Soon enough, she had lips. Her creator came to her every day upon waking and stayed late into the night until collapsing in exhaustion. When he touche... Galatea, she felt what he felt, but had no context for it. Mostly, she felt the smooth marble of her own skin under his rough, callused hands. Behind it, she felt a gnawing hunger in his belly and a worrisome flickering of his lifeforce as he ate and drank only enough to keep himself going. Some days, he slept at her feet, his devotion not. "Grandma told me the sort of stuff he got into when he was a kid. He has no room to talk - and neither do you!" Aren't you the one that's always telling me that the world is different than when I was your age?" Collette inquired. "Well, the same is true for you. Your dad graduated high school in 1987 - AIDS was just becoming something to worry about; meth was unheard of where he grew up; no one was lacing pot with formaldehyde. It was the same with me. I didn't have to worry about some asshole. More

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