No. I

I am a doll, lifeless and empty.

I have no face, save that which others give me.

I am a thing of imperfection.

An incomplete reflection.

Made inside a laboratory.

A flawed replica of memories.

Made to strike down the only one who cared for me.

To take his cold and lifeless body.

To use his power for my makers.

My makers, my masters.

Now they order me.

To do my sole intended duty.

But during my fabrication.

Was made one miscalculation.

One overlooked component.

Turning weapon to opponent.

I, the mindless servant

Void of anything.

I, the heartless puppet.

Was fashioned lacking strings.

In the end.

Where dueled two friends.

I gave a moment's hesitation.

That movement of my own decision.

Freed me from my unseen prison.

His aim was true.

He pierced me through.

And shattered all illusion.

Having stopped my maker's plans.

My time had now come to an end.

And so I lay there fading.

My friend wept.

As memory left.

And the world slowly erased me.

The last tear fell, a silent farewell.

At least I could die free.

Xion