Cyprus Pygmalion was the local outcast. He was a middle-aged, misanthrope man who hid himself away in a small corner of town, hardly ever seen outside his house. Most of his time was occupied by his inventing and sculpting in his house, and the rest was used for the typical eating, sleeping, and… well… breathing.
He saw the people around him as impure, always cringing around whenever he left his house. If ever anyone spoke to him, he spat in return and quickly huddled away. The people quickly learned to simply ignore the man and leave him be in his old, dilapidated house in the corner of town.
All this aside, the man was still human. He still wanted to feel the acceptance of society and feel love in his heart, but his hatred for humanity's imperfections kept him from achieving any of this. Instead, he spent his life withering away with the cold machinery that was his inventions.
Over time, he grew sick of his loneliness and began a project, an invention, that would change his life forever. It would be his salvation and sense of acceptance in this world. He was going to build a statue bride. He body would be smooth and perfect. Her eyes would be large and perfect. Her hair would be luscious and perfect. Her voice would be smooth and perfect. Everything about her was going to be what humanity failed to conceive.
Upon “her” creation, the man stepped back to admire his work. She was everything that he had hoped she’d be. Her smooth pig skin was pulled tight across the machinery beneath. Her joints were stiff-jointed and her hair curled in a rougher fashion. Her eyes were very large and rotated around awkwardly in her eye sockets. Her features almost sat flush against her face, and she had no eyebrows. When her lipless mouth opened, a smooth, metallic voice spoke in almost a singing tone. She was what the man saw as perfect.
He spoke to her softly and touched her face. The statue bride did not express her affection back quite the same as he did. Instead, she sang metallically, “I feel you’re imperfect.” The man was shocked. She saw him as imperfect as he saw others. He begged for her love, but instead she fell into a voice loop, “I feel fantastic! Hey, hey, hey!” over and over again.
Soon the man was enraged. His statue bride rejected his imperfections as a human. He slapped a hand across the soft face of the metallic figure. Instantly, the machine sprung into a mode in which she pinned the man down aggressively against the floor.
“I feel fantastic! Hey, hey, hey!” she spoke as the man screamed. She began breaking the bones in his arms and legs and pulling on them aggressively. She ripped off bits and pieces of his figure in his hopeless struggle, and began shoving some of his own inventions in place of his missing parts.
“I feel fantastic! Hey, hey, hey!” As the man felt his consciousness slipping. His pain exceeded anything he had ever felt before. His various inventions attached crudely on his body in place of his missing limbs. His vision faded to black.
He awoke in a shock, he could feel nothing in his entire body, but could still see. He looked down and saw his statue bride in his lap. Upon reaching for her golden hair, he saw that his arm was instead metalic and skinless. She had made him perfect, just like her.