Excerpt from Pygmalia by Stephanie Constante!
Coming 2013!
“I thought you said you weren’t supposed to hurt me,” I say.
“I do not need to hurt you to get you to come with me,” I can tell that he’s probably from the London area, based on his accent.
“If I go with you, back to the house, what will happen?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then I think I’ll stay here.”
“The likelihood of your survival out here is scarce. You will only injure yourself further,” He touches a cut on my arm I got from running into a branch when I ventured into the woods. His hand is warm, the way a live person’s would feel against my skin. “Please come with me,” he says and holds out something. I grab the objects and realize they’re my heels.
“I do not need to hurt you to get you to come with me,” I can tell that he’s probably from the London area, based on his accent.
“If I go with you, back to the house, what will happen?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then I think I’ll stay here.”
“The likelihood of your survival out here is scarce. You will only injure yourself further,” He touches a cut on my arm I got from running into a branch when I ventured into the woods. His hand is warm, the way a live person’s would feel against my skin. “Please come with me,” he says and holds out something. I grab the objects and realize they’re my heels.
“You brought my shoes?”
“I thought they might be of use to you.”
“Heels in the forest? In the dark? Not so much useful as they are an accident waiting to happen,” I grumble. “Alright, lead the way, but if you try and hurt me, I’m jabbing this Manolo Blahnik in your eye socket.”
“What is a Manolo Blahnik?” he asks. I can’t see his face but I’m sure it looks extremely confused. Guys.
“Never mind,” I sigh, “just know that I will do some damage if you try anything.”
“I understand,” he says. As we begin our trek back to the house, I stumble a few times. He grabs my waist before I fall flat on my face. He finally takes my hand to help me along the way. It’s softer than I would have imagined it to be. “This might help,” he says as he clicks something on his other hand. A light emanates from beneath his skin, turning it an orangey pink. I pull away from him and point at his hand.
“How did you do that?”
“It’s one of my tools. I don’t need it, but I suppose you do,” he says and holds out his unlit hand to me while he stretches the other in front of him, lighting my way.
“What are you?”
“I am Prototype 78.”
“What does that even mean? That doesn’t tell me anything about you.”
“It’s not supposed to,” he keeps his gaze forward as we walk down the hillside towards the house.
“I thought they might be of use to you.”
“Heels in the forest? In the dark? Not so much useful as they are an accident waiting to happen,” I grumble. “Alright, lead the way, but if you try and hurt me, I’m jabbing this Manolo Blahnik in your eye socket.”
“What is a Manolo Blahnik?” he asks. I can’t see his face but I’m sure it looks extremely confused. Guys.
“Never mind,” I sigh, “just know that I will do some damage if you try anything.”
“I understand,” he says. As we begin our trek back to the house, I stumble a few times. He grabs my waist before I fall flat on my face. He finally takes my hand to help me along the way. It’s softer than I would have imagined it to be. “This might help,” he says as he clicks something on his other hand. A light emanates from beneath his skin, turning it an orangey pink. I pull away from him and point at his hand.
“How did you do that?”
“It’s one of my tools. I don’t need it, but I suppose you do,” he says and holds out his unlit hand to me while he stretches the other in front of him, lighting my way.
“What are you?”
“I am Prototype 78.”
“What does that even mean? That doesn’t tell me anything about you.”
“It’s not supposed to,” he keeps his gaze forward as we walk down the hillside towards the house.
We pass the lake silently but I can’t help but feel unnerved by him.
“Are you some kind of alien?”
“I can’t answer that,” his face barely shows any kind of emotion but there’s something in there, I remember seeing it when I looked into his eyes.
“You were dead,” I press on. “You were dead on that table when I found you, and then you just woke up. So you’re obviously not human. You’re some kind of experiment he’s working on.” He doesn’t respond so I keep deducing on my own. “You have scars, but they look nothing like what I’d imagine a zombie would look like. You’ve got that light coming out of your hand and you were able to track me in this darkness. I’m guessing alien.”
“I’m not an alien,” he finally admits.
“Aha!” I jump and point at him. “So you’re an experiment. Like Frankenstein, just not as gross looking.”
“Frankenstein is not the name of the monster; it’s the name of the doctor. The monster never had a name.”
“Are you saying you’re Frankenstein’s monster?”
“I’m not a monster,” he says, except for the first time, there’s sadness behind his words. He looks down at his hand, as if somehow disgusted with himself, but his movements are so robotic, even his affect is flat and unexpressive.
“Fair enough, you’re not a monster,” I concede. He looks down at me and seems relieved. He’s not a monster, but he’s definitely not human.
“Are you some kind of alien?”
“I can’t answer that,” his face barely shows any kind of emotion but there’s something in there, I remember seeing it when I looked into his eyes.
“You were dead,” I press on. “You were dead on that table when I found you, and then you just woke up. So you’re obviously not human. You’re some kind of experiment he’s working on.” He doesn’t respond so I keep deducing on my own. “You have scars, but they look nothing like what I’d imagine a zombie would look like. You’ve got that light coming out of your hand and you were able to track me in this darkness. I’m guessing alien.”
“I’m not an alien,” he finally admits.
“Aha!” I jump and point at him. “So you’re an experiment. Like Frankenstein, just not as gross looking.”
“Frankenstein is not the name of the monster; it’s the name of the doctor. The monster never had a name.”
“Are you saying you’re Frankenstein’s monster?”
“I’m not a monster,” he says, except for the first time, there’s sadness behind his words. He looks down at his hand, as if somehow disgusted with himself, but his movements are so robotic, even his affect is flat and unexpressive.
“Fair enough, you’re not a monster,” I concede. He looks down at me and seems relieved. He’s not a monster, but he’s definitely not human.
Lily is the heir to her father’s family fortune, except she wants no part in it. Especially if it means having to spend months away from her loving mother, being ignored by her genius, yet reclusive father, and tormented by her domineering grandmother.
Since her parent’s divorce, Lily has been forced to spend every summer, bored to death, at her father’s dilapidated estate in England. The one consolation is that this is the last summer she will have to visit before her eighteenth birthday frees her of this obligation. What Lily didn’t expect to find was someone who is just as lonely and out of place as she is. Someone that could make her actually want to stay at the rundown mansion.
Since her parent’s divorce, Lily has been forced to spend every summer, bored to death, at her father’s dilapidated estate in England. The one consolation is that this is the last summer she will have to visit before her eighteenth birthday frees her of this obligation. What Lily didn’t expect to find was someone who is just as lonely and out of place as she is. Someone that could make her actually want to stay at the rundown mansion.
Deep in the basement of her father’s home, she finds Adam, who is half human, half machine. He is her father’s latest prototype: a creation built for war, but able to do so much more than just basic fighting tactics and artillery protocol. Lily cannot help but be drawn to her father’s experiment, though she’s certain nothing can come of it. When she realizes that Adam will eventually be taken from her and potentially destroyed, she must decide whether putting her family in jeopardy is worth the risk of helping him escape.
Author bio:
I'm a lifelong lover of books. I have always wanted to be a writer but never thought it was a realistic goal until now. I studied psychology at Florida International University which will probably explain why there are psychological themes in my books. I have been working as a psychosocial rehabilitation counselor in Miami for over five years now which makes for an interesting day. When I'm not writing I read an endless amount of urban fantasy novels (my favs), hang out with close friends and family, make playlists on iTunes, and obsess about Disney and anything from the UK.
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