Jun 182013
 

Title: Galatea’s Tears
Fandom: Fear Mythos
Characters: EAT, some dude
Rating: G (L0 N0 S0 V0 D0)
Warnings: Transformation, obsession
Notes: So, there was this bizarre idea I tripped over in the EAT thread. I liked it. There’s a creepypasta contest on, with a statue of a woman as one of the prompts… This happened.


Day after day, he walked past her. A smile, a ‘good morning’. He wasn’t sure when they’d put her in… you’d think a statue like that would have involved heavy equipment to move and install, but there she was, in the centre of the fountain, where she hadn’t been before. And for a month, he’d greeted her, every day, as if she were anyone else in the world.

As the weather warmed, he started taking his lunch down to the fountain, to eat with her. To share stories about his co-workers and his strangely-solitary existence. No one had ever appealed to him, quite like she did. There was something about her. Some deep, all-knowing essence at the heart of the stone.

She never said a word, but he knew.

She was something special.

Summer gave way to autumn, and leaves caught in the sculpted trickles of water on her face and hands. They gathered in the loose ringlets of the bottom of her hair. He always cleaned them away, apologised to her for the mess. He asked if anyone looked after her, but she never had anything to say.

One day, finally, he kissed her cheek. He had no thought of what a fool he might look, just that she seemed so underappreciated, somehow. He loved her, after all, why couldn’t anyone else see?

He kissed her cheek, and a droplet of water snaked out of the corner of her eye, nearly mercury-weight. Gleaming-clear quicksilver. He caught it with his lips, tasted it, knew it, that strange mineral flavour. She had given him this. She knew he was there.

He couldn’t sleep, that night, and in his unruly waking-wandering, he found himself by her fountain. She needed him. She wanted him. She never spoke a word to him, but he knew. This time, he didn’t try to step over the water, to go to her by the sculpted stones that rose up from the basin. This time, he stepped into the water, felt it seep into his clothes and crawl up his body. He found himself saturated, in moments, as though he had fallen in. But, the water didn’t drip down from him. It held him, caressed him in its chill grip.

Everything went away. Everything.

The sun shone down on him. He could feel it.  Somewhere, nearby, someone asked when a second statue had been added. He wondered that, himself.

And then he knew. He knew it all.

He held her hand, because she had called to him. And now they would never be apart. He knew her. He knew the eyes and senses of a dozen more, like them, of thousands more who still walked among men, of those who were yet as children and those whose layers of implication, temptation, and seduction could shock and confound the greatest minds in espionage. He knew them all, as he knew himself.

He knew not how long he had stood by her, what seasons had passed, or when the stone had taken him, but he did not need to know. He knew her, and she knew him. Together they knew all that came to them, secrets never spoken before a living thing, but they heard. They all heard. Perhaps they would start a family, in this park. One day, maybe, she and he would see another. Maybe he would give his water to the next one. He liked the idea of family. He liked the idea of an eternity with her, watching the soap opera that was life. And he could never doubt she thought the same of him. How could he? She was right there, in his head. Right there, with everyone else.