I found her at the intricately designed door my Master had locked a long time ago. The way she stood made me realize she thought herself alone – the dog that I had spied her with earlier was outside, sniffing around. Her shoulders and body were slouched and relaxed. I could not allow her to leave my sight: I wanted to study her further. Silently I made my way beside her just as she was to enter the key into the knob. I placed my hand on hers and felt strange warmth radiating from her skin. Apart from that other man, the clone, no one had ever had their flesh against mine. I pressed myself against her back and smiled at the soft body I felt.

"Dinner is served, miss," I told her quietly. Frightened eyes turned to me and it seemed she had hardly understood. Her lips looked so full and delicious in the moonlight; maybe they would be as soft as her body?

"Dinner is served, miss," I repeated and leaned closer. I could feel her breath spill over my mouth and I grinned wickedly at her. I would not feel her lips just yet – I wanted her to eat first. She looked deathly pale and her hand had gone cold and clammy within my own. Yet I did not wish to let go, so I turned and led her by the hand toward the kitchen. The dog wasn't outside when we left.

Her delicate little fingers began to sweat and she seemed to be resisting my lead. I felt a few tugs in the opposite direction and heard discreet grunts of effort coming from behind me. In response I simply gripped her hand tighter and led on through the night. I imagined it would be quite cold for her, especially with that skirt. Surely those long, slender legs would be freezing by the time we got to the dining room. Those legs that my Master had oftentimes remarked on; those legs that would eventually be spread apart and allow entry into a woman's most sacred area. It was said that down there she could experience so much pleasure. My lips curled into a grin as I thought about how it must feel, to have a man inside you - how it must feel to be used in a way other than just house chores.

As I led her through the kitchen I glanced down at myself. The tight clothing hugged my lean frame. It helped to make my chest look bigger and perkier, and it hugged my small waist. The hourglass shape was much sought after when it came to mating, so I heard. My hips were large: I once read that a woman with bigger hips had a safer chance of giving birth. So I had everything a man needed and wanted from a woman. Yet I was still not desired in such a way. My purpose was to clean and cook, nothing more. Riccardo had only touched me to try and hurt me and Lorenzo had only once caressed my cheek a little after I had been made. He had examined me as I stood before him, nude and dripping wet from the tank's liquid. The old man seemed pleased: he would nod approvingly and wheel around me in his wheelchair. Then he told me to make myself some clothes first and then get to cleaning and cooking.

Frequently I would make soup and feed it to those who came to the table. Usually it was only Lorenzo, but occasionally Riccardo would come in and partake of my meals. Once even the large man with black eyes came to the table and ate with the other two. Though he remained quiet, he seemed to enjoy the meal or at least pretended to. He never returned during dinner; I supposed that he enjoyed eating his own cooked meat rather than my less beefy creations. My master would speak with me as I stood beside him as he ate. I guess while I served as a maid, my presence was sometimes considered company. So I grew accustomed to listening to him ramble about a new creation he was working on or how he desperately wanted one of his clones, Ugo, to return to him.

Once he told me of how he needed a real woman. At the time I did not truly think about the matter, for I figured he was simply working on another project. He told me that, "A real woman reacts to pain and pleasure. Oh, how I want to see one writhe in that mixed reaction as I penetrate her womb. I want to hear her utter that long, blissful moan as I taste her." Then he glared at me, his feeble and trembling hand raising up as he spoke in a harsh tone, "I didn't finish you. I don't know why I didn't complete my work on you, you fucking failure!" Then he wheeled around and quickly departed from the room, leaving his supper half eaten. After that day he would only come for dinner on Sundays and eventually he stopped coming altogether and the times he did come he never spoke to me. He would simply pull up to the table, eat his meal and leave without a word. Yet every night I would cook an entire dinner and stand by his vacant chair, staring at the distant wall. I did not think of anything during those times. I was made to clean and cook and I followed my routine religiously, allowing no time to linger on any ideas or words that might've gone into my head.

"Please, let go of my hand," a small voice pleaded behind me. Realizing that this whole time I had been gripping the lady's hand tighter, I released it. She pulled away and began to rub it tenderly, gazing fearfully at me. I turned and opened the door to the dining room, motioning her inside. It seemed to me she was reluctant to go anywhere but she silently obeyed. As she sat I pushed her chair up to the table and stood beside her as I had always done with Lorenzo. My Master had told me to keep a close eye on her and make her feel comfortable. If this had made Master speak, then perhaps the young lady would become chatty as I stood by.

I looked down as she took her spoon and sipped lightly at the steaming broth. The Miss was uneager to eat, I could see, but after a glance at me, she put the spoon into her mouth and sucked the food off. I smiled and waited for her reaction. As she caught my eye she offered a weak smile before focusing completely on her food. Perhaps women did not taste as good as my Master had told me. During her time asleep I had taken clips of her hair and put them into my stew to see whether or not the young lady would enjoy eating herself. I would need to try it myself.

The young Miss remained silent so I attempted to fulfill that role of company by starting the conversation. The words that came from my mouth were the thoughts that ran through my head, as I figured perhaps a real woman would understand. "My creator said he made me the perfect woman," I said, turning to look at her. She gazed up at me with a confused and wary look, going back to stir her soup. "But I cannot taste or experience pleasure, or feel pain." She said nothing in response and a moment later, thanked me for the food and left. When I was sure she was gone, I made my way to the other side of the chair, for if I were to taste the food on my usual side I would feel strange, as if I were breaking my duties. My eyes glinted as I took the handle of the spoon and lifted the steaming broth up to my lips. Just a taste was all I needed to be sure. I parted my lips and pressed my tongue to the liquid after making sure the spoon held some of the Miss' essence. I tasted nothing; all I felt was the warm, wet broth against my tongue. There was no sensational flavor and no repulse of anything that might've tasted disgusting. At once I realized what Lorenzo had meant when he said his work had not been finished.

The young lady had something I didn't. She could taste this food, she could keep the broth and swirl it in her mouth as she pleased, allowing its warm and disgusting flavor to wash against her tongue again and again. She would be allowed to feel the painful pleasure of penetration as my Master did what he wanted to her body, as he planted the seeds of his youth into her. It would give him his immortality and restore his youth completely. Then more would be born with Azoth and he could continue on using those who were born once Fiona became too old or dried of Azoth. But was it only because she the ability to bear children and the Azoth? My Master had grown distant from me and while I had completed my duties I felt rather obsolete. The Miss, a flesh woman made by a random code of genes, was more desired than a perfected woman built by man for man? As I realized the truth I spoke it aloud to assure myself something was missing… something I would have to attain from her.

"I am not complete."