Christopher Lightwood and Grace Blackthorn - Pygmalion AU
(Idk if I actually ship them, but if I begin to, I think this myth suits them)
Christopher Lightwood was not a mundane person. Rather than be like his fellow friends or any other person his age, Christopher did not look at the world searching for romance. He was much more interested in chemicals and creating new things.
Today, Christopher worked with marble. Different than his usual materials, but Christopher felt whimsical in a way he hadn’t before.
Christopher thought of James and his lovely wife Cordelia. He thought of their laughing faces and their intertwined hands. In love, Christopher thought. They were in love.
Love was not a substance to be found on the periodic table, or deep inside the earth’s crust. It was not something he could make by hand. He knew it existed. He’s seen it between his parents, Gabriel and Cecily, between his aunts and uncles and his friends. Christopher has been lucky all his life to have known the feeling of love and being loved in return.
But there were many kinds of love. Or at least four, according to the ancient Greeks.
Philia, affectionate love. The kind Christopher shared with his sister Anna. Storge, the love he felt from his parents. But the kind that peaked Christopher’s interest today was Eros and Agape. Passionate and unconditional love.
Christopher thought of the women in his general vicinity, who he was not related too. Truth be told, he could hardly remember their faces or names. His father had said it is because his head is always in the clouds, and that is why he sometimes does not realize his sleeve is on fire or is about to be on fire.
But even if he could remember them, he doubted it would do much good. After all, were they that remarkable if he could not pay attention?
When Christopher thought of remarkable things, he thought of beakers, goggles, test tubes, metal mechanism, and the gargoyles that litter the London Institute.
The stone creatures got Christopher thinking, as many things do. Someone had taken stone and carved it into what they wanted it to be. That is what sculptures do.
Christopher thought of the many sculptures of angels he’d seen there and in Idris. Someone made them by hand.
Before Christopher had even thought the entire plan through, he’d already bought marble and the supplies needed in making a sculpture.
No one could know about this, not even uncle Henry. So Christopher started this masterpiece in the basement where no one usually ventures. Especially not now they have little Alexander to keep them entertained.
It has been nearly three months of working everyday on this stone woman, and Christopher was almost finished. She was tell, almost as tall as him, wearing a flowing white gown. Creating the illusion the wind was blowing around her had been hard, but Christopher was resilient.
She was all angles and not smiling. Serious and elegant and somewhat terrifying. But Christopher liked that. She was more than he’d expected his talent could produce. Graceful, he thought, and decided that would be her name.
That night Christopher wore himself out from sculpting all day, and fell asleep at the statue’s feet.
Unknownst to him, an angel walked the Earth that night. Raziel stride through the streets of Edwardian London, invisible but sensed by everyone around, mundane and downworlder alike. But they just assumed the shiver than ran over their bodies was from the cold night wind.
Raziel usually walked the Earth every hundred of years, not that the Shadowhunters knew. What a disaster that would be, thought the Angel. They would act unlike themselves and throw a mass celebration if they knew I was coming.
The echoes of London’s prayers rang in Raziel’s ears. The angel had only answered on prayer before, and that was from a man long ago.
But tonight Raziel heard the dream of Christopher Lightwood.
The angel appeared inside the basement, where marble and dust stained the walls and floor. On the ground was the sleeping boy, his brown hair splayed on the floor. Goggles rested on his head, most certainly cracked but useable.
Raziel studied the sculpture. Since he was an angel he had no sense for finding things beautiful, at least not on this unheavenly plane, but he could tell the boy adored this art piece.
I suppose one more wont do any harm, Raziel thought, and for all this boy is going to do...
Raziel, in his golden and burning glory, rested all their eyes that littered his wings on the sculpture. Under his gaze, the marble began to turn to skin, hair, blood, and bone. The now woman fell to the floor, in a heap of silk dress. She peered up at the angel as he blessed her with basic human knowledge. At last, Raziel disappeared, leaving the two together.
Christopher woke to someone staring at him. He was used to this feeling, as he usually fell asleep under the watchful eyes of the statue, but today the feeling was intensified. Opening his eyes, he found himself looking into pools of silver.
Christopher jolted and sat up, staring at this woman in wonder. For once, all his attention was focused on what was in front of him.
The woman was pale as ivory, her hair the color of butter cream, and her lips pink as roses. All that remained from herself as the statue was the edge of mystery and intensity. Even as a human, with a heart beat and a breathing chest, she was statuesque.
“Hello,” Christopher said curiously. Most would be running, but Christopher only felt intrigued.
She swallowed. “Hello,” She said and glanced around the dissarayed room.
“Would...would you like some tea?” Christopher asked politely, as his mother said to always do when they had guests.
“Tea...” she nodded and looked back at him, studying him the way he studied her. “Yes.”
“Alright, Grace.” He said, standing up.
“Grace?” She asked peering up at him.
“Well, that is what I’ve been calling you. I suppose that doesn’t matter now, what would you like to be called?”
She thought for a moment, bowing her pale head. “Grace.” She said. “I like Grace.”
Christopher smiled down at her and offered her his hand. She placed hers in his, her skin still as cool as marble, and he pulled her up.
Purple eyes stared into silver ones. Together, they walked.
