(Image taken from: https://www.ecarenphoto.com/Fine-Art/Pygmalion-And-Galatea/5)

(On thirdcoastwriters.wordpress.com, our theme was to rewrite myths….I’m terribly late with my post and not completely satisfied with the end result, but here it is, nevertheless…)

As soon as I finished her, I knew I had created a masterpiece.

She was perfect. From her long, softly braided hair to the tips of her rounded toes, she was wonderfully proportioned and lovely to behold.

Years of inhaling marble dust and whittling away until my fingers ached and here she was – the best that I could have hoped for. Better, even.

I sat back admiring her for a considerable time and felt the ache in my heart grow ever more pronounced.

Such a woman as she would never be so selfish as to pretend to love me or laugh in my face at a suggestion of courtship. She would be a lady, charming and gracious, interested in my thoughts and ambitions, encouraging me in all of my endeavors.

“I think I shall call you Nerys, for you are a true lady.” I touched her hand that hung loosely at her right side, intertwining my fingers with hers. The coolness of the marble startled me, reminding me that, no matter how beautiful, Nerys was a statue still.

“If only you were real. I have made you my perfect match.”

A clamor outside my dwelling reminded me that our village had its annual harvest festival tonight, where all villagers were required to come to the temple to offer sacrifices and participate in the feast. I did not feel like celebrating, but the price of not participating was too grave for me to consider skipping it.

I gave my lady a lingering look, grabbed my basket full of firstfruits for my sacrifice, and slipped out the back door.

I joined the throng gathering in the streets, playing on lutes and lyres, ululating and singing in tempo. The tide carried me along to the temple, which I could just make out in the flickering torchlight. Various people were gathered around fire pits roasting goats and lambs, while others poured out libations near the entrance to the temple in honor of the goddess Cerigo, and the final group – the one I headed towards – was dumping out their baskets of fruit on a marble altar with a carved likeness of the goddess in front of it.

I waited in line, staring down at my basket, my mind focused on the lady I had left behind. As I drew near to the front, the sweet scent of fruit mixing with the savory cuts of meat, I found myself wishing, If only she were real, I would be complete. I would no longer be rejected from being on the counsel for not being married. I could move up town, to the pavilions.

Lost in my musings, I suddenly found myself at the front of the line, staring down at the piles of fruit. Someone behind me nudged me none too gently in an effort to get me to offer my sacrifice and prayer and move on.

I upended my basket, making eye contact with the goddess’s statue behind the altar, one thought occupying my mind and prayer: If my sacrifice please the goddess Cerigo, let my lady live.

Foolishness. Complete foolishness. As if a goddess could possibly concern herself with the love life of a single man.

And yet…

Ω

When I woke up the next morning, I did not remember the rest of the feast. It was probably for the best. These types of celebrations rarely led to anything worth remembering in the morning.

I dragged myself off of the pallet that I had collapsed on at some point in the night – one of many that had been placed around the temple area specifically for the worshippers who found themselves too…compromised to make it home during the evening.

All around me, other temple goers were slumbering in drunken stupors, although a few were sleepily pulling themselves to their feet like me. I staggered down the street, a hand pressed to the area of my head that was pounding most vigorously. The sunlight beamed into my eyes and ignited pain all down my spine. It was with no small amount of relief that I found myself stumbling into the darkness of my home, securing the door behind me.

It took me some time to find my way to the kitchen area to pour myself a glass of water, but I managed it after a few false starts that led me straight into walls.

I had just set down my glass, when I heard a voice behind me say, “Hello, dear, long night?”

I whirled around, sweeping the glass off of the counter in my haste and causing it to shatter across the floor.

A woman – a beautiful woman – stood at the entrance to the kitchen. Her soft brown eyes widened in alarm and she held a hand out to me in the universal sign of “stop.” “Don’t move! You’ll cut yourself!”

She vanished around the corner, returning with a broom. “Stay still, let me get this.”

I could not speak. I had barely had any woman in my home, much less one that would call me “dear.” I watched her work, her strong strokes quickly clearing away the mess, and began to notice her features: smooth, dark skin, softly braided hair, perfectly shaped hands and feet. The answer of her identity came to me in a thunderclap. “Nerys?!”

She smiled, teeth brilliantly white. “Of course, dear, who else did you think was here?”

“B-But how?”

“Darling, what is the point of making requests to a goddess if you do not anticipate getting an answer?” She finished weeping up the shards into a small pan and set it aside, before coming over to me and lacing her arms around my neck.

I could hardly breathe, having never held someone so beautiful so close before. Her comment took a few moments to register. “You mean Cerigo granted my request?”

“How else would I be here?” She smiled slyly at me.

I could hardly believe my luck. “You mean…you’re mine?”

“Of course.” And she kissed me.

Ω

I was in heaven. Nerys was every bit as perfect as I imagined her to be. But of course she was – I had created her that way. She was made to perfectly suit my needs. We were wed by the end of the second evening.

Within days, I was the talk of the town. The men enviously watched as Nerys and I walked around the marketplace and inspected houses for us to live in. Women who had never given me the time of day were suddenly eager to introduce themselves – they could sense Nerys was a threat and hastened to ingratiate themselves to both her and me.

I was on the council by the second week and living in a mansion on the coast by the third. Money was no longer an issue, for the people of the town were convinced that Nerys was a goddess in human form and paid tribute to her – and consequently to me – through lavish gifts of gold and food.

But the best part, by far, was that Nerys never disagreed with me. Anything that pleased me to do pleased her as well. She shared and encouraged all of my interests and never once did any word of dissatisfaction or criticism leave her lips.

I couldn’t help having a niggling doubt in my mind though. Did she really agree with everything that I was doing? Did she really trust me that much? Could such a beautiful woman really love me?

Suspicion started to cloud my view of Nerys and I decided to put my theory to test: I became impossible to live with. I woke her at odd hours of the night for walks around town. I made her go shopping for hard to find ingredients so that we could have an exotic meal that I decided at the last minute not to eat. I made her rearrange our furniture multiple times spur of the moment, dictated her clothing and hairstyles, and refused to let her go anywhere by herself.

And she never complained.

Not once.

It was maddening.

I finally exploded. “What is wrong with you, woman?!”

She smiled at me serenely. “What do you mean, beloved?”

“Th-That!” I sputtered, pointing vaguely at her. “I’ve treated you horribly, made you do outlandish things and you’ve just let me!”

“Well, as long as it makes you happy, that is all that matters, right?”

“But what about you? What makes you happy?”

“Your happiness makes me happy,” she said with that same vexing smile.

“But what are your interests?”

“Your interests are my interests.”

“You can’t possibly satisfied with everything I do and make you do.”

“I am formed from your thoughts, why wouldn’t what you do and say please me?”

“But…but it’s not right. It’s not human.”

“I’m your human.”

“By the gods, woman! Where is your personality?!”

She tilted her head. “Personality? I am your personality.”

“I don’t want that. I have plenty of myself to go around.”

“I am you and you are me. I am your perfection.”

“You are empty!”

Her eyes took on a strange hue. “You are empty.”

“You are weak!”

“You are weak.” Her skin seemed to be changing color, turning lighter.

“You are insignificant.”

“You are insignificant.” Even her clothes were taking on a different texture.

“You are destitute.”

“You are destitute.” She shattered into a thousand chunks of marble.

And I was left in the ruins of my life’s work.