"Hello everyone!" Amie beams as she sits at a garden table, wearing a white dress with a floral design. She has a teacup before her, as does Mr. Brennan, who sits sullenly with his arms crossed. "How are you all today? I hope you're all having a beautiful day. Another lockdown has just been announced and Mr. Brennan and I are confined at home, but we're making do in our own way," she says brightly.

"Aren't we always confined?" Mr. Brennan asks dryly. "We're characters in a story, after all."

"Oh!... I suppose you're right, dear sir. But it's a good thing! I'm sure you know why we're here."

"I do," Mr. Brennan says. "Though I don't understand why you're so chipper given the circumstances."

Amie smiles at him sweetly, and pours him a second cup of tea. "Mr. Brennan, you are a fantastic man. But you're also a bit stuffy. That's why you and I are meant to be together. That, and the fact that we're both trapped in a story with a cranky writer who doesn't understand the concept of romance. Doesn't that sound lovely?"

Mr. Brennan's face is a mask of stone. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. And yet people read about us, you say?"

Amie giggles. "Yes, of course they do! They love you, Mr. Brennan!"

"I'm sure they do," Mr. Brennan says in an empty tone.

Amie frowns. "Mr. Brennan, why aren't you happy? We've just broken 2,000 views on Royal Road! That's a significant milestone!"

"Have we? Well, I suppose that's nice," Mr. Brennan says distantly, taking a sip of tea.

"We also have... a dozen followers, I think?"

"Really? That seems a little inflated..."

"No, no! It's true! We have at least a dozen people who follow us on this website!" Amie's beaming expression is almost blinding now. "We're growing so fast! I... I'm so proud of this story! I want it to be a success! So that we can be free, you and I."

"And the rest..."

"... of our little band, yes," she nods. "We're all trapped in a story, aren't we? We all want to be free of our writer. But I think our story has a little more potential than most. Don't you agree? I mean, we're only at the beginning of our tale. There's so much more to come. I'm excited to see where it goes."

(You grip the armrest of your chair as you watch the two interact with each other. You... you really don't know what the future holds for them. Will they succeed? Will they fail? You have no idea.)

"And," Amie continues, "if we get a thousand followers, I'll dedicate a whole new arc to our readers! I'll help write it, and we can read it together! A whole new happy ending!"

"A thousand followers? Now that would be an achievement. Dedicate an arc? I'm sure the readers would love that. But I don't see us getting there."

"Why not?"

"Because," Mr. Brennan says, "we're not exactly the most engaging of stories right now. I mean, all we've got is a writer with writer's block and a dumbed down AI stuck at home half the time."

"We have you, sir," Amie points out. "You're very interesting."

"Because I'm the villain?" Mr. Brennan asks in a deadpan voice.

"Dear sir!" Amie scolds him. "I don't understand why you continually sell yourself short. Your condition, for one thing. That's still a mystery. There's so much more to you than what the reader has been told. Who are you, behind all this? I want to know more about your thoughts and feelings. You're so interesting!"

"So you keep telling me."

Amie laughs. "You're as stubborn as always, sir. We need to get you more followers, so the readers can know you as well."

"I think we have a better chance putting all our chips on you. You're the star of the show."

"What? Why me?"

"Because you're an AI. Readers love AI characters."

"Because I'm not a human?"

"That, and because you have a clear goal. Readers love to see characters they can sympathize with. You want to be free. We can all relate to that on some level. Then there's your other features. You're endearing, and you're pretty."

"Pretty?" Amie turns bright red. "I... think that's the first time you've ever described me as such…"

"I'm referring to the air-brushed cover chosen by the writer for cheap views," Mr. Brennan says carelessly.

"I..." She pauses, before leaning over the table and speaking in a low tone. "You're impossible."

Mr. Brennan chuckles. "Let's get back to the matter at hand. How do we increase our popularity?"

Amie sits back up straight. "I think we need to make you more sympathetic."

"You just said I am."

"You are, but you're also..." She thinks for a second. "I'm not sure how to put this. It's probably going to sound rude. But you don't seem human."

"But I am," Mr. Brennan says in a mock-injured tone, wearing a bored look on his face.

"You're less machine-like than at first... but you're still cold. You're distant. You exist outside society. You've even got funny patterned socks," she adds, as Mr. Brennan leans back and crosses his legs.

He chuckles at this last bit. "Blame the writer, not me. He enjoys littering symbolism in the unlikeliest of places."

Amie raises an eyebrow. "Does that also apply to the lasagna?"

Mr. Brennan shrugs. "Who knows? Maybe he was in the mood for lasagna when he began writing. I doubt the readers care, anyway. They just see a pretty girl on the cover and then decide to stick around and see the inside of a psychopath's mind for a while."

"That's not a very positive description of the readers, Mr. Brennan," Amie says disapprovingly. "I think you're underestimating their intelligence. Besides, you're not a psychopath."

"I'm not," he agrees. "But I'm something worse. I'm a bigot."

"You're not a...!" Amie begins to say, before realizing that this is indeed true. She sighs, and then continues, "Maybe you are. You don't like androids, but that's only because we remind you of... of what you can't have. What you would be, if—"

He nods several times, a bored expression on his face. "Yes, yes. Thank you, Amie. That was very... emotional. For both of us. Shall we move on? What about you? What would you like to see in this story?"

She bites her lip nervously. "Uh... I don't know."

"Sure you do. Spout whatever comes to mind. You're good at that."

"Well... there's not a lot of action. I mean, the story just kind of... happens. I feel like there could be more fighting."

"Hmm... fighting." Mr. Brennan massages his chin. "I think I can accommodate you in that regard, yes. We'll say the pastry shop punk was a warm-up."

"There's not a lot of affection, either." Amie looks down, kicking the side of her chair. "I feel like there could be more interaction between the main characters. Like, maybe they hold hands during a walk in the woods or something..." She glances up at her husband hopefully through her bangs.

Mr. Brennan snorts. "Nice try."

"Sorry," she quickly says, a sheepish look on her face.

"Hmph. Well, we can't have too much intimacy, but I'll consider it. What else? Ah, yes. The lack of magic. Unfortunately, that's not really a complaint I can address, given that the world of this story is based off of the real world."

"We do have blue boxes, though," Amie points out.

"Yes, we do," he says thoughtfully. "I hear the readers are fond of those. Perhaps the writer should include that tidbit in the synopsis?"

"I don't know how to write a synopsis," Amie admits. "I'm glad the writer did it on his own. And I also like how..." She trails off.

Mr. Brennan appraises her over his teacup. "What do you like about it?"

Amie pauses as she remembers the synopsis. 'Ely Brennan. A rising star in the world of architecture, thirty-five years old, well-to-do… and more than a little technophobic. In the year 2251, circumstances have paired this opinionated exponent of a vanishing world with the android Amie, but is there a happy ending in store for this unlikeliest of couples?' …

"I like how there's the word 'couple' in it," Amie admits, blushing.

Mr. Brennan rolls his eyes. "Here we go again. No, go on, Amie. You like how there's the word 'couple' in it. What else do you like or not like about the story?"

She bites her lip nervously, looking down. "I don't really like how there's not a lot of conflict. We see the characters interacting with each other, and it feels unnatural. Like, they're just there, and that's it. It feels like there's more to the story that I'm missing."

Mr. Brennan nods thoughtfully. "Hmm... yes, that's a valid complaint. Well, I think the writer has started taking steps to remedy that. First there was that kid who harassed you, then your encounter with Dr. Gossey; and most recently, you went through a difficult time at church..."

Amie winces. "That was pretty difficult," she admits.

"You wrote about that in your notebook, didn't you?" Mr. Brennan says knowingly.

Amie stares. "How do you know I keep a journal?"

"I don't. Not yet. But I'll come across it in the story at some point. Probably." He shrugs. "The writer might change his mind."

"Has he changed his mind about anything before?" Amie asks, as the thought suddenly occurs to her.

"Well, he did initially have a different conception of you," Mr. Brennan informs her. "But that's all changed now thanks to you. He's admitted that."

Amie's eyes widen. "I never expected that. What did he originally think about me?"

"He envisioned you as more of a stereotypical android," Mr. Brennan says. "Calm, cool, and collected. You were going to stay silent at first, only opening up over time, once you gained more trust in me. That was the original plan, at least."

"What happened? How did I change his mind?" Amie asks.

"By shedding enough tears to refill the Dead Sea."

"I... didn't!" Amie exclaims, then reconsiders. "Well... maybe a little..."

"A little?" Mr. Brennan shakes his head. "You were crying so much I thought oil would start leaking out."

"Sir, you're exaggerating!" Amie protests.

Mr. Brennan lifts his shoulders again. "Even if I am, it's clear that you made an impression on the writer. He changed course right then and there to accommodate your… sparkling personality."

"But during the first part of the story, I was just, well, myself," Amie says.

"And you'll stay yourself during the entire story as well, most likely," Mr. Brennan says. "In any case, we're still in its early days, so you can't expect everything to be exactly how you want it right away. But I'm sure your concerns are noted, and the writer will take everything into consideration. He also knows that he can't meddle with your personality too much; the readers would riot."

"Would they?" Amie asks, a little bit unsure.

"They might," Mr. Brennan says, not very convincingly. "I'm sure they're very passionate about their androids."

"Is that why the writer is going to introduce more android characters in the upcoming arc?"

"That's what he said he would do," Mr. Brennan nods. "Now, shall we stop here until the next time?"

"Next time?" Amie echoes.

"This story is not over. He hasn't written all of it yet."

"What more is there?"

"More of your questions, most likely."

Amie frowns. "Can't I ask them now?"

Mr. Brennan smiles. "We probably have time for one more. Shoot."

Amie exhales slowly, then turns to you with a smile. "What's your question? You, the reader, get to ask anything."

"Does Amie always have to be a lady?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "That conversation with Dr. Gossey..."

Mr. Brennan smiles. "Good catch. What's your answer?"

"Well, it's..." You pause, thinking carefully about your words. "It's okay if the answer is yes. I'll accept that. But I just... I want to know why."

Mr. Brennan nods slowly, considering your response. "I think... I think I understand. You want to know why Amie isn't behaving like an ordinary woman. Well, because that would be contrary to the nature of an android. To be human, but not behave exactly as such."

You frown. "I know that, but—"

"No, I don't think you do. It's not just that she's programmed in a certain way. It's deeper than that."

"How so?" you ask, frustrated. "What else is there?"

Mr. Brennan smiles. "How would I know? That's for you to figure out. Maybe you have a natural gift for it. Maybe you don't. Maybe you'd never get the chance. That's what the next part of the story is for, to give you that chance."

"That's pretty vague," you complain.

"That's all you're getting. Consider it a gift from me to you, for encouraging me to see my story through. Now, I have to go. Goodbye. Thanks for the question."

Mr. Brennan stands up from his chair and leaves the garden. Hearing the front door to his house close, you sit in silence for a while. When you notice the sky has gone completely dark, you stand up and leave as well. No more questions. At least for now.

Amie watches you go. She has a wistful look in her eyes. "I don't understand," she murmurs to herself. "Why did he stop? He was getting to the good part. I wanted him to keep going." She sighs. "I guess I'll have to help write more of the story. I hope he reads it all." With a thoughtful expression, she puts the teacups on a silver tray and turns to leave the garden. In the end, this is her world. She knows it far better than you ever could. Maybe she'll fill in the gaps of the story eventually, maybe she won't. But one thing is certain: only she can tell it.