The fleeting interest was just that- a fleeting interest. It could never be anything but; a sinful being repenting, loneliness my punishment for my transgressions- Your original's sins, Hitler, not yours, never yours. A smile, encouragingly, loving, as caresses found my body. Why I was expecting anything else, I'll never know. Perhaps it was the soft words whispered into my ears, the Austrian dialect of German we were both forced to learn a weird sensation when fluttering so easily from his lips, moist breath against my ear, and I moved up into it. Or maybe it was the way he so easily played my body like an instrument, causing my voice to rise with cries of pleasure. Beautiful, sweet nothings against pale skin, amber against sapphire as our eyes met. His eyes were the only indicator of his true intentions, and even they betrayed me. Stoicism easily morphed into an inviting smile, melting my worries.

I clung to him, my nails digging into his shoulders as he bit the very crook of my neck. The pain aroused me, and I begged for more, a reaction I am sure did nothing but amuse him although he responded to my needs. He loved me, if only for that moment, and such actions I needed. Growing up without love, we clones were only sure to find it within one another. But, of course, we're clones. We did not need the same emotions as humans, right?

Maslow's hierarchy of needs did not extend to clones, it seemed.

You are the breath that gives me life.

You are the passion in my heart.

I knew, I saw, that he soaked up my every reaction to the phrases whispered into my ear as he teased and ravished me, whimpering beneath him. I begged for more, gasped for another touch, hungry for another kiss. And he indulged my every request, my every desire, mentally storing away my actions in his head. I knew this, yet I ignored. I did not see, or perhaps I merely chose my ignorance, that he had much more in plan than just us together forever, hearts entwined, passions alit.

The night is ours.

That, perhaps, was the most truthful statement he gave me. The night was indeed ours- our days spent in our accepted groups, myself beside Shiro and he Napoleon. Yet, when the sun set and darkness fell upon Kleio Academy, he and I were left to our own devices- that which I thought was love and he used was made the night ours, an angel of lust descending upon our bed sheets disguised as love.

Love.

I learned how despicable, horrible, and detestable that four letter word was. Love was nothing but an invitation for another to break you, destroy you, and leave you for nothing. At least, that was love for a clone.

Research, he said. I wished to study how, when one is devoid of kindness, how their psyche responds to a large supply. Would they begin to heal from their hermit-like state they have been trained to hold, or would they overdose like one does on heroin?

Of course, I placed a practiced smile upon my face. How could I not? I knew from the beginning that there was no place for me with everyone else. I would never be loved. I could not be loved. I repeated this to myself as I watched him leave my room for the last time, holding back tears. No, never true love, only a fake, cheap imitation used to fuel a new Freudian theory. And deep down, I expected it. How could I not?

I still had my sins to atone for.