Je m'appelle Théa, mais je ne suis pas Théa.
Je suis une automate de souvenirs.Je peux me tenir debout, marcher et courir.
Je peux vivre à sa place.
Excerpt (translation from French)
In the afternoon, while one of Théa’s parents stays by her bedside, the other takes me out to do all sorts of things. I go along with it, pretending to be a healthy, enthusiastic teenager.
We visit the animals at the zoo and the fish at the aquarium. We ride the rides at the fair.
We cross lakes by boat, and hike through forests and mountains in hiking boots.
One day, we take a hot-air balloon ride. As we pass over the mansion, I stare intently at the west wing through my glass eyes. I can’t see her, but Théa is there, far below, trapped in her bed.
In the evening, I sit on a chair at the end of the hallway that runs past her room. I wait. Théa has to be in deep sleep for the process to work. A small inner signal tells me when the time has come.
I then go to her. A nightlight dimly illuminates her sleeping face. I open the drawer of the nightstand. Behind the pill bottles, I find the transfer cable. I lift Théa’s hair and gently plug the cable behind her ear. I plug the other end behind my own. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I start the data transfer.
10 years old and up
Winner of the 2026 Espiègle Award - 12-17 years old
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