(Heroforge, using kitbashing)

******

"The outfit's okay?"

"It's fine, what there is of it. Quite statuesque. Stretch out more, head higher. Think hood-ornament." The Basilisk pilots her platform around me. It's the most plain and functional bit of sorcery I've seen since I came to the city: a repurposed washing-tub held aloft by the sort of cold-fire pillars you'd normally see lifting a sky-gondola. "That's it. Drop your left wing a few degrees, a touch of asymmetry… Perfect. Okay, showtime. Eyes forward…"

Her face moves into my view. I keep my eyes fixed on where hers are behind her mirror-shades, and none of her reassurances stop my self-preservation instinct from screaming. She reaches a hand to her shades. "Lights up in three.. two.." They all say this doesn't hurt but I still brace for incandescent pain or annihilating cold. "One… Zero!" And the shades are off and I am staring into…

Eyes. Just eyes. Turquoise irises, slit vertical pupils, bit of white at the corners. Beautiful but no terror, no arcane searing power... And then those eyes are holding my attention, my mind, and a great calm is flooding into me. I feel the change. No pain, no cold, just… settling. Becoming still and dense. No worse than changing pose. I'm not breathing, there's a quiet in my ears that says my blood's no longer flowing. I'm not bothered. My self-preservation instinct accepts the new normal.

The Basilisk moves aside. I hear her as she flits around me, checking and taking photos. "Muscle definition excellent. Antler texture fine, not that anyone's going to look. Can see the rachis on the feathers, that's as good as it gets. Curse does what it can. And tawny marble, thank Cricklewood, even the Duke can't complain there. You're fine." And she's off leaving me to gaze skyward. Can't help wondering how I can still see and hear… or think, for that matter. Ask a wizard and they'd say a long string of words amounting to "It's magic, dude." I've met wizards.

I try to move, experimentally, and of course can't. I'm not prevented, exactly - it's more that I no longer know how. The idea of moving seems nonsense, like trying to see with my antlers.

The sky goes from blue to indigo to near black, and there are stars. Time passes as it always does, but statues don't get bored. I'm at ease, my thoughts turning idly over. The cold of the night seeps into me but I'm not chilled. I drowse and sleep and dream calm dreams, and have no dismay when I wake and remember what I am.

Night goes to morning to noon and back to night. Day follows day. The parts of me that were once skin feel the sun, and the rain, and the indignities of birds followed by soap and irate scrubbing. I can't look down but I can hear the life of the Duke's garden around me: gardeners and guests, peacocks and parties. A pretty decent string quartet rained off in the middle of Strekkon's "Fourth Kobold Suite". Nobody comments on me, and that's fine: I know I'm there for ambiance.

I keep no count of days. Finally the Basilisk returns. Her eyes are again in front of mine, and once more I feel as if falling into a hole larger than space. My rigid body loosens, I wonder if this is what it's like to be a melting snowman… and then I'm breathing and shifting and back in myself, chilled and weak and hungry. The Basilisk helps me down, maneuvering her flying platform so I have something to lean on. She's brought cookies and blankets and hot punch, along with my bag and smartphone. I draw in my wings, grab the blankets and swaddle myself.

We share the punch and cookies. The Basilisk also looks unsteady. "Thawing you's the hardest bit. Making the Curse run backwards against itself. It's draining." She laps punch from a saucer, her mouth not shaped for sipping. "Doesn't come naturally. Learning was hard as basalt. But I'd had… accidents. Couldn't leave them stuck forever. And figuring it is how I got into wizardry." Her statues-for-hire are a side gig, albeit famous; she's a licensed and prosperous Earth Magician.

Back in the flesh I'm at last feeling the strangeness of having been that rigid entity. All the uncanny tales I ever heard about statues are sitting differently now. I've been there. I've been them.

"The Duke said you were splendid. Well, he said 'decent', which is his idea of high praise." Pouring another saucer. "Fee should be in your account. Any plans for it?"

"Buying some air-magic. I want to fly."

"You can't already?"

"Very, very poorly. Huge wings alone don't make an elk aerodynamic. I got them four years back, hiking. Camped at what I learned afterwards was the ground of a forgotten shrine. When I reached town it was too late to remove them, and I was getting to like them. They'll be functional with a few spells for balance and airflow, the sort of things dragons have naturally."

"Beats my sky tub. I'd love to see that."

"I'll give you a fly-over." I'm checking my phone. She's mailed me her photos. For the first time I actually see myself in marble. I look uncanny but… good. Balanced. Solid. I'm a little more at ease with the memory of being stone. Statue-me feels like a second self, peaceful and calm and grounded.

"If you'd like another spot, the Temple of Calculus will have a vacant plinth while they're steam-cleaning the Indefinite Integral. They like your look."

"I'm… flattered but do I fit their theme?"

"No, and that's the point. Folk will go in to ask 'Why is there a winged elk on your maths temple?' and end up signed into classes."

"Many pigeons?"

"It's half a block from the Heart-Shrine of the Hawk Pantheon, so no."

I look up the temple. Facing direct west. City's a smog-hell, but it makes for the best sunsets and I won't have lungs... I open my calendar app.