#and expression

Every year, on the 11th of July, we celebrate the Constructs. People spend their time with them, give them gifts, go to special places, and those that don't have a construct might choose to get one. I lived alone with my mom Astaea and her construct, whose name I was not told. Mom kept it from me, for some reason. She was very cheerful, always doing something around the house, and a very thoughtful individual. Her construct was always strongly poised: Back straight, shoulders back, head high; and a very regal look to their frame, with a soft bronze base and delicate golden details. One day when I was a kid, I tripped over a rock in the tall grass and got some small scratches and bruises. The construct rushed to me to see if i was hurt, talking like mom would, if only with a more serious tone. They cleaned my wounds and, after telling me to change, washed my clothes that got stained with grass.

Before my 20th birthday, mom passed from a stroke. It was a silent funeral. The construct and I sat next to each other. Their posture was nothing like usual, with their head down and shoulders dropped. They didn't say a word through the whole thing. Back home, they just sat in silence, either at the kitchen or on mom's bed, for hours on end, almost completely still.

Today, July 11th, they approached me to talk. "On the day I was born, Astaea gave me a name: Alma. She never called me that afterwards, and instead chose a number of pet names to refer to me. She told me not to tell you because it was special, and so was our bond. I tell you now because she… is gone, but you are still here, and I want you in my life."

Despite not having facial expressions, and they being so good at keeping a calm tone, one would be unable to decipher what feelings were bubbling under the metal frame. But I could see the sorrow they have been, and are going, through.

Even if I couldn't see it, Alma has been crying this whole time.