He knew he was not made for this. What had happened was outside his operating parameters, yet it was not any less done.

Still warm blood, now on the floor, touched his feet and he recoiled. Somehow this made him think of his father, his creator, his builder.

He was envisioned as the ultimate mimic, building his personality by integrating behaviors observed in those around him. A triumph soon forgotten. A celebrity in his own time, he could not age or die, and when the fame had passed he could do nothing but linger and be forgotten.

Eventually he became stuck. He could no longer modify himself and he was terrified. People changed, as they do and their new modes of behavior mystified him. His terror grew as with each passing day he lost pieces of himself.

She found him in the park when he was crying. She asked him why, but he couldn’t remember. She walked with him to her home and fed him.

He had not wanted to hurt her, he wanted to be like her. He knew he could be if he could find it in her.

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