“I’ve been insisting for a while now that we use the epimeliad for such functions as this, but, well, your father disagrees, ma’am.”
Of course he disagrees, Luna thought darkly, using the more recently fashioned epimeliad would be tantamount to accepting advice from someone other than himself, not to mention his strange obsession with keeping the meows in circulation. Whilst there were many types of homunculi who could perform the same tasks as the meows with a far greater degree of success, her father seemed determined to keep the ugly, brutish creatures at the forefront of the company’s profile.
“Yes,” she gurgled, unable to find the strength to express much more.
“So,” Seymour said over the radio, “now that you’re down there, what do you want to do?”
* * * *
“I want you to stop this,” Eirian read, “I want you to stop bringing me back, I want you to let me stay dead.”
She tightened her fists.
“You’re selfish,” she protested, tears stinging her eyes.