There was sadness in her face. Half-lidded eyes. Porcelain lips quirked halfway between hope and resignation. Lilith resettled her spindly legs on the footrests of her wheeled chair as her mother and the roboticist moved to the next model, whose mouth curved in a cheery smile. Eyes opened wide in manufactured delight.

“Definitely this model,” Lilith’s mother said. The roboticist nodded his approval, scratching on a clipboard.

“No,” Lilith whispered.

He paused. “What’s that child?”

“Speak up. We cannot hear your mumbling,” her mother snapped.

Lilith clutched the arms of her chair with frail fingers. “No, Ma Ma.”

“No? We must have one. I cannot run to and fro, ceaselessly tending to your every whim.”

Lilith’s narrow face clenched in a rare display of obstinacy. “No.”

Unaccustomed to her daughter’s defiance, her mother glared at the roboticist to fix it. He averted his eyes, feigning oblivion. Her mother sighed in exasperation. “An automaton is infinitely more practical than a servant, dear. Tireless,” she looked to the roboticist, who nodded. “Obedient,” another nod.

“But it’s… too… happy.”

They stared down at her, flabbergasted.

“What of it?” the roboticist bristled.

“It’s unreal.”

Her mother’s expression sharpened. The roboticist’s hardened. And Lilith’s fell.

Survos hissed, and the first automaton tilted her head toward Lilith.

Lilith reached up to grasp the cool metal fingers. “You understand?”

The automaton with the melancholy face gently grasped her hand. Lilith’s mother was taken aback. The roboticist was stunned. And Lilith smiled, halfway between acceptance and a prayer.

Photo by Possessed Photography