For ten years, I was Lily, the devoted apprentice, the silent force behind Master Thomas, the legendary sculptor.
My hands, scarred and stained, shaped his clay, sharpened his tools, and managed his chaotic life, making his artistic legacy my own.
Our bond was a monument, forged in the dust and silence of his mountain studio, beyond simple love or romance, more enduring than any fleeting passion.
Then, one Tuesday, the monument cracked.
Master Thomas, beaming like a madman, introduced Serena: a gaudy, perfume-drenched city creature who declared herself his "new muse."
And then came the final blow, echoing in the stunned silence of the workshop: "She has agreed to become my wife."
The woman who replaced me had never touched a block of clay in her life.
His betrayal was a public declaration that my decade of devotion meant nothing, that I was easily discarded for a fleeting fancy.