She placed a large sheet of drawing paper on the table, knelt, and picked up a small stump of charcoal. "I could make the runes and markings permanent... but this table is rather dear to me. It's nearly four hundred years old, and I have no wish to mar the beautiful finish my father, um, the long ago craftsman achieved."The teen watched as her hostess began to draw a large circle on the paper. "That looks like something from "Full Metal Alchemist". Are you going to transmute matter?" Hush!" Amara. The dichotomy was almost too much for Galatea to bear. Nothing she had experienced so far had prepared her for contradiction, so she saw no contradiction. She ached to communicate with her creator and say, "Do not despair. I am here. And I am all that you seek." But, she could not speak, being marble and, as yet, her head being roughly carved with no lips.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. More

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