Chapter 1
Pygmalion:
Johannes Smith, or John Smith as he preferred, was a sculptor. He carved all sorts of statues for rich patrons and even the children that watched him work. Sometimes he would spend an hour carving a piece of wood into a work of art, then he would hand it to one of the beggars in the street.
John Smith was indeed an odd man, but a very skilled one.
He was always covered in rock dust and shavings and his hands were calloused from work. People from all over the world would come to look at or buy his statues... But he was lonely. The only thing in his life was work- no children, no relatives or friends, and no wife. He said that he would want a kind and brave wife- a good woman.
Unfortunately, there weren't a lot of those anymore.
John Smith could carve anything though, horses, people, landscapes... He'd once been asked to create a handsome man for a buyer. So he'd created a tall man with a strong build and a devilish smirk.
He'd called the sculpture 'Jack.' A strange name, but the buyer did not question it. That sculpture sparked a question in John Smith's mind so that one day, he started a project. He wanted to create the most lifelike creature he could.
As men usually did, he began to carve a woman. He didn't want the perfect women, no woman was, but he wanted a lifelike quality to it. And so, he began to chip away at the white marble.
Through endless days and ceaseless nights he worked to create his masterpiece. He began at the bottom, chipping away round toes and smooth balanced feet. The legs came next. He did not make the statue's legs tall and lithe, but neither were they short and squat.
Her legs had a graceful quality to them and one believed they might start walking if they looked away.
It took a year for him to finish them.
Next, he formed her with a robust figure with full curves and graceful lines. One felt that if you were to touch to her, you would find soft supple skin instead of cold dead marble.
It took a year and day.
Her delicate fingers were cupped in front of her, away from her body but still close enough to herself that she appeared to be showing something in them to someone standing nearby.
The arms and shoulders took four months.
The face was the hardest. Many now called John Smith the barmy old sculptor. He never carved anything else but his precious statue. He was in his late thirties and many considered him senile, but his skills with the marble were still unheard of.
After many many months passed, John Smith had finished the face, she had shoulder length hair that fell from her crown in a smooth waterfall and soft bangs that framed the sides of her face. She appeared to be holding out her hands and beaming up at an unknown figure. Her smooth face shone and her full well formed lips were stretched into an affectionate tongue-between-the-teeth grin.
She was beautiful and so real... John Smith seemed enamored with her, it had taken him four years, five months, and a day to complete her.
It was a warm sunny April upon which he finished the statue. The work room was opened wide to let in the sunlight and a soft breeze blew and ruffled the tired sculptors hair. He fell asleep leaning against the legs of his statue and when he woke, he was covered in rose petals from a wedding outside.
The statue was called Rose from then on and there always seemed to be a wreath of roses in her white marble hair. A few days later he finally decided on the last name, Tyler, after much evaluation.
John Smith talked to Rose as he began to stitch clothes for her. The statue was the only thing to ever be told of his past life.
He dreamed about her, and he loved her with his life. Rose though, remained a lifeless unfeeling block of marble.
One time, a child observed John Smith gazing lovingly at the statue. The statue was dressed in a vibrant gold-trimmed red toga. He'd placed a hand on her cheek and caressed it, before placing a kiss to her fingers. The child fancied for a moment that the statue might move- so strong was the love radiating from sculptor, but she remained marble.
The child stepped on a stick, John Smith looked up, and the frightened kid scampered off and did not return.
A year after Rose's completion- John Smith grew very sick. He laid at the feet of his statue and grew steadily sicker. The fever was so great that he fancied Rose was talking to him. But, John Smith knew that if he woke up and Rose was marble again- it just might kill him.
After the terrible sickness, he got better and retreated to his bedroom. When he came back out after a few days Rose was, as she had always been, a piece of marble.
John Smith felt he couldn't go on and rested his head against the statue's, his face the very definition of world-weary.
It was then that he spoke four small words.
"Rose Tyler, I love you."
John Smith closed his eyes and a puff of breath escaped his lips. An answering sigh caressed his face from something in front of him.
The sculptor's eyes flew open and he was greeted with a pair of deep chocolate eyes. He was probably gaping at Rose like an idiot. A small giggle escaped the now alive statue's lips before she said,
"I love you too."
A few months later, Rose Tyler married John Smith and many of the villagers wondered where on earth the magnificent statue the sculptor had created had gone.
His Wife:
When she came into being, she found herself looking at a sculptor's work place. She could not move or speak or blink. She was stone. The words and their meanings came to her- what was she? A statue. She wasn't alive but neither was she dead.
She could feel a weight upon her feet. She wished she could look downwards. She sighed, or tried too, and listened to music and laughter from outside in the sunlight. Soft red and pink petals floated over to her.
She thought they were beautiful.
Time passed and the weight upon her feet stirred. She wondered what it was. Then it stood up. It was a man. The man looked tired but when he saw her, his face transformed into that of wonder and love.
"Rose petals... I think... I think I'll call you Rose. Roooose." He said stretching the syllables on his tongue. "Molto Bene!"
She, Rose, decided that it was a very nice name. She wanted to know what this... Man's... name was.
He scrutinized her before nodding and walking out the door, grabbing a long tan coat before he went. Rose watched him go out of the corner of her eye. The first living being she had ever seen and he'd left her.
Rose wondered why he'd named her and left.
A few hours later, the slam of a door startled her, the man was back. He was holding a magnificent deep red cloth. Rose watched as he threw his coat over a bench and began working.
Rose liked the fact that he sat right in front of her, bent over a stool so she could see him better.
"Well, Rose, have I ever told you that when I grew up, I was a Doctor, well everyone called me the Doctor. I like the name, but anyway, it was in this beautiful city. Well, I say city... It was more like a country, Gallifrey. I don't expect you to have heard of it, Gallifrey was a mighty nation- but it was far far away from here and quite a while ago. I suppose she's quite forgotten now..."
Rose studied the man who poured out story after story of his past. The man had deep brown hair that stuck up in strange ways. Rose loved that hair.
Two days later, he declared her last name was Tyler. Rose quite agreed with him- Rose Tyler was a brilliant name.
Day after day, he'd sit on his stool and talk as he stitched the cloth. Rose didn't know what to call him, so she named him 'the Doctor.' Rose wished she knew his real name. Soon after, he trimmed the cloth with a sparkling gold and then he hung it, the toga- now she could see what it was, around her.
Rose had not realized she'd been naked before then. The cloth rustled against her skin and Rose wished she could thank the Doctor. This strange man who was a head taller then her. He leaned closer and pressed his lips against her smooth stone forehead before running out the house in search of something.
The Doctor completely forgot his coat.
Rose wished she could sigh. He always did that.
A few minutes later a crunching noise alerted her to him returning, but it wasn't him. A rich old couple dressed in black robes peered around the workplace.
"Look, Helena, that's the statue that the crazy sculptor created."
'Helena' sniffed. "Typical. Dressing her up and all, that man is barmy."
Rose immediately took a disliking to the other woman. The Doctor wasn't barmy, she was alive... But now that Rose thought about it, did the Doctor really know if she was alive or not?
The man spoke, "Why, I feel as if any moment she would come to life!"
Helena scowled, "She's too short and too full."
The man nodded meekly and Rose frowned. Or did inside her head.
Helena looked around, "It looks like the man isn't here. We'll come back tomorrow. Come on, Marcus."
The two left and Rose was glad they were gone. Then, the Doctor burst in with a wreath of yellow and red roses.
"Look! Roses for my Rose! Molto Bene!" He placed the flowers upon her head.
Rose noticed his fingers though. They were pricked and bleeding. Roses had thorns.
She felt like scolding him, daft man- going around and picking thorns off of roses just for her. She was stone, it wasn't as if she could've felt the thorns.
A few months after many one sided conversations with the Doctor, the man stumbled into her room. His eyes were red rimmed and she could practically taste the heat wave coming from him. He was very sick.
"Rose? Why don't you talk to me, Rose? Please? Just once?"
Rose's heart broke, she couldn't answer him- she wished she could. Oh, how she wished she could.
The man lay at her feet for three days and three nights. Her heart seemed to break every time he deliriously moaned her name.
Somewhere on the fourth day, he crawled back into his bedroom and stayed in there for a long time.
Finally, he came back out and he looked at Rose with sorrow in his gaze. Rose wanted to give him, her precious unnamed Doctor, a hug.
He leaned his forehead against hers, closed his eyes, and whispered, "Rose Tyler, I love you."
Rose's heart swelled, she wanted to talk to him so badly.
His eyes opened and he gaped, Rose giggled at his face as a tingling feeling started in her body.
The statue cried out in her mind, "I love you too."
Rose Tyler was quite surprised when the words came out of her mouth. She took a deep breath and laughed. She could breath, she could move, she could talk! Rose flung her arms around her Doctor and held on tight.
She finally stood back and she would've been lying if she said her eyes weren't wet. "Hello, I'm Rose Tyler."
The man grinned like there was no tomorrow. "John Smith."
"Marry me?" She asked cheekily.
There was no need of an answer.
Johannes Smith, or John Smith as he preferred, was a sculptor. He carved all sorts of statues for rich patrons and even the children that watched him work. Sometimes he would spend an hour carving a piece of wood into a work of art, then he would hand it to one of the beggars in the street.
John Smith was indeed an odd man, but a very skilled one.
He was always covered in rock dust and shavings and his hands were calloused from work. People from all over the world would come to look at or buy his statues... But he was lonely. The only thing in his life was work- no children, no relatives or friends, and no wife. He said that he would want a kind and brave wife- a good woman.
Unfortunately, there weren't a lot of those anymore.
John Smith could carve anything though, horses, people, landscapes... He'd once been asked to create a handsome man for a buyer. So he'd created a tall man with a strong build and a devilish smirk.
He'd called the sculpture 'Jack.' A strange name, but the buyer did not question it. That sculpture sparked a question in John Smith's mind so that one day, he started a project. He wanted to create the most lifelike creature he could.
As men usually did, he began to carve a woman. He didn't want the perfect women, no woman was, but he wanted a lifelike quality to it. And so, he began to chip away at the white marble.
Through endless days and ceaseless nights he worked to create his masterpiece. He began at the bottom, chipping away round toes and smooth balanced feet. The legs came next. He did not make the statue's legs tall and lithe, but neither were they short and squat.
Her legs had a graceful quality to them and one believed they might start walking if they looked away.
It took a year for him to finish them.
Next, he formed her with a robust figure with full curves and graceful lines. One felt that if you were to touch to her, you would find soft supple skin instead of cold dead marble.
It took a year and day.
Her delicate fingers were cupped in front of her, away from her body but still close enough to herself that she appeared to be showing something in them to someone standing nearby.
The arms and shoulders took four months.
The face was the hardest. Many now called John Smith the barmy old sculptor. He never carved anything else but his precious statue. He was in his late thirties and many considered him senile, but his skills with the marble were still unheard of.
After many many months passed, John Smith had finished the face, she had shoulder length hair that fell from her crown in a smooth waterfall and soft bangs that framed the sides of her face. She appeared to be holding out her hands and beaming up at an unknown figure. Her smooth face shone and her full well formed lips were stretched into an affectionate tongue-between-the-teeth grin.
She was beautiful and so real... John Smith seemed enamored with her, it had taken him four years, five months, and a day to complete her.
It was a warm sunny April upon which he finished the statue. The work room was opened wide to let in the sunlight and a soft breeze blew and ruffled the tired sculptors hair. He fell asleep leaning against the legs of his statue and when he woke, he was covered in rose petals from a wedding outside.
The statue was called Rose from then on and there always seemed to be a wreath of roses in her white marble hair. A few days later he finally decided on the last name, Tyler, after much evaluation.
John Smith talked to Rose as he began to stitch clothes for her. The statue was the only thing to ever be told of his past life.
He dreamed about her, and he loved her with his life. Rose though, remained a lifeless unfeeling block of marble.
One time, a child observed John Smith gazing lovingly at the statue. The statue was dressed in a vibrant gold-trimmed red toga. He'd placed a hand on her cheek and caressed it, before placing a kiss to her fingers. The child fancied for a moment that the statue might move- so strong was the love radiating from sculptor, but she remained marble.
The child stepped on a stick, John Smith looked up, and the frightened kid scampered off and did not return.
A year after Rose's completion- John Smith grew very sick. He laid at the feet of his statue and grew steadily sicker. The fever was so great that he fancied Rose was talking to him. But, John Smith knew that if he woke up and Rose was marble again- it just might kill him.
After the terrible sickness, he got better and retreated to his bedroom. When he came back out after a few days Rose was, as she had always been, a piece of marble.
John Smith felt he couldn't go on and rested his head against the statue's, his face the very definition of world-weary.
It was then that he spoke four small words.
"Rose Tyler, I love you."
John Smith closed his eyes and a puff of breath escaped his lips. An answering sigh caressed his face from something in front of him.
The sculptor's eyes flew open and he was greeted with a pair of deep chocolate eyes. He was probably gaping at Rose like an idiot. A small giggle escaped the now alive statue's lips before she said,
"I love you too."
A few months later, Rose Tyler married John Smith and many of the villagers wondered where on earth the magnificent statue the sculptor had created had gone.
His Wife:
When she came into being, she found herself looking at a sculptor's work place. She could not move or speak or blink. She was stone. The words and their meanings came to her- what was she? A statue. She wasn't alive but neither was she dead.
She could feel a weight upon her feet. She wished she could look downwards. She sighed, or tried too, and listened to music and laughter from outside in the sunlight. Soft red and pink petals floated over to her.
She thought they were beautiful.
Time passed and the weight upon her feet stirred. She wondered what it was. Then it stood up. It was a man. The man looked tired but when he saw her, his face transformed into that of wonder and love.
"Rose petals... I think... I think I'll call you Rose. Roooose." He said stretching the syllables on his tongue. "Molto Bene!"
She, Rose, decided that it was a very nice name. She wanted to know what this... Man's... name was.
He scrutinized her before nodding and walking out the door, grabbing a long tan coat before he went. Rose watched him go out of the corner of her eye. The first living being she had ever seen and he'd left her.
Rose wondered why he'd named her and left.
A few hours later, the slam of a door startled her, the man was back. He was holding a magnificent deep red cloth. Rose watched as he threw his coat over a bench and began working.
Rose liked the fact that he sat right in front of her, bent over a stool so she could see him better.
"Well, Rose, have I ever told you that when I grew up, I was a Doctor, well everyone called me the Doctor. I like the name, but anyway, it was in this beautiful city. Well, I say city... It was more like a country, Gallifrey. I don't expect you to have heard of it, Gallifrey was a mighty nation- but it was far far away from here and quite a while ago. I suppose she's quite forgotten now..."
Rose studied the man who poured out story after story of his past. The man had deep brown hair that stuck up in strange ways. Rose loved that hair.
Two days later, he declared her last name was Tyler. Rose quite agreed with him- Rose Tyler was a brilliant name.
Day after day, he'd sit on his stool and talk as he stitched the cloth. Rose didn't know what to call him, so she named him 'the Doctor.' Rose wished she knew his real name. Soon after, he trimmed the cloth with a sparkling gold and then he hung it, the toga- now she could see what it was, around her.
Rose had not realized she'd been naked before then. The cloth rustled against her skin and Rose wished she could thank the Doctor. This strange man who was a head taller then her. He leaned closer and pressed his lips against her smooth stone forehead before running out the house in search of something.
The Doctor completely forgot his coat.
Rose wished she could sigh. He always did that.
A few minutes later a crunching noise alerted her to him returning, but it wasn't him. A rich old couple dressed in black robes peered around the workplace.
"Look, Helena, that's the statue that the crazy sculptor created."
'Helena' sniffed. "Typical. Dressing her up and all, that man is barmy."
Rose immediately took a disliking to the other woman. The Doctor wasn't barmy, she was alive... But now that Rose thought about it, did the Doctor really know if she was alive or not?
The man spoke, "Why, I feel as if any moment she would come to life!"
Helena scowled, "She's too short and too full."
The man nodded meekly and Rose frowned. Or did inside her head.
Helena looked around, "It looks like the man isn't here. We'll come back tomorrow. Come on, Marcus."
The two left and Rose was glad they were gone. Then, the Doctor burst in with a wreath of yellow and red roses.
"Look! Roses for my Rose! Molto Bene!" He placed the flowers upon her head.
Rose noticed his fingers though. They were pricked and bleeding. Roses had thorns.
She felt like scolding him, daft man- going around and picking thorns off of roses just for her. She was stone, it wasn't as if she could've felt the thorns.
A few months after many one sided conversations with the Doctor, the man stumbled into her room. His eyes were red rimmed and she could practically taste the heat wave coming from him. He was very sick.
"Rose? Why don't you talk to me, Rose? Please? Just once?"
Rose's heart broke, she couldn't answer him- she wished she could. Oh, how she wished she could.
The man lay at her feet for three days and three nights. Her heart seemed to break every time he deliriously moaned her name.
Somewhere on the fourth day, he crawled back into his bedroom and stayed in there for a long time.
Finally, he came back out and he looked at Rose with sorrow in his gaze. Rose wanted to give him, her precious unnamed Doctor, a hug.
He leaned his forehead against hers, closed his eyes, and whispered, "Rose Tyler, I love you."
Rose's heart swelled, she wanted to talk to him so badly.
His eyes opened and he gaped, Rose giggled at his face as a tingling feeling started in her body.
The statue cried out in her mind, "I love you too."
Rose Tyler was quite surprised when the words came out of her mouth. She took a deep breath and laughed. She could breath, she could move, she could talk! Rose flung her arms around her Doctor and held on tight.
She finally stood back and she would've been lying if she said her eyes weren't wet. "Hello, I'm Rose Tyler."
The man grinned like there was no tomorrow. "John Smith."
"Marry me?" She asked cheekily.
There was no need of an answer.
