The Unknown Lurks

“What does it mean to dream?”

The question was unexpected. How could I explain such a thing, something that was so intrinsic and basic to the very heart of humankind itself. An assumed quality revered not – for it is so commonplace and yet miraculous unto itself. The sparkling blue of her eyes shone curiously up into my self-doubt and I remembered her as she had been...

Reflective, unblinking orbs stared blankly up at my overhanging head. I supposed it was a girl, though I couldn’t say for certain. Its small figure was lithe and girlish, its lips delicate and pale, but all the while as my gaze was cast upon it, I couldn’t help but wonder at its humanity. The thing was not a person, of course, but so closely did it resemble the form of one that even I, its creator could no longer tell true life apart from the artificial replicant.

I brushed my hand slowly along its cheek. Still, it was but a doll. Lifeless in its core and entirely immobile. I downed my glass of whisky. I blinked at the warm burn that accompanied the cascade of liquid down my throat. It was late but I could not stop just yet. My work was incomplete.

A homunculus was a tricky business, and many a sorcerer had failed where I had succeeded thus far, though I reserved my excitement for the case in which I should succeed fully in my purpose. As it happened, I was not successful that evening. It was, in fact, some time before I was, however, all the while; lingering in the subconscious of my mind; was the image of that lifeless expression - a mask that hid nothing but an empty shell behind it.

One day, a finger twitched. I should be lying were I to say that I was not startled. I moved closer. I bent over and cocked my head, squinted carefully over its chest. Nothing. I sighed. Perhaps it had been but a result of my overworked mind. I stepped away and poured myself a drink. As the first splash fell upon the glass, I stopped. What was that?

I turned back to the table on which my project lay and found it to be empty. My eyes widened. I looked about the room in a panic. Sure enough, the thing was squatting on the ground, hunched over and staring at something.

I approached with caution. It did not respond. Slowly, I placed a hand upon its shoulder. I felt it start. It turned its head, gazing at me over its shoulder. The movement of its curious face mimicked my own as we sized each other up. I told her my name. She spoke it back hesitantly.

“Yes,” I said with a nod. “You shall need one too.”

I thought for a moment.

“Luta,” I said at last. She blinked.

“L-u-ta?” she responded, questioningly.

I smiled at her as she repeated the name several more times.

It was not long before she was rather indistinguishable from any other child. At least, to the outside eye.

“Please, master, brush my hair for me.”

I was not sure why she enjoyed this pastime so, but I indulged her fancy, nonetheless.

“Master,” she said. “I want to read.”

I raised an eyebrow. Surely, an odd request. I supposed that seeing me pour countless hours into arcane texts would garner her attention inadvertently, though I supposed also that she would not take great interest in such works.

“Let me see if I have anything you might enjoy.”

I felt the gaze of her eyes upon my back as I scoured the shelf, sweeping dust from spines as I searched for anything which might appeal to a child. When I handed her something at last, she seemed most pleased.

Some days past.

I watched from my desk as Luta played with the cat upon the windowsill. Though her reading had been slow and painful at first, drawing much of my precious time away to assist her, it had progressed. The latest development had been her desire for a pet. Really it was remarkable that a children’s book could implant such thoughts in her artificial mind. Thoughts?

“Luta,” I called. Her head turned away from the purring feline. “What is thought?”

She appeared confused. Of course, a mere child could not answer such a question. There was a period of silence between us. Then, she spoke, stutteringly.

“Master, I have a question, though you may find it foolish.”

I gestured for her to proceed.

She drew in some breath before speaking once more.

“Are you my father?”

I was taken aback. To ask such a thing...

“No,” I replied plainly. “As a homunculus, you have no father, Luta. You know this.”

She nodded slowly and turned back to the cat. Her petting, however, seemed less enthusiastic than before.

More and more Luta spent her time outside, wandering about the garden that ran to the edge of the forest. At first, I kept one eye on her, almost obsessively; but slowly, I grew more at ease. There was no danger of discovery here, after all.

By day she watched the birds or her cat, and by night she read. Having finished the only children’s books I happened to possess, she moved on to whatever else she could find. I did not discourage it. Why should I? Certainly, she had developed faster than any human might, though her unchanging form would not suggest so.

One night I lay, tossing sleeplessly beneath my covers as outside a storm raged on. Rain pelted against the side of the house and overhead, the crack of thunder shattered the night sky. From the kitchen there came a crash. I sat up and threw my covers aside.

I looked blearily into the kitchen, squinting in the half light of the candle I held before me. The mangled body of the cat lay atop the counter, floating in a puddle of crimson. I could scarce comprehend the scene when I noticed Luta standing to one side.

“Why does it not move?” she asked.

The words were caught in my throat.

“I am not alive, and neither is he, but he does not move. Why, master?”

I put my hand to my forehead. I could feel a queasiness welling up from inside me.

“At night you sleep but I cannot. I lie awake and wonder. You told me that to think is to be human, but all humans have a father and you say you are not mine.”

Thought. Again, it seemed an impossibility.

“I eat but do not grow. I think but have no thoughts of my own.”

And yet she speaks her mind. It was then that a pertinent realisation came to me. She looked up at me and I struggled to meet her gaze. She spoke.

“What does it mean to dream?”