Week Two Story: The Birth of an Ivory Girl

I was born to the kiss of a man, the weight of his hands on my hips, the taste of his mouth on my lips. A strange beginning, to be sure, but assuredly more pleasant for all involved than the usual ways of birth. Under the caress of the hands that carved me, so lovingly and so long ago, I could feel the cold ivory of my body giving way to the warmth of living flesh; organs separated from the stony mass inside my torso, forming themselves into lungs, brain, heart. I breathed deeply, for the first time, the fresh mountain air and the scent of spring flowers, the musk of my maker, my lover. Pygmalion opened wide eyes.

"My ivory girl," he whispered, and a surprised smile lit up his face.

Pygmalion was simultaneously new to me - as was everything else - and somehow deeply familiar, as though he was etched into my skin and bones. And really, he was. Before my awakening, my dear husband had sought for himself a beautiful wife, a virtuous wife, and had come up empty. The other women around our rural home were haughty and proud, empty of compassion or grace, so he elected to live a celibate life. His choice left him virtuous but lonely, though, and so I came into existence (though not yet fully - I existed in form only, but my life was yet to come). He took up the tools of a sculptor and carved my body dutifully, delicately, from ivory. Even before I became alive, he treated me with all the affection and love a woman could hope to obtain from a man: he brought gifts and laid them at my feet; he clothed me with beautiful robes and jewelry, he laid my head upon the softest of pillows.

To the goddess of love, this was pleasing indeed. In fact, my Pygmalion was pleasing in the eyes of all the gods for his humbleness, his noble character. At the festival of Aphrodite, Pygmalion gave up his offering graciously, then asked quietly for the chance to love a woman like what he had made me to be. Aphrodite was moved by his integrity and chastity, and when he returned home and kissed the cold hardness of my lips, she granted that breath should fill me, and that I might become as real and living as any human who has walked the Earth.

Three days later, we were married at the temple of the goddess who gave us to each other, and I swear I caught a glimpse of her shimmering figure smiling down at us from the corner of my eye.

Now, the story could happily end here, and that would have been enough. But in her goodness, Aphrodite did not limit her breath to my lungs only. Since that day, whatever creature is produced with Pygmalion's sculpting tools shivers jubilantly to life at our touch. He often carves me beautiful flowers, sweet little birds, or soft rabbits as gifts.

Aphrodite has blessed us greatly. We bring offerings to her daily now, so thankful are we for her gift. And another gift has been graced us: though I also carry in my womb a son, this morning, we carved for ourselves a child. A beautiful little ivory girl.

Artus Quellinus I's "Sleeping Infant"

Author's Note:
This story is my own retelling of the story of "Pygmalion" from Ovid's Metamorphoses. I have added some to the original story; the most important change to note is the addition of Aphrodite granting Pygmalion the ability to bring more to life with his sculpting tools than simply his bride, who was the only statue to gain life in the original myth. Additionally, the original is told in third person, as most myths are, but here I have altered it to retell it from the perspective of the woman who is brought to life by Aphrodite. 

Bibliography. "Pygmalion" from Ovid's Metamorphoses, translated by Tony Kline (2000). Web source.