Hi hello, I finally return from a period of little productivity to give you this new 7 part shortfic!

It is based on the Greek myth of Pygmalion and Galatea, but… let's say reinterpreted as a modern tale. ;) Originally I intended for it to be a oneshot but…. well. You know me. Anyways, hope you enjoy! :D
(I'll hopefully update this fic every Sunday.)

The best artist has that thought alone which is contained within the marble shell; the sculptor's hand can only break the spell to free the figures slumbering in the stone.
-Michelangelo

sun i.

The marble glistened in the light that fell upon it like ripples dancing across water, sparkling and hypnotizing. It brought motion to an otherwise static object, making the curves and bends of the frozen body appear almost alive. Had the statue moved an arm, perhaps, any viewer might have found it almost natural until reason would have reminded them that stone was not supposed to move.

But alas, the statue stood still, as all statues do.

Lucy sighed as she forced her gaze away from her creation, carefully placing the chisel beside a hammer, brushes and various other instruments that already lay neatly arranged on the table.

She could barely grasp that what she was looking at had been created by her own two hands.

It seemed laughable, and she would have taken it for a joke had she not been there every step of the way. It was hard to explain, but it was as if her hands had been guided along the entire process, as if the stone had spoken to her in a way it never had before.

Surely, this exceeded her skill. She was good; she was not that good.

Though inexplicable as it was, it was the truth, right there in front of her. Set in stone.

Her perfect man.

A smile tugged at her lips, and Lucy couldn't help but roll her eyes as the thought crossed her mind. At least this was one man who would not disappoint her expectations.

Taking a step towards him, she once again scrutinized his face, searching for any fault, any need for correction, any flaws in expression or anatomy.

She found none.

His unruly hair was fabricated in such a way that it seemed as if a gust of wind would be enough to tousle it gently. The curve of his full lips appeared almost soft, his strong nose was smooth and well-formed, his brows were furrowed as if in deep thought. The only thing he missed was life in his blank, pupil-less eyes, and yet… he managed to look almost longing, as he stood there confined on his socket.

Carefully, Lucy extended her hand to brush her fingertips along his cheek. The smooth marble was cold to the touch, and an irrational part of her felt disappointed.

Then her phone rang, and the spell was broken.

"Hi Levy! Oh, she did? A what? Seriously, that woman… I'm fine, really! But alright, alright. At six? Okay. Okay. See ya!"

Shaking her head, Lucy slid her phone back into her pocket. A 'break the heartbreak' evening, of all things. While Lucy was certain she was already over her jerk of an ex boyfriend, Levy and Cana were not so easily convinced. And as always, that called for wine, ice cream, and an unholy amount of shittalking.

And Lucy couldn't think of a better way to spend her evening.

Well… she guessed her new boyfriend had to wait. Not like he could go anywhere.

With a grin and an amiable slap on his hard shoulder, Lucy left her workshop behind to walk through the empty halls of her estate – in search of the perfect 'heartbreak can kiss my ass' outfit.

It was late when she returned home.

And Lucy – rather drunk, as was common courtesy after a night such as this – had planned to go straight to bed. So it was a little strange for her to turn right as she passed through the entrance hall, for her bedroom lay on the left side and not even in her drunken state of mind would she have forgotten that.

No, her decision had been spontaneous, made on a whim and a fleeting desire she didn't quite understand.

A half empty bottle of white wine swayed dangerously loose in her left hand as she strolled along the corridor to her workshop, a distorted tune on her lips. If she hadn't been over her ex before, oh boy she was now. Nothing like a break the heartbreak evening – she had to know, she'd lived through many.

Lucy giggled. So now it was time to pay her new flame a visit.

"Hi darling," she sing-songed as she stepped through the door, and was greeted by silence. For a second she felt odd, but then she snorted. The door fell closed behind her, the heavy, dull thump echoing through the large room.

"Oh don't be like that," she went on, "I know I'm home late but that's no reason to pull such a stony face!"

This sent her into another fit of giggles. When she calmed down she had walked close enough to tip the statue's nose, which she did with a pout.

"You are not the boss of me. You hear that? Ha! No one is!"

The silence that constituted all his answers continued.

Lucy sighed, leaning back to look at the handsome marble face upon handsome marble shoulders, handsome marble abs, handsome marble thighs and–

"Mmhh," Lucy mused with a chuckle, "You have made yourself a glorious man, Miss Heartfilia. All the right proportions."

But oh!

Then and there, in the dead of night with only the moon as her witness, it occurred to her what he was lacking: a name.

"We can't have that," she muttered. "You need a name my love! A name as beautiful as you!"

Lucy faltered. Her true passion were the arts, and that included her guilty pleasure – writing. God forbid, she wasn't anything special, but it was a matter close to her heart, and she had promised her mother to not give up on it. And so Lucy knew the struggle that came with naming a beloved character.

You wanted to get the name just right. The name had to fit; it had to convey meaning; it had to be part of the character without overpowering it; it had to make sense. How did one pick such a name within seconds? How did one pick such a name at all?

But when the moment of enlightenment finally came, the world seemed whole and right again, and you knew without a doubt you had made the right choice.

That was the moment Lucy was searching for now, in her drunken stupor: the exhilaration of finding that right name.

Closing her eyes, Lucy swayed from left to right. A name.

There was a warm, fuzzy feeling inside her, and though it probably had more to do with the alcohol in her veins, Lucy preferred to accredit it to his company. His marble touch was cool and refreshing, a flash of clarity in the heat.

She wanted the name to be something warm, hot, but with that hint of energy and joy… like summer. Lucy pursed her lips. Summer.

She could work with that. In her impatient state she had no time for any elaborate name musings, so she did what many had done before her: she consulted a translator.

The first language she tried was Greek (what with honouring the old masters; she found it an ingenious stroke of genius) but the name didn't quite please her.

Several others followed: Spanish, German, Tamil, Chinese… and several others were rejected. Only her seventh try – Japanese – made her pause. Natsu.

"Natsu," she tried, squinting at his motionless face. "Na - tsu."

It was a good name, she decided. It felt right.

Very pleased with herself, Lucy brought the bottle of white wine to her lips and rewarded herself with a generous sip. She watched the contents swirl and splash against the glass. There was still so much left…

And she knew just how to put it to use.

"Hereby I inaugurate – no, baptize you, my love, as… Natsu."

And with that, she emptied the contents of her bottle over his head. The white wine splashed against the white marble, pooling in crevices and sliding downwards across smooth stone. Lucy watched in fascination, the bottle still raised above his head, as single droplets trickled along his shoulders. There was something mesmerizing about the way the wine flowed and glistened, something oddly intimate about the whole moment.

Again this odd feeling overcame her… that she was not alone, that the stone appeared almost alive. Of course, it was only a trick of the moonlight, a play with light and shadow.

Or at least that was what Lucy thought, until the statue spluttered and sent a spray of white wine flying into her face.

Lucy considered this incident for a moment.

"Oh wow, I really should go to bed."

But as she continued to stare at the statue (in hopes her eyes might have betrayed her), it really did begin to move. Not just that – she couldn't quite find the right words; it was peculiar.

Transfixed, Lucy watched as the statue shook its head and sent droplets flying, slowly craning its neck and opening its mouth. And as he did so, life continued to spread downwards bit by bit: to his shoulders, arms, chest, hips, thighs, and finally even his toes. It was as if he peeled himself out of the stone, as if it was melting.

Hard, unbendable stone became soft, and as his chest rose to take a deep breath Lucy finally snapped out of her trance, gasping in time with him.

And then – his eyes.

Lucy almost screamed when she saw them. They were alive, human eyes, trapped there in the stone, staring at her with an intensity that sent her heart into a frenzy. A deep, all-encompassing shiver crawled along her spine and left her trembling.

And then the stone began to crumble. It wasn't quite the right word, but the only one she thought came close to what she was witnessing. It cracked and split and scaled off him like plaster, suddenly appearing thin and light as bits and pieces dropped to the ground.

And beneath… there was a man. A real man, of flesh and blood.

Finely ground stone dust wafted along his feet, and Lucy watched, frozen in shock, as he lifted a leg and took his first step.

"S-stop!" she cried out, hoisting her bottle like a weapon, and to her surprise he actually did.

His hair was drenched in wine, clinging to his forehead, but what startled Lucy most about it – about everything about him – was that it was in colour. An odd one too, a faded pink that contrasted wonderfully with his dark, tan skin.

If she had been able to paint the marble, Lucy thought, she would have attempted to do it just like this. Her perfect statue had become a perfect man, and though Lucy was sure this was a fever dream, she could not even bring herself to lament the loss of expensive marble and the hours of slaving away at his features.

The strong chin, the slanted eyes, the toned crevices of his body…

Suddenly, Lucy found herself smirking cheekily.

If this was a dream… it was a good one.