The Muse of Reflection - Part 1

[Realbatman9001]

Hey! Here’s the start to one of the stories I’m cooking up. I hope you like it. Again, I’m open to any advice and happy to see what you think.

Cleo could hardly believe it. Her parents were actually letting her go out alone. At twelve! She threw on her favorite light summer dress, the one that made her feel extra grown-up, and slipped into her lucky pink underwear. She glanced at her training bra, wrinkled her nose, and left it behind. It was too hot for that thing anyway. It always made her itch and caused her boobs to sweat so bad. She glanced at herself in the mirror. The dress flowed around her body and landed mid thigh. She double checked if she could see her small brown nipples through the fabric. When she was satisfied, she slid on her flats over her bare feet , shouted a quick “Bye, Mom!” and darted out the door. Her heart raced with excitement as she headed toward her favorite place in the whole world: the Smithfield Museum.

Her feet slapped the pavement as she ran, confident in a route she knew better than anyone. Normally, she’d be with her parents, or at least her mom, but now they insisted she was old enough to go alone. They even gave her enough money for lunch and a small souvenir, which was more than enough to satisfy Cleo. Tired of being treated like a child, she did everything in her power to seem more mature: dressing like her older sister and even wearing a bit of makeup. The one remnant of her childhood was her lucky pair of pink Hello Kitty panties with a ribbon on the front. They were her favorite, and she always wore them on big days. Today, the biggest day she’d ever experienced.

When she reached the grand stone steps lined with towering marble columns, Cleo glanced up and grinned, her wide brown eyes sparkling with excitement. Her honey-brown skin glowed under the morning sun, and a few curly strands of dark hair bounced loose from her ponytail as she hurried forward. She looked every bit like a twelve-year-old, caught somewhere between childhood and the first flickers of adolescence.

She dashed up the steps, her light yellow dress fluttering around her knees like a ribbon in the wind. The way she moved, full of energy and anticipation, made her seem almost weightless. A soft breeze tugged at her hem, but she didn’t notice; she was too busy picturing all the wonders waiting inside. Her favorite exhibits, the towering dinosaur skeletons and glittering gemstone cases, would have to wait. Today, her heart was set on the brand new display about ancient statues. She absolutely couldn’t miss it.

Cleo burst through the museum’s heavy glass doors, her heart thudding with excitement. She barely slowed as she reached the front desk, flashing her family membership card with a practiced flick of her wrist. They visited so often that her parents joked it practically paid for itself after the third trip. The attendant, a friendly older woman with glasses that always slid down her nose, recognized her immediately and gave a small wave.

“Back again, Cleo?” she said with a smile.
Cleo beamed and nodded, but didn’t stop to chat. “New exhibit,” she called over her shoulder, already skipping past the ropes and heading into the main hall. She followed the tall, colorful signs pointing the way to the newly unveiled collection. Her flats squeaked lightly against the polished floors as she hurried, dodging slower visitors and casting quick glances at the familiar displays along the way. Today, they’d have to wait. The ancient statues were calling her name.

Cleo stepped into the exhibit room, and the heavy door eased shut behind her with a soft thud, sealing her in quiet. The sound of her own footsteps echoed in the stillness, each soft tap bouncing off the high ceilings and marble walls. The air was cool and still, the kind of quiet that made her hyper-aware of her own breathing. She was completely alone. The hush of the space wrapped around her like a thick blanket, amplifying the faint creak of her flats and the soft whisper of her dress against her legs.

She moved slowly past the ancient statues, each one frozen in time, their stone eyes staring into the distance. Some were chipped and worn, their details lost to the ages. Except one, near the center of the room, made her stop.

Her breath caught.

At first, she thought it was a trick of the light, but the more she looked, the more it unsettled her. The statue looked just like her. Not in a vague, passing way, but in the way a mirror might reflect your face back at you with just enough difference to make it feel eerie. The same shape of her face. The same arch to the brows. The same slightly parted lips she always hated because they made her look surprised. Even the posture, gentle and unguarded, reminded her of how she sometimes stood when no one was watching.

And then there was the rest of it.

The statue was completely nude. Not draped in cloth like some of the others. It wasn’t posed modestly or half-turned away, but bare, unapologetic, and detailed in a way that made Cleo’s face flush hot. She took an involuntary step back, her eyes darting around again even though she knew she was still alone. Her arms folded quickly across her chest, and she squeezed them tight.

The artist had captured everything. The smoothness of the stomach, the soft curve of the hips, the gentle rounding of the thighs. The lines of the body were sculpted with such precision that each curve seemed almost alive, as if the stone had been molded with a tenderness that was almost too personal. Even the delicate notch at the base of the spine, the way the back arched ever so slightly as though ready to move, felt real, like it was a part of her.

The figure's overall shape was striking, but it was the intimate details that truly captivated her. The artist had sculpted the chest with a softness that mirrored her own, capturing the small, subtle curves of the breasts and even the intricately carved nipples that matched her own. The faintest indentation where the ribs curved gently beneath the skin seemed to echo her own body's shape. As her gaze shifted downward, she noticed the careful depiction of the lower body: the curves of the tummy, the lines of the inner thighs, and the soft, natural fullness at the hips. Even the slight curve of the pelvis was perfectly captured, feeling almost invasive in its accuracy. The statue even matched her intimate girlhood, with faintly carved hairs, the folds of the labia, and even a clitoris. It was as if she were looking at her own reflection in the mirror, the likeness was so uncanny.

Her face burned with a new kind of discomfort. She stepped back a little more, her chest tight, her hands still wrapped tightly around herself. The image of the statue’s form lingered in her mind. It was too perfect, too detailed, too familiar. It felt as though the artist had examined her body from every angle, every inch of her, capturing even the smallest details, like the soft line of the abdomen, the delicate curve where the waist met the hips. It was as if someone had stepped into her world, stripped away the layers of clothing, and captured her bare self in all its rawness. Even the way the light touched the curves of the statue made them seem almost real, as though she could reach out and feel the smoothness of the stone against her skin.

The statue’s exposed vulnerability made Cleo’s stomach twist. She fought the urge to look away, but her gaze snapped back, as though the marble figure were her, standing naked and unguarded. She pictured herself under the soft gallery lights, every inch visible, nothing left to hide, and her chest tightened at the thought.

Her mind raced. What if someone she knew, Alex from history class, or even worse, Lena, her bully who always caught her missteps, walked in and saw her like that? What would they think? What would they whisper?

Then something stranger stirred. It was a soft warmth low in her belly, like a quiet flutter far removed from embarrassment. She squeezed her thighs together, a curious tingle rippling through her sex. A part of her recoiled at the thought of being seen, and another part wondered what it might feel like.

Lost in that swirl of awe and nerves, Cleo misstepped. Her shoulder brushed the polished pedestal, and her marble doppelgänger wavered as if awakening from a long sleep.

No.

Her heart lurched as the statue teetered and then tipped with a horrifying inevitability. The crash that followed was deafening. Shards of marble skittered across the floor like startled birds, the sound roaring through the silent gallery and freezing her breath in her throat.

Cleo stood frozen, the hush broken by the echo of breaking stone. Footsteps sounded beyond the exhibit doors, growing louder, and panic coiled in her stomach. This wasn’t just any statue. This museum was her sanctuary. It was the one place that always made her feel safe, curious, inspired, and now she had shattered it.

Tears blurred her vision as she stared down at the fragments: the serene face broken, delicate hands crushed, the naked body that had mirrored her own reduced to jagged pieces. Dread rose like bile in her throat. Her fingers trembled at her sides, too afraid to touch the ruin as though doing so might make the damage worse. She felt small, stupid, guilty, like a child who had done something unforgivable.

Before the dust settled, the sharp click of approaching shoes jolted her from her trance.

“What on earth…” A tall woman in a navy blazer with a museum badge clipped to her pocket rushed over, eyes going wide as they landed on the shattered sculpture. Cleo barely recognized her. “Oh no. No no no!”

Cleo swallowed hard, trying to form words, but they got stuck somewhere behind the lump in her throat.

Another staff member came around the corner, squinting at the scene. “Wait… Cleo? Oh, sweetheart.” His voice wasn’t kind. It was the disappointed kind adults used when they weren’t yelling, but you kind of wished they were.

They moved quickly, roping off the exhibit and pulling a curtain around the broken plinth.

“You’ve been coming here since you were, what, six?” he continued, glancing from the wreckage to her pale, guilty face. “You know how important this exhibit is.”

“I…I didn’t mean to! I just…” Cleo’s voice cracked. “It was an accident…”

The woman with the badge crouched beside the fragments, exhaling a long, weary sigh. “This was one of a kind, loaned from the Vatican collection. The sculptor is long gone; this was the show’s centerpiece.” She straightened, placing her hands on her hips. “You didn’t just knock over a statue, you destroyed it.”

Cleo shrank under their stares, her cheeks burning. Her favorite place in the world now felt like it might never let her come back.

“We’re going to have to report this,” the woman said, pulling out a clipboard from under her arm. “And… we’ll need to speak to your parents.”

Cleo winced, her stomach dropping at the thought of her parents finding out. The room felt impossibly small, the weight of her mistake pressing down on her chest.

“Unless… no…” The head of the department chimed in, his voice trailing off as his gaze shifted over to Cleo, his eyes lingering a bit too long. “Do we still have the replica?”

“Yes, but it’s in storage,” the woman replied, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It would take hours to get it ready… we don’t have that kind of time.”

Cleo’s mind raced, her face flushed with humiliation. The broken statue, the damage she’d caused, and the disappointed looks from the museum staff felt like they were closing in on her. She shifted nervously, glancing at the shattered pieces of marble on the floor. The silence stretched on, thick with tension, as the woman absentmindedly tapped her clipboard, making Cleo feel even smaller.

The head of the department stepped closer, his expression hardening. He let the silence stretch before speaking in a low, steady voice that felt more like a warning than a question.

“What if we used a live model? At least until we can bring up the replica?” he asked, his eyes sweeping over Cleo as if measuring her up like clay. “With a bit of paint and thirty minutes in the back room, nobody would ever know. But if you refuse, I’ll have to call your parents, alert the insurance company, and we may even press negligence charges.”

Cleo’s heart thudded in her chest as she blinked at him, stunned by the suggestion. The idea of standing in as a living statue was so bizarre and embarrassing that her face flushed deeper. It wasn’t just the humiliation of breaking something so priceless. It was the thought of being on display, posing naked like the statue, with all eyes on her and her insecurities.

She swallowed hard, trying to fight the nervous tremor in her hands. Her mind raced with questions, but none of them had answers. She could already hear her heart pounding in her ears.

“I… I don’t know,” Cleo mumbled, her voice small and shaky. The whole idea sounded strange, but maybe it was the only way to fix things. Her eyes dropped to the floor. “I just… I don’t want to make everything worse…”

The woman and the man exchanged a glance, the tension palpable. The man spoke up again, his voice softer now, but still carrying that same sense of pressure. “It’s the only solution that could work quickly. It’s either this or report it, and… well, that could lead to some serious consequences. A girl your age could face jail time for this.”

Cleo stood frozen, her cheeks blazing with embarrassment. The weight of what she’d done sat heavy on her shoulders. She could feel the museum staff watching her, their expressions a mix of disappointment and concern. It was the worst kind of attention, and her stomach churned with guilt. She didn’t mean to break anything, especially not something so important. But now, she had to figure out how to make it right, even if it meant doing something totally unexpected. She didn’t want to be put on display but the thought of her parents finding out was too much.

Cleo took a deep breath, her cheeks still burning with embarrassment as she tried to muster some courage. Her eyes, however, betrayed her. They were wide and glassy with unshed tears. “I… I’ll do it,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I’ll stand in. I just want to fix this. I don’t want my parents to find out.”

The woman with the badge looked over at her carefully. “Just so you’re clear, you’ll need to be naked just like the statue,” she said, her tone direct but not unkind.

The man gave a relieved smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you’re behind the ropes, and no one will be able to see you that close. We’ll get everything set up downstairs and make sure you’re ready in no time.”

Cleo nodded, trying to hide the unease creeping up her spine. She knew she had no choice but to go along with it. But the thought of posing as the statue, her body on display, was the last thing she wanted. The thought of thousands of people seeing her posed like the statue, no cover. Nothing between prying eyes and her naked body.

[Freesub]

Excellent premise! Something I haven't seen before.
The cusp of adolescence description was excellent as well. Hope to see you continue this unlike alot of creative stories that die out after 2-3 chapters.

[jojo12026]

Awesome idea! Great start

[steam train]

Very descriptive writing, thank you for posting such an unusual plot.

[Somebody]

Excellent premise! Something I haven't seen before.
The cusp of adolescence description was excellent as well.

Exactly what I was going to say, just about verbatim.