7 February 2024

The idea of clockwork people, clockwork life, has fascinated me for a long time. While I was considering the subject, it kind of blended with the stories of Pinocchio and Galatea, which I realized are actually really similar. So I came up with this.

The hiss of steam and the whir of gears kept a steady rhythm all around Geppyg as he worked. That was fairly common in this section of the mobile fortress; it had to keep moving somehow.

His crooked fingers ran over the small gears and springs of his magnum opus; a beautiful, dancing automaton woman. Galatea. How many years had he worked on her now? How often had he despaired of ever finishing? It had taken him decades to accept she would never truly live, but… Well, he would do what he could, and that would have to be enough.

Just as he finished his most recent touches, a loud knock came from his workshop door. He hobbled over on his bad leg and opened it to find the most aggressively beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Her dress was a deep violet, made of fine silk with fur trim, and somehow had not a speck of dust or oil stain, despite the tight, dingy halls of the maintenance zone. She must be a top-sider; what would she want with him?

She swept passed him and began studying Galatea. A sudden fear gripped Geppygmo’s heart; had rumors of his creation reached topside? Was this woman going to take his life’s work to use as a side-show curiosity at one of their infamous parties?

“Hmm. Intriguing. What is her name?”

“Galatea, your ladyship.” That question calmed him down somewhat. If she cared enough to know her name, she would at least properly care for Galatea well; that might be the best he could hope for at this point. Better than being forgotten in a foolish old man’s abandoned workshop.

“Galatea. A lovely name.” She looked up and gave him a knowing smile. “You love her, don’t you, Geppyg?”

He started. How did she…?

“If you want, I can bring her to life,” the woman said. A strange ball of light appeared in her hand, and she held it over Galatea’s chest. “She would be able to move and think freely, and she would love you. You’d be free to be married; I would officiate the wedding myself. What do you think?”

Geppyg’s eyes went wide. This was Aphrodite. Here. In his shop. Then he paused to consider the implications of her offer. He looked down at his gnarled and withered hands.

“If I werre still thirty or forty years younger, I may greedily accepted, your ladyship,” Geppyg said. He gazed fondly at Galatea, and even rested a hand on her shoulder. “But… If she is to live, she shouldn’t be tied to an old fool like me. No… no, Galatea is not my wife.” He looked Aphrodite straight in the eye. “She is my daughter.”

Aphrodite’s smile widened. “Done.” Then everything grew so bright, Geppyg couldn’t see anything.