Ah. Ah Ah. Ahhhhh.
Over the lap of waves, an unpleasant sound reaches her. It's been dark for a long time now. She can't say if she has truly been sleeping. She doesn't need to sleep. But she knows she has been dreaming by her annoyance at being disturbed. The distant twitches of her own mass stir in protest. Ignoring the grotesque reaches of her body, she burrows tighter into herself and dreams an impossible dream.
A dream that she is beautiful.
La! La la la!
It's back. Louder now and less hesitant. And just as awful as the last time it woke her. The sound is not clean enough to be a person's voice or warped enough to belong to a shade. Neither of those things exists anymore, really, aside from her. And yet recognition squeezes uncomfortably at the core of her amorphous being.
The sound is something trying to sing.
" Id iOt," she whispers. She hasn't heard her own voice in a long, long time.
It's still as ugly as ever.
She folds her body over itself again and again until it's silent.
La la laaa. La la laa. La la laaa. La la laa.
Again today, that clunky, stilted song.
She'd let the sun take her once. Thinking that maybe it would be best that way. That if she could not become human, at least she'd finally be a part of that shining world by letting herself fade into that dazzling light. It had come as a rude shock to her that she had been just as bad at destroying herself as those people had been at destroying her. But she was, and remains, a monster. Maybe it was to be expected that some part of her would slink away and regenerate even if she didn't wish to.
She resents being awake in the same way she'd resented finding herself still alive, but she doesn't attempt to block the sound anymore.
Instead, she listens.
Every day she hears something new. Metal banging and screeching. Heavy thuds from somewhere far above. The voice takes on a more feminine sound, and song begins to form. At first a series of disjointed notes, and then a melody. Words come and go. She thinks she recognizes some of them, though she can't say what they mean.
All the while, the voice improves. Gains depth and flow and control of itself.
Why does she listen? Why does something in her quicken and grow light at the thought of this unknown voice succeeding where she had failed a world ago?
She doesn't know, but sometimes she mouths the song and imagines the voice is her own.
Uuuh…! Wahhhhh! Waaaaaahhhhhhh!
It cries with the abandon of a child.
An unbearable sound.
There is no plan or forethought in her actions. Only the compulsion to finally know the source of this ugly voice that has taught itself to sing one beautiful song.
Imagining isn't like dreaming. It hurts. But she pictures her past anyway. The too-bright sand and too-white bricks. She forms hands and touches her form until it remembers the shape of a girl she'd pretended to be once. Until things that look like hair drape over gray shoulders. Until a film weaves over her that feels faintly like a dress.
Until a piece of her body twists and knots on one side of her head in the shape of a white ribbon that no longer exists.
She hasn't managed to return to the size she was before she let the sunlight dissolve her, but she is big enough that it takes some effort to remember how to move. The sound of waves grows stronger as she burrows upward. Saltwater spills over her, tainted with the strong tang of rust. Bracing for the touch of sunlight, she pushes with a calamitous clatter through layers of junk and scrap that have piled on top of her nest and feels—
Nothing. There is no sunlight. The sky is full of smoke and the ground is covered in wispy coastal fog.
"Who's there?!"
Her gaze rises. Standing on the balcony of a castle made entirely of metal is a princess who is also made entirely of metal. Human-shaped only in the vague angles of its design, which have clearly been hammered together intentionally.
Sculpted by its own hand. No different from this dress and this ribbon and this face of a girl.
"DoN't crY." It recoils, no doubt from the harshness of her voice. "YoUr sonG is bEaUtifuL. Don'T cRy."
"…Beautiful…?"
This time it is she who recoils. This creature is not a shade, but humans were never able to understand her. She'd spoken without the intention of being understood.
With something a little like fear, she withdraws back beneath the shore.
Are you there? Are you there? Lalala, lala, lala.
Where are you? Where are you? Lalala, lala, lala.
The metal princess has been singing like that for days, up and down the coast. It is looking for her, though she can't imagine why.
Are you sleeping? Are you sleeping? Lalala, lala, lala.
Where are you? Where are you? Lalala, lala, lala.
She hadn't been getting any sleep since it started singing in the first place. Now that it knew she was there, there was no depth she can burrow to where its voice doesn't reach her. How long will it keep that up? It's metal, so it probably doesn't get tired.
The voice grows louder. It's close again. What does it want?
She surfaces carefully. It's still foggy and dim, but there is a sun somewhere behind the vapor. More importantly, she doesn't want the machine princess to know she is there. It's clunky in motion. Picking its way over the cluttered shore on four thick metal limbs the poke out from under the cascading brass cone of its dress. Its head turns to and fro as it moves. It is looking for her.
It seems…earnest. Perhaps a bit frantic. There must be more graceful ways for it to move, but the longer she watches, the more it seems to be in a hurry. Only its singing voice remains melodic and steady.
Where are you? Where are you?
"... I' m hE Re ."
It turns so quickly it nearly stumbles over itself. Excitedly turning only to gently pick her way to the shoreline and watch her with its unreadable metal face.
"Are you a mermaid?"
She blinks. " I doN't knOw."
"Are you an android?"
"I'm A sHAde."
"What's a shade?"
"...sOmeTHInG ThaT caNnot BEcOme hUmAn."
"Do shades know what being beautiful is? I'm trying to be beautiful."
"I cOUlD nOt bEcoME BeaUtIFuL. BuT I reMeMBER It."
"Oh, please–you must teach me! I will do anything!"
"WhY?"
"There's someone I love. If I become beautiful, he will love me too. I've upgraded my body a lot and it's become much more beautiful than before. I'm close. I'm so close, I just need a little more and then I'll be truly beautiful!"
It's terribly familiar. The machine princess should give up. What it wants does not exist. But she can't make herself say so. After all, its song is beautiful. Perhaps being a machine, it can simply change whatever it wants about itself. It probably can't ever become human, but that isn't what it wants anyway.
"WhAt is yOuR NamE?"
"Simone. And you?"
"...LouiSe."
Falalala~ Falala Lala Lala~
All of Simone's questions are about being beautiful. All of Louise's answers are about being human.
Somehow, it works out. Mostly.
It fascinates Louise to watch the machine princess repeat all of her mistakes. It thinks that eating androids will make it beautiful in the same way that Louise once thought eating humans would transform her into a human. It adorns herself in pretty things in the same way that Louise once took a red bag for her own because it had caught her eye. It tears down the red curtains adorning the stage and drapes it over its already dress-shaped bottom half, and Louise can't help but touch the slick gossamer of her own imitated dress. Simone doesn't give herself a ribbon, but it does construct a headpiece for itself that looks like a crown.
It doesn't want to become human; it wants to become beautiful. And while it doesn't resemble human beauty, Louise can't help but think it is.
Louise doesn't envy the machine. Not for the ability to just swap out parts that don't please. Not for the ability to simply steal a voice that sounds the way it thinks is most beautiful. There is nothing about Simone's beauty that she wants. The machine is doomed for no fault of its own.
The machine that Simone is in love with is named Sartre. It is neither beautiful nor kind. When it talks at all, it's in complicated words that are never anything worth hearing and it doesn't seem to care about anything but itself. It has never given Simone food, or a name, or a pretty ribbon.
Sartre is never nice to Simone.
She cannot understand why Simone loves him, only that she does.
Aha~ Aha~ Ahaaalalala~
Louise soon runs out of answers to give. There is nowhere else for her to go but back into the sea but it's not long before Simone soon comes singing ' Where are you? Are you there? Are you sleeping?' along the shore. When she surfaces, it has no further questions. Instead, it seems to simply crave her company.
It is… strange to be wanted. But the sun is rarely out for long and the amusement park is full of places to hide, so there is no reason to say no.
She expects Simone to tire of her in hours, but the hours soon turn into days. Idly. Gently. Strolling through the boulevard where the small machines sing and twirl and throw confetti in their silly hats and silly face paint. Sometimes they convince Simone to twirl along, and it laughs in the approximation of a feminine giggle. Simone is joyful and infectious when she is not endangering herself in the name of beauty. Louise never takes much convincing to join the dance.
The machine princess' song is more beautiful all the time. It doesn't seem to mind Louise's ugly one and it's not surprising. The other machines in the park all speak in grating mechanical monotones. To Simone, Louise must not sound any different. She doesn't know exactly how she feels about that…
Simone thinks she is pretty, and she doesn't know how to feel about that either.
When it finds some new bauble to adorn itself, it always takes care to dress Louise up as well. She ends up wearing a dozen shawls and dresses of different colors, sometimes bright and childish, sometimes somber and mature. Simone plays with the concept of hair, but none of them satisfy it. In the end, it is much happier having Louise do her own hair. While it can't be groomed, it does move, and she ends up having a surprising amount of fun.
"Don't all women want to be beautiful?" She holds up another length of fabric. She loves her red the most, but she tries other colors at every opportunity. They might be more beautiful than red, after all. "And don't all girls want to have fun?"
Woman. Girl. It is difficult to remember exactly what those things mean, and she doesn't know where Simone got her information. But surely it is correct. She has been researching and working on this subject for years. Louise's time as 'human' was relatively brief and mostly shoddy imitation of the people she'd eaten. She'd wanted so badly to be a part of that shining world. She'd wanted to learn–-to be taught–-all that Simone already knew.
And now she is. By a machine princess who stood as high as she did, on a street full of song and festivity where the fireworks never end. Even though they are a shade and a machine, Simone thinks they are both girls. That it's only natural for them to be beautiful and have fun.
Neither of them are human, but they might as well be two girls out shopping and playing dress-up. There is nothing Louise can eat, and Simone doesn't need to eat, but how wonderful it would be if they could have shared something sweet together and enjoyed it. An apple, maybe.
It all feels like a dream. It is hilarious. It is awful.
"Louise?" the machine princess asks, dropping the broken earrings. "Are you injured? Why are you crying?"
So she is crying. So Simone can tell she is crying, even if she is a monster. How awful. How frustrating.
"Go aWay!" She can feel it. The great thing that is her true body swelling. In the distance and under this small and paltry piece of herself. "LeAVe me aLoNE!"
Simone retreats a few steps. And then a few more. But it does not flee.
It sings.
It sings and sings in her beautiful voice. How she'd prefer this stupid machine's voice to still be as ugly as her own. How sun-like it burns to be treated like a human, but not by the one she'd hoped for. And worst of all, how it aches to hear in Simone's song that feeling reflected back. It has tried. It has tried and tried and it is beautiful already. She is beautiful already.
Sartre is no prince, and never will be.
"THeRe WaS A hUman A lONg tiMe Ago," she sobs. "He waS NicE to Me, but whEN he sAw I Was A mONstER, hE HAted mE. If I coulD HaVe bEen HUmaN… I wantEd our TIme TogeTHer tO be like tHis."
"...You still love him, don't you?"
"hE wAs KinD tO me." Over and over it is all she can say. She has never shared this grief. All of it seems to rest on those words. On the gratitude that she was never able to show him.
Simone tears a piece of of her dress and knots the fabric together. It is messy and tattered and ragged, but it is that beautiful shade of red she favors so much. She ties it on the empty side of Louise's head. "I've become so much more beautiful because of you. You don't need to be human. I will not hate you. When I am loved, I will become a wife. You can be my daughter if you like. Then we can be together like this every day forever."
It is a beautiful promise.
None of the machines know what a shade is. They know what humans are, but have never seen them. All the humans are up on the moon because of a war that has raged for longer than any of them can remember.
The machines are humanity's enemy and perhaps Louise should hate them. But humanity could not accept her and the machines have.
Simone has.
And she is doomed. And she does not deserve it.
Louise decides that she will stay, even when the promise breaks.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Simone is the most beautiful she has ever been. Terribly, wonderfully, heartbreakingly beautiful.
"Am I not beautiful?" she pleads. "Will you not say you love me?"
Sartre says no such thing. Louise has known the whole time that he would not. He claims he is not obligated to acknowledge her feelings simply because she wants him to.
The words curdle something in her. She is angry. More than she has ever been. Even at the woman who threatened to hurt her precious person. But she knows too that Simone forgives this stupid machine. That she could never be angry with him. Even if he refuses to love her, she cannot harm the one she loves.
If sunlight could harm her, Simone would let herself dissolve in it first.
There are other machines in the park who love this stupid machine, but none of them love him the way Simone does. He's known. He's known since she was just a small and humble machine with a moon face and empty light bulb eyes, and he let her work and slave and remake herself this whole time without ever even bothering to look at her.
He let her eat androids. He let her nearly kill herself for precious gems that were no more or less beautiful than the pearls on the coast. He even let her eat other machines. They don't go out on the boulevard anymore. The other machines say Simone is dangerous. That she is junk.
She had come to him again and again with her best, and still Sartre can not even bother to say that he hates her. To spit at her and call her a monster. He treats her as he has, always.
Like she and her love and her efforts do not exist at all.
Simone is screaming. Her beautiful voice a wretched howl at what she has become. Gold light flashes beneath Louise's skin and she disappears quietly into the shadows. Simone will not forgive her if she finds out about this, but Louise isn't worried.
It won't be the first time she's kept a hunt from someone important.
Aaaahahaha! Aaaahahaha! Aaaahahaha! Aaaaaaaaaaah-!
Simone is broken.
She sits in the opera house alone, perfecting herself for no one. She insists she must be beautiful, but never speaks of why. Her crown is adorned in android corpses that dangle like puppets. Her fingers in shining rings made from polished lugnuts. She reeks of flowers that Louise brings to her whenever she asks. Their perfume does not cover up the scent of oil. Louise doesn't ask where the scent comes from. It doesn't matter.
She sings. Sometimes Louise sings with her. Her voice is garbled and unpleasant as ever, but still Simone never seems to mind. Maybe it reminds her of what her own voice was before she changed herself. What she wishes she could go back to.
She still dresses Louise up. Trying things on her slightly smaller body that she might not consider for herself. Lipstick and blush made of android blood. Nail polish applied in thick globs of tar. Necklaces made of tiny linked chains of digit-parts from smaller machines.
"Perfect…" she rasps after one such session.
It sends a chill through Louise.
Simone's strangely delicate digits graze against her cheek. Against the shining pearl earrings she'd latched to Louise's ears. Over the red ribbon and down to the red shawl torn from her dress. To the shadowy line of a slim neck beneath.
There is nothing to read in the metal mask, but Louise remembers something unpleasant.
For a brief period after the last time she awoke, she'd looked for humans. Out of hunger, more than anything. She'd bitten into some things that looked like humans, but they were all metal and wires inside. Imitations. She remembers being angry. Not because they were an insult to her empty stomach, but because they were so pretty. Their apple-red hair and soft skin and pink lips and pleasing voices had infuriated her. They weren't people either. Why did they get to be beautiful? Why did they get to walk together in the sun? Why them and not her when it was all she'd ever wanted?
Simone is thinking the same thing right now. Feeling the same right now.
Simone envies her.
"No." The vocalization snaps Simone out of it and she withdraws her hand like she isn't sure what she intended to do with it. Louise clasps it with enough strength to make it creak. Too much strength, but she is desperate in a way she has not been in thousands of years. "I'm NOt beAutifUL…"
Again, there is nothing to see in the machine's face. But it communicates easily in the slow way its fingers curl to return her grasp. In the gentle way it prods beneath her eyes to smear away her thick, black tears. Simone can scream, but she cannot cry. All that she feels is contained in the tender anguish of her answer:
"You have always been beautiful to me."
Louise… You'll be here, right? You can see me, right? Will you always look my way…?
OF couRsE, SiMOne. eVEry dAY wiLl be lIkE tHis. Me aNd yOU. beING beAUTIFUL AnD HaviNG Fun.
lIKe HUmAn gIrls DO.