From my prison I watch him visit with the others. He polishes them and keeps them well, but not me. I stand alone in the shade of a tree only knowing the pin prick warmth of the sun through leaves. Leaves that change as he does while I am here never growing. I believe with all my soul I love him, but I also know that to reveal myself to him would ruin him. Sometimes I am at war with myself. At war with my soul; that which longs to hold him. To caress his skin and turn him like me. Embracing him would be my finest hour...
And yet to do so would be to kill him, and I can't bear the thought of dooming him to a prison like mine! The sun is warm today, comfortable for his fragile body and yet he still looks ill. I worry for him, because of all the caretakers he treats us the nicest. While his body is older than the cherubs, it is much younger than mine. Several hundred years younger in fact.
I came to be this.. stone likeness when a young man tricked me with a shield. I saw the horror I truly was and always will be, now. He was a cruel person for cursing me to be this way; to be a stone tutu and chipped hair!
I wish he could see past the rumors, past the curse; the Caretaker I mean. He never comes near me though I see the sad wonder in his eyes when he looks my way. When he truly sees me, and not the stone. The curse is long and terrible, one I would not wish on anyone; but to understand my suffering that is exactly what I would have to do to you.
