You're a toy. An 'it', if you will. Your whole life, you've known that there is absolutely no point in trying to develop your own personality. After all, you don't *have* a personality: you don't have feelings. You're a mindless, thoughtless object, existing solely for the purpose of serving inanimately. 

Lucky for you, I have use for such things. Such toys. What do you think you're lucky enough to be used for? A sex toy? A chair? A workout step stool? So many possibilities! But you love each and every one of them, right? Well, hang on - how can you love anything? You have no feelings. You aren't even real, are you? 

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