An older model of jinzou guarded the door. It had a rounded frame, built for form rather than function. A rough kimono covered its chassis, and someone had tied wooden sandals to its metal feet. Instead of iron artifice that moved in a mockery of human facial expression, a wooden mask sat on the droid’s face, carved to look like some jovial servant, beaming at Itaru with a rictus smile. Itaru fought a shiver of disgust. Pleasant as it appeared, it was jinzou, inhuman, a created thing.
—Adam Heine, Izanami's Choice