Lynch gazed at the perfect being he had crafted with his own hands, his eyes like admiring a peerless work of art. His lips naturally curled into a smile tinged with both achievement and playfulness, and he softly greeted, "Long time no see."
There was no emotional fluctuation on Messiah's exquisite face, like frost that had not melted for millennia, or a precise instrument running strictly according to a set program.
She simply nodded slightly, her movement precise to the millimeter, as if the figure before her was not the creator who granted her existence, but merely a devout believer that required her to treat him with divine equanimity.
Lynch was long accustomed to this surpassingly distant and absolutely rational demeanor, even harboring a trace of inexplicable helplessness and self-mockery deep within.
