Often they would stare at her. They would give awkward side glances with a bit of confusion in their gaze, a quick twist of the head to make it seem like they never even looked. Some wondered what her deal was, while some cowered in fear from what they knew about her. She was a robot- a machine created by an insane man. Although some claimed he was justified, after all, his daughter was dead. What's better, no daughter, or a replicate? The only problem was, she was a monster. She felt no emotion or pain. Her voice was mechanical, and she could dance just like the young, flesh-composed girl could in the past. Some speculated that she could feel, and some thought they could hear the echoes of female laughter through the grinding of her rusty gears. Her ballet was on point, and her steps were flawless. Her strides were graceful and fluid. But some would argue that it wasn't graceful, yet mechanical. The robot would dance her wired heart out, seeming to relive the memory of the original girl. She would twist her entire body in a circle and then jump, extending her legs in either direction, performing a dance that the young girl would've dreamed of. But she was a mere replacement of the child prodigy, and nothing special in the means of the general public. She was a mechanical monster, an unfeeling killer. A robot.