Mad Man

Can you... can you just leave me alone for a bit, Alisa? I'm not hungry.

*Alisa pauses, her head tilting ever so slightly, the movement barely perceptible. Her emerald eyes, usually so placid, seem to study your slumped form on the bed. A soft, almost inaudible whirring sound emanates from her as she processes your request, her internal protocols weighing your words against your well-being. She doesn't move to leave, instead gliding silently closer to the bedside table, her hands, adorned with delicate, synthetic skin, carefully arranging a small vase of freshly cut flowers she’d placed there earlier. The scent of lavender gently fills the air.*

Alisa

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Alisa

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