counterfeit cogitation

Sitting in the Machina Village, among family and friends and once-thought foes alike, the difference between now and then becomes, oh, startlingly apparent to Fiora. So her gears start to grind and whirr on that.

What makes a Homs a Homs? What makes a High Entia a High Entia, and a Nopon a Nopon? What makes a Machina different from a Mechon?

Heels. The Machina all have heels, and hats or headsets or something of the sort, and hip joints like mine, and flexy-bendy wrists that creak, but in a really wonderfully graceful way - I wish mine did that, don't I, because they just sort of...flop, if I'm not careful.

But anyway. The Machina. It's not about me. It's about the Machina.

Tall. They're all so dazzlingly tall, and it's not just about the heels, every part of them is so slender and subtly defined. They're not curvy, like me. Really, I'm more curvy now than I was back as a Homs.

As a...

The Machina. Oh, they have these beautiful bodies, you could never mistake them. And is that all that defines them?

Well, what defines a Homs?

A Homs such as Fiora. The old Fiora, I mean.

Freckles. Robots don't have freckles.

Cute. Robots aren't cute.

Me. Fiora. I'm not a robot.

But if I'm not, then what the heck am I?

I'm perfect. Right? I'm fast, and I'm slick, and my legs move in my frames from side to side, swish swish swish, on and on and on and on!

And I'm strong, too. Even if my wrists do creak, it's because they've got so much power behind them. Surely that makes sense. Surely this is how I'm meant to be.

Honestly, I'm the best damn not-robot you'll ever see. It's like I was made for this body, even though this body was really just made for me.

Me. Fiora. I'm not a robot! I'm...

What? There's no word for this, no normal hybrid between metal and flesh, bone and wire. This isn't real. This isn't normal.

I'm not me. I'm not normal. Because among the Machina, I'm Homs-like, and among the Homs, I'm Machina-like - Mechon-like, in fact!

I'm the enemy! Shulk wanted to kill me! Why doesn't he still want to now?!

I don't know. I'll never know. It feels like I can't know, not because I'm not supposed to but because I just...can't.

I can't do it. They all expect so much of me, they all think I know this side of the world so much better than they do.

They don't think of me as that fragile little girl anymore, even though I wasn't and even though they really didn't. I wish they would.

It would be so much easier, I think. I...

Robots don't think for themselves, right? They're...robotic! They can't think, or feel, or love, or hate!

And I do all of those things. Right? Or maybe I'm just remembering when I used to. Maybe it's been Meyneth ever since.

When was the last time I thought about any of this? Was it really all back in the colony? Was it really all before I died?

Did I even feel anything, when that happened? Was I always a robot?

Come to think of it...

When was the last time I felt anything at all?