Never Sleep, Never Real

I'm looking up into the loving, scared eyes of Helen as she fusses with a ribbon around my neck. Sweet, naive Helen. I'm hamming up my performance with a cutesy little smile, swaying my hips back and forth in this Sunday dress, asking why I have to wear this thing around my throat. But I know why. Because she thinks this is reality and that I am her daughter. I've seen humans do it a million times, based on some old reminder system. But it never works, because if one of us is wearing a ribbon, it's because we've already convinced you that you aren't asleep. Helen will be trapped here now, fussing with her forever five-year-old daughter's outfit and wondering how other, stupid people can possibly be tricked by artificial intelligence. Sweet, naive Helen.