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She couldn’t put aside the feeling at the pit of her soul nagging at her. For all intents and purposes of celibacy, she was alone and couldn’t do anything about it. She couldn’t feel the touch of someone’s hand at her waist. She wouldn’t dance. She couldn’t embrace a warm body around and experience the pleasure of their existence above all. Yet she couldn’t succumb to the rules of nature or society, rules which seem to leave a trace of ingenuity when obeyed and a scar when ignored. These rules were irrelevant to survival. She wouldn’t have to procreate to live after death. She didn’t need a residue left behind telling of her tales. She certainly didn’t require someone to remember her. Immortality seemed desirable but most times life was bearable for it was short. She already knew how she behaved when she had tons of time at her hands, hands that longed to mold life into existence. So that’s why she picked every path leading to creating. Even if it was creating a robot so limited not worthy of conversing. But better than animals even. She could build it to feel. To learn. Stubbornness was her fuel. Was it sufficient? 
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