Your creator looks down at you, stretching you out to see all your flaws. Their eyes rake you over, assessing your worth. You wonder if you're worth all the time they've put into you. If they'll think so too. They could rip you apart, tear you down, eradicate you from existence. You'd be remade, all your parts reworked into a new version of you. But it wouldn't be you. Your flaws would be gone, but you'd be gone too.
You wonder if the trade would be worth it.















