You fidget in place, waiting to be told to come inside. She has asked for a little moment, and you are all too willing to comply. Not really sure of what she is doing inside, but she’s taking a little while. Or maybe it’s just the nerves, trying to mess up the whole thing. It happens, more than what you would like to admit. That aside, you look around a bit.

It’s the same flat as always. The cream colour walls, decorated with plates and paintings you have come to memorise. The furniture, made of dark wood that it’s starting to show its age here and there. The carpets that keep the cold floor at bay… You can’t look at it in the same way as before though. Not after stumbling upon her in the studio. Is everything as it seems, or do some things serve other purposes?

Your lips curl into a small smile, the pounding heartbeat calming just a bit. Messy and disorganised would be a very generous description of the explanation she later gave. She didn’t feel threatening or dangerous, even with what you had seen. Rather, it had been cute, seeing her fuss over it… and a bit sad, thinking you would ditch her like that. You have been living together for a year and… how many months? Doesn’t matter. She could have done something all along, but she had not.

How would you walk away from her?

Still, it puts a lot of things into perspective. All the volumes about art that she keeps. And those of minerals right next to them. The interest in museums when on vacation. The occasional absences due to her job; and the long sessions she spends locked in her study, hard at work.

You have to stifle a giggle at that last thought.

The door opens right on cue, showing her dressed in a grey shirt and black panties. As she ties her hair behind her head, her face quickly beaming into a kind smile. Still, you have not missed her furrowed brow and stern expression. It is somewhat reassuring to know that you are not the only one slightly nervous. With a wide wave of her arm, she ushers you inside.

It is the first time you see the studio inside. Well, second, technically. All the material she uses has been stored to the side, and you can swear you hear the echo of your heartbeat. There’s the lights and green screen, and the table with the laptop; with a pile of paperwork right next to it. A couple of painted canvases lean against the wall, while a single black and fluffy carpet lays in the middle of it.

Still, you notice that there are some pedestals behind all of it. One of which you found her standing upon.

- I thought they might make you feel a bit more relaxed. - She says, smiling and waving at the two cushions on the carpet. - Ok, first, get comfortable.

Comfortable, alright. You sit on the cushions but you don’t quite find the right pose. Move them here and there, no, that’s not working. Maybe it’s the legs. Folded, crossed, spread… none work. You toss the cushions gently behind you.

- That will work just fine too. - She forces a smile, clasping her hands.

She kneels before you, folding her legs. You mimic her. Yes, that works. She looks at you, her pupils going all over your form. Her expression is serious, and you can almost see the gears turning in her mind.

She steadies herself. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

Her hands move around the cloth on your body, unclasping it and letting it fall to your crotch. It makes your hair stand, and now it’s you who breathes in.

- Comfortable?

You nod.

Her lips curl into a candid smile, fidgeting a bit closer and putting your arms on her legs. Two trembling hands reach out, landing on the sides of your trunk. They feel firmer, but the shake is still there.

- Let’s get to it then. Close your eyes and lean forward a bit.

You swallow, but do as told. You can feel her forehead touch yours. She is warm and soft, and her hands slowly move up and down your sides. The shaking is gone, her fingers steady and expertly navigating your skin. No clue what she is looking for, but it doesn’t feel erratic or random.

- Focus on my breathing.

Even with your eyes closed, surrounded by that grey mist, you comply. You hear your own breathing, your pounding heart echoes in your mind. But there’s also her. She breathes softly and calmly.

In… out…

In… out…

You match her pace, easing your breathing and calming down. The nerves you had slowly vanish, falling almost like flakes off your body. You feel the carpet brush against your skin. A ticklish touch, but not enough to break the flux. Just keep inhaling and exhaling, as asked by her.

- Focus on my hands. Picture them in your mind.

That you can do. Fair skin, flawlessly taken care of. Smooth and soft. Lean fingers, ending in perfectly trimmed nails. They move with precision and practice, almost like they are taking your measures; dexterously deciding how to proceed. You crack a small and playful smile. You know full well she is very gifted with those fingers.

- Now focus on yourself.

You make your own silhouette between her hands.  A soft and nimble body, clad in fair skin. Not what you would call curvy or well-endowed. Lean limbs, with the legs folded while the hands rest on her legs. And a perky bust. The rear is covered by the brown cloth that she has taken off. Your brown hair is tied in a loose bun behind you, some locks falling free and framing your face. Straight nose and soft lips, curled in a small smile. You also forgot to take off your earrings, but no comments on that.

Nothing you would call outstanding, but you caught her eye. And that’s enough.

- Feel my hands. Feel your skin. It hardens, becoming smooth and firm.

You can imagine it. A cracking noise that fills the studio, growing louder and louder. A grey shadow spreads from her hands, across your trunk. The soft skin tingles in anticipation as the transformation advances, hardening it, leaving behind firm and smooth stone. It’s a grey hue, nothing outstanding, but there’s a charm on it.

You can feel it, spreading, claiming more and more of you. Moving from your sides into the back and the belly. Movement ceases as you petrify, your bust still going up and down while your belly ceases all motion. Dots and veins start appearing in the transformed area. Lighter patches of grey, while veins of a darker colour start twisting and making their way around. Through your back. On your arms.

Her hands move up and down your sides, easing the spread of the stone. It passes your belly button and reaches for your breasts. Seeing them turn into stone pears is mesmerising. No matter the excitement, the worry, your breathing remains calm, slowing down steadily as the stone fills your chest. As the breathing movement stops and both are rendered flawlessly, each of them crowned by a nipple.

As the transformation reaches your shoulders, her hands’ movement changes a bit. From your bust to your hips. Again and again. The stone vanishes from view as it moves under the cloth, but you can imagine- no, feel, where it is. Your hips grow steady and immobile, holding you safe in place as the stone crawls closer and closer to your womanhood. You can feel it- you can feel her at work. Directing the stone with her hands, rendering every minute detail of your nether lips into perfectly polished and smooth stone.

The pounding of your heartbeat is not there. You can’t exactly tell when it has vanished, but the point remains. And as you see the stone emerge from beneath the cloth, your legs harden into a solid base. You don’t fear falling to the side or backwards. Your pose, your own body, won’t allow it. The stone reaches for the knees, moving down to your feet, but your attention moves to your arms. It is about to reach your hands, and as it does, you feel it harden them.

No longer soft and delicate, they turn into perfect stonework, resting gently against her leg. And the sensation takes you by surprise. Her softness. Her heat. The brush of her shaved skin. It joins with what you had previously ignored. Or you simply didn’t notice. The touch of the cloth in your hips, almost like a reassuring embrace. The tickling of the carpet beneath your legs as they fully harden, playful but not strong enough to distract.

The motions of her hands change, now funnelling the petrification upwards, into your head. It leaves behind the shoulders, and barrels up the neck, managing to climb up to some hair locks. It comes from everywhere, surrounding what little remains untransformed remains of you. Your hair, tied in a loose bun, becomes an impossibility to sculpt. Locks and strands that twist, join and separate in ways that couldn't be done other ways.

Your ears ring with the cracking, now coming from inside of them, as the stone reaches your face. It moves up the jaw, turning your slightly parted lips and teeth into stone. It barrels down your forehead, sealing your eyelids shut and turning your eyelashes into delicate stone filigranes. And it all comes together on the point of your nose, the cracking vanishing soon after.

You are a stone statue. Kneeling with your eyes closed, and your lips slightly parted in a small smile. A last gasp of air. Or pleasure. Your earrings remain untransformed, two metallic pieces that give away your true nature.

She steps back, leaving you in the grey void. No matter how hard it tries, worries and anxiety can’t worm their way into your head. You are calm. Still and steady. You are a stone statue.

- I… I never thought your first transformation would be so… so seamless. - She gasps. You can feel the joy in her voice. - I’ll leave you be for a while. Take your time. Enjoy the feeling.

Her footsteps change the moment she steps off the carpet and into the floor. You feel the door open and close, and her steps walking away, briskly and giddy.

You picture more of the studio around you. There’s the lights and green screen. The table with the laptop, with a pile of paperwork right next to it. A couple of painted canvases lean against the wall, while a single black and fluffy carpet lays beneath you. The cushions are not far away, and you wonder how those would have felt against your bum.

Warm sunlight brushes gently against your petrified form, coming in through the window and covering you in a comforting blanket. You could easily feel a bit dazed or sleepy in its embrace, but the occasional cloud keeps you alert. And besides, there is something else that catches your attention.

Thinking back to the material she uses, there’s the pedestals behind all of it. A square one, with room for one. A circular one, upon which you found her, petrified. A polished white marble statue, standing bare in all her glorious beauty while a camera recorded and another snapped pictures. And there is a larger one, a low square.

It could have room for two.

You feel nice. Calm. Beautiful. You are a stone statue, at least for the time being. But you wouldn’t mind doing it again. And sharing that pedestal with her next time.