"You will be immortal", Auguste promised. "Till Eternity, people will cherish your beauty."
I was reluctant. Auguste was firm. Jean Baptiste had insisted the model be only me. I did not want Jean Baptiste near me. After passion and promises, he always left me nursing a broken heart.
But my mother had tuberculosis. I needed money for food.
Auguste was no ordinary sculptor. He sucked out my essence, imprisoned it in stone. I'd ended up selling my soul for fifty francs. Jean Baptiste can never leave me again. But is there no life beyond this embrace? Will Eternity ever end?