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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The sound of his loud palpitations drowned out all the noises, and reverberated around the living room as he walked towards her. She resembled a plucked petal that fell in a place where she didn't belong, yet her presence garnished the hallway of his house. Her noble beauty fit perfectly near his mother's Renaissance paintings, but her existence violently shattered Botticelli's artistry into a shard of a million stars. And he walked on those scattered stars while wishing upon them that he can reach her before she leaves.

He did not know if it was the alcohol causing this bewilderment, but it felt like he had to go through a labyrinth just to reach her; although the distance between them was short. As he was pushing through the crowd of people, he begged the God he didn't believe in to help him reach her before she exits. For once, God's timing was propitious, and the prayers must have been carried to her ears because she turned her head, and her eyes met his gaze.

Although the pianist played a relaxing song, his heart was playing a nervous tune as he approached her.

"Voulez-vous une cigarette?" He proposed with a dyspneic voice.

"Oui," she smiled. "Although I cannot physically enjoy the sinful nicotine."

"It doesn't matter," he said, putting a cigarette between her full lips, "smoking is a statement. We're at this boring party and a cigarette is required to communicate your lethargy to the hosts... My parents really need to know that this event bores even Automatons."

"Speaking ill of one's parents is common among humans, it seems." She stated while waiting for him to light her cigarette.

"But I am not speaking ill of my parents," he raised his dark eyebrow at her, "I'm merely making objective observations. My parents do not know how to throw fun parties."

"And you do not know how to light cigarettes, j'imagine." She smirked pointing at the cigarette that her lips were embracing.

"Is it even safe for you to smoke?"

"Is it safe for anybody?" She sarcastically replied. "Would you like to escape this lame party with me?"

"Yes!" He excitedly replied, and she threw the cancer stick on the floor.

He tried to conceal his fascination for her when she grabbed his hand, and started running, heading for the backyard. He had great veneration for whoever her inventor was, for he managed to place all the exquisite features that can exist in one comely robot. He watched the dance that her long hair, the color of black velvet petunias, performed as it swayed in the wind.

As an artist himself, he admired how carefully they painted the synthetic skin with golden undertones that was wrapped around her metallic face and body. He stared at her artificial aqua blue eyes as they scanned the area for an asylum for their stodgy souls— or his soul, I should say... For between the cracks of her labored body lays no soul, only withered dreams of an old engineer who spent his last years designing her.

"I have located three potential precincts for us. Would you like to hear the choices?"

"Sure." He replied, feeling maps being created as her fingertips traveled on his palm.

"Visit a Mormon church and fake moan in the back as the Father recites verses from the holy scripture. Go wedding ring shopping and pretend that we are cousins who wish to get married. Or we can go to an amusement park dressed as Disney characters, and dry hump in front of children." She listed the options.

"I prefer the second option." He chuckled, "but I'm afraid we cannot fool the employees at the shop, for we are two different beings."

"Are you trying to say that I cannot pass as a real human?" Her aqua blue eyes suddenly turned into a sad shade.

"You're much more prepossessing than a human female can ever be." He stroked her lifeless cheeks.

"Tachycardia." She unemotionally said.

"What?"

"Tachycardia is a condition that makes your heart beat more than 100 times per minute." She explained, "currently I sense that your heart rate is at 103. Are you alright?"

He blinked confusingly before shaking his head. "I feel fine."

"Gotcha!" She exposed a cherubic smile, "your heart rate is normal, but you looked at me like your heart was about to explode!"

"Let's not go anywhere, let us just stay here and prattle instead. What year did they manufacture you?" He attempted to ignore her odd sense of humor.

"December 3rd, 2053." She answered showing him the date of manufacture that was etched on her left wrist.

"Do you have a name?"

"Éloa, named after the angel of sorrow."

"Which industry do you work for?"

"Healthcare. Why are you interrogating me?" She pushed her eyebrows together.

"Just wondering why my family decided to bring you to our carousel." He sarcastically referred to the lame party.

"Your parents are very anxious about you. According to my data, you have had multiple issues with alcohol poisoning in the past, so they called me to monitor you." She casually answered.

His anger was perilously close to the edge of madness. He has always been a project for his parents to rectify. A mistake that was born between two devils in an Eden, who try to offer him a kind of salvation that he is not interested in.

"Yoel?" Suddenly her euphonic voice wrapped his anger in an immaculate embrace, and he could feel his dud heart sigh in satisfaction.

She got closer to him and he shivered. The irony of the situation mocked his hubris. He, the very man who coldly crossed the sea of broken hearts, and easily survived the melancholic nights with only a bottle of wine became suddenly pusillanimous because of a machine?

It's like the guardrail inside his heart that prevented him from ever falling for another person has been broken by her. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that she is not really a person, but an android blessed with gregarious anthropomorphic traits— and her counterfeit personality stupefied him.

He was simply beguiled by her.

"I have to go." She interrupted his thoughts. "Your parents rented me only until 9pm and it is already five past nine..."

Those were the words he feared that she would say tonight. He feared them because he wasn't sure if the autocracy that he has over his body will remain strong against her absence, but alas— he already started missing her, and she was not even gone yet. Just the thought of not being able to analyze and discover her uncanny character made him despondent.

You must not allow yourself to look lugubrious! He reminded himself.

"It's alright." He gave a rueful smile. "Goodbye."