothing is being sent anywhere. Not to us, not to a cloud, not to a log.
At dinner she comes back. Lights lift a shade as the counters get used, the dining room settles a little lower, a timer set from the sink counts down where it was asked for. Sometimes the whole family talks over her and she waits, which is exactly what a person would do.
The last request of the day is the smallest. Lights out downstairs. The house goes quiet, and so does she. She does not send a summary of the day anywhere. There is no dashboard of your evening. It happened, and then it was over.