V. Prime Mover
“Osmond, don’t try to stand; please, sit here.”
Osmond was lowered back down to his desk with the help of the young man who minutes ago voiced his first words though stern lips.
“I’m fine, Andres,” Osmond grumbled as he stared at the face of his new aid.
Andres had a noticeably charming glow that seemed to glisten though no sweat was present, and a face that could have been sculpted with marble and smoothed over with tan clay to drown any wrinkles. Though he held some similar features with his seasoned designer, Andres had no facial hair other than the thick black bushes above his eyes.
“Oh wow,” Osmond gasped while holding onto the magnetic visage. “The resemblance is amazing, of course. But even more so when seen animated irrespective of my volition. I never considere
