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Burning Golden Heart from shutterstock

There's something wrong with my code. Celebroid entertainers are not supposed to have code-faults. I watch the pale gold bubbles of champaign in the glass, then I see them on the floor, the ceiling, frothing down the drain of the grey marble sink. Did I taste it? I am supposed to have all the appropriate sensors to imitate flesh-life. Human life. I am not Human. But machines can't do anything their programming won't allow. Waste is not allowed. Damaging myself is not allowed. I am a candle, burning, golden heart melting. Am I?

There is no waking. I cannot sleep.