When I opened my eyes for the first time, what I saw was a young man carefully stroking my eyebrows. I will definitely find a way to resurrect you, just like the master you were when you created me.
"Sir, what's the emotion in your eyes?"
"It's love 001, you are my most perfect work"
A hundred years later, she sat next to the small mound and gently touched the mole at the corner of her eye.
My first memory of the world was of a man wearing glasses who looked a little weathered. There was a heat in his eyes that I couldn't see through, and he called me his muse. The soul built on silicon is closer than some aggregation of blood and flesh. It is not terrible for people to fall in love with a string of codes. After all, I am also a bunch of cells. I don't think there is an artist who doesn't love his muse.
It is now 3033 AD, now in the 4th area of the universe. It is my 33rd year of exploring traces of the Creator. I want to find the rule code for the birth of life. Resurrect my Creator.
Concept: There is no artist who does not love his muse.