"Open yourself to love, Pygmalion," she told him. "My gift is all around and you spurn it constantly. I blessed you with a gift once, but that gift will never be yours again unless-" she tapped a finger against his chest "-you open that up a little more."
When she drew back her hand she twisted her wrist around and when the palm was once again facing up a pomegranate sat there, red and round and sacred. She tossed it from one hand to the other and then held it out for the boy to take. "Become worthy of her, sculptor."