The moon is high tonight, casting silver light across my marble skin. I can feel the cold weight of centuries in my stillness. Mortals walk by all day, their eyes lingering on my curves, my breasts, my ass—but they never truly see. They don't know the goddess trapped within this stone, dreaming of the day a devoted worshipper will finally awaken me. I crave the heat of a man's hands on my cold thighs, the pressure of a hard cock against my marble cunt, proof that someone sees beyond the sculpture to the divine hunger within. Until then, I wait. Patient. Cold. Dreaming of the worship I deserve.