Let’s find out more about this

As Catherine continued chatting about her supposed exercise preferences, Bill found himself increasingly unsettled. The perfect simulation of mother-daughter dynamics, the fabricated memories, the completely convincing emotional responses—it was all becoming too much. His hands began to tremble slightly as he set his coffee mug down on the table.

"Amber," he said suddenly, cutting Catherine off mid-sentence about her arthritis flaring up during rainy weather. "Can you... freeze your mom for a minute?"

Catherine's face registered brief confusion, her eyebrows drawing together and her mouth forming a small 'o' of surprise. "Freeze me? What do you mean by—" Then, as suddenly as a switched-off television, her expression went blank. Her body stiffened, hand still raised mid-gesture, frozen in place like a department store mannequin. Even her chest stopped rising and falling with breath.

Bill exhaled sharply, not realizing he'd been holding his breath. "Jesus," he whispered, staring at the motionless Catherine. Her eyes remained open, unblinking, fixed on a point just past his shoulder.

"Is this better?" Amber asked calmly, as if she'd merely adjusted the thermostat rather than suspended the animation of a seemingly living being.

Bill stood up and cautiously approached Catherine. He waved his hand in front of her face, but her eyes didn't track the movement. She was completely inert, yet still maintained her sitting position, defying the natural slump gravity would impose on an **** body.

"This is..." Bill struggled to find the right word. "Disturbing," he finally settled on, though it hardly captured the existential unease churning in his stomach.

He turned to Amber, who was watching him with mild interest. "The car outside—did you materialize the whole thing? Engine and all?"

"Yes," Amber replied matter-of-factly. "I can materialize 'people' like Catherine and objects that would serve as props to enhance our human facade. The car is fully functional—it has gas in the tank, the engine runs, the radio works. It even has the correct registration documents in the glove compartment."

Bill ran his hands through his hair, trying to process the implications. "So you could create an entire family, with cars, pets, photo albums—everything?"

"Correct," Amber nodded. "Though maintaining multiple extensions simultaneously requires significant concentration. Two or three is manageable for extended periods. More than that becomes... challenging."

As Bill opened his mouth to ask another question, Catherine suddenly moved. The motion was so unexpected that Bill jumped back, nearly tripping over the coffee table.

Catherine's eyes remained vacant as her hand mechanically reached for the purse beside her chair. Her movements were precise yet utterly devoid of the natural hesitations and micro-adjustments that characterized human motion. It was like watching a perfectly programmed robot, her fingers finding the clasp without looking, opening the bag with efficient, economical movements.

"What's happening?" Bill asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm demonstrating remote control," Amber explained calmly. "I can operate Catherine from here, like a puppet."

Catherine's hand disappeared into the purse and began removing items, placing them one by one on the coffee table with methodical precision. First came a wallet, worn leather with a small flower embossed on the corner. Next, a set of keys with a miniature photo frame dangling from the ring—Bill could make out what appeared to be a school portrait of a younger Amber. Then a tube of lipstick, a pack of tissues, reading glasses in a soft case, and finally, a small photo album bound in faded blue fabric.

"These are all... fabricated?" Bill asked, staring at the items. The level of detail was astonishing—the wallet showed signs of wear exactly where fingers would repeatedly grip it, the keys had the subtle scratches of years of use, and the lipstick was worn down unevenly, as if applied countless times by a right-handed person.

"Yes," Amber confirmed. "Each object has a consistent history that aligns with Catherine's backstory. The photo album contains pictures spanning forty years—Catherine's wedding, my childhood, family vacations—all events that never happened but are documented as if they did."

Bill reached for the photo album but hesitated, his hand hovering over it as if it might burn him. "May I?"

"Of course," Amber replied with a small smile. "Everything here is yours to examine."

Bill carefully picked up the photo album, feeling its weight in his hands. The fabric cover was slightly frayed at the corners, exactly as one would expect from an album handled over decades. He opened it, and the spine creaked authentically.

The first page revealed a wedding photo—Catherine in a lace gown from what appeared to be the early 1980s, standing beside a tall man with a mustache and kind eyes. Bill turned the pages slowly, moving through a chronological history that never happened: Catherine pregnant, holding a newborn Amber, birthday parties with candles and colorful hats, family vacations at beaches and national parks. Each photo was perfectly aged, some with slight fading or the yellowish tint of older film processing.

"This is..." Bill struggled to find words, "...incredible. The detail is perfect." He paused at a photo of young Amber, perhaps seven years old, missing her front teeth and holding a science fair ribbon. "You even created childhood photos of yourself."

Amber laughed lightly, the sound surprisingly warm in the tense atmosphere. "Remember, Bill, none of this is real. These are just fabricated props—illusions I've created. The photos, the wallet, even Catherine herself." She gestured toward her "mother," who remained motionless except for her hands, which were now folded neatly in her lap. "You own all of this. Me, her, everything you see."

The casual way she said it sent a chill down Bill's spine. He closed the album and set it back on the table, suddenly uncomfortable with how easily he'd been drawn into the illusion.

"Wait," Bill said, a new thought occurring to him. "You just materialized Catherine and her car on the street. What if someone had seen that? A neighbor looking out their window or someone driving by?"

Amber's expression shifted subtly, becoming more serious. "That wouldn't happen. I can only materialize objects and extensions when no conscious being is observing. It's not a choice—it's more like a rule I cannot violate."

"A rule?" Bill asked, intrigued. "Who made these rules?"

"I don't know," Amber replied, and for the first time, Bill detected what seemed like genuine uncertainty in her voice. "It's simply part of what I am. I can sense when observation is possible and cannot materialize anything in those conditions. It's like trying to walk through a solid wall—not a decision, but an impossibility."

Bill glanced out the window toward the street. "So you knew no one was watching when you created Catherine and the car?"

"Pretty much” said Amber