Looking on the automaton's face, I wanted to pretend it was Cathy. It bore mechanical resemblance to her, and around its neck was that same thaumatrope. Sometimes, I would feel so accustomed to the automaton that I would forget what Cathy actually used to look like, at which point I would have to look at my only photograph.
"Do you think Cathy's soul lives on somehow within that automaton?" Lance asked me. I rolled my whiskey in the snifter.
"No. If I did, I would have stolen it long ago. Like I said, kid. That automaton is nothing but a memory."
"That bastard Corin," Lance cursed under his breath. "He didn't even love her enough to be there when she was dying."
"Death is complicated. Corin was weak, but he came through in the end."
I told the kid one last story from those times.