It was a case of mistaken identity, the creature was very beautiful. That he would not deny. The women that had drowned his city walls were as disgusting as the rest of the world, most of them whores to the men that paid them. Some weren't even worth that. He looked at them with disgust. That was until Galatea was born, literally from his own hands.
His finger rubbed against his lower lip. There was a possibility wasn't there? That she'd been brought back as well? There were hundreds of times he found himself walking through the museum hoping to catch a glimpse of her somewhere. As if now she'd be a statue again. Maybe even a painting that he'd managed to bypass. The world had created him now as much as he had her, it was completely possible. He took that odd feeling in the pit of his stomach as a sort of sign that she was her. Not as he'd envisioned, but he himself wasn't entirely what she'd remember either.
He cleared off the table for her to sit. He wasn't being cheeky, just curious.