I have always had a love of beauty whether stone, liquid, or flesh. I loved the beauty of science, the beauty of broiling concoctions that started my reputation as a unsavoury figure a mad scientist some might say. However, I never saw true beauty until I saw her brunette goddess, a tall creature with skin as pale as marble, lips of pink coral and eyes of azure blue. That moment I knew I was in love. Over the months I spied on her, studied her, compared her to all the other girls for example Brenda Triton was a pixie compared to the Goddess and I liked to think she was all mine.

One day, when I was studying the Goddess from afar a man appeared, "Good morning Claire", he said happily. "Here this is for you "she replied, blushing as she handed him a letter. I couldn't hear the rest suddenly the Goddess leaned upwards and gave him a kiss. I was so shocked, how dare he? How could this inferior man win my Goddess? In a moment of anger and sadness I ran into the deep depth of the nearby pond sinking like my heart, but the instinct to survive won and dragging myself dripping from the pool, with the help (unwanted I might add) of a troupe of eager boy scouts, I swore that I would have the Goddess to myself one day. Over the next month he was always there with the Goddess hugging her, smiling and giggling with her, it was disgusting! One day Professor Schrader my former mentor (a fool really) interrupted Class " I am sorry to tell you all but your Classmate Claire Folly died in the explosion on Baker Street yesterday she was the first human subject for a time machine and there were some miscalculations with the project, causing an explosion and devastation to the surrounding area. That is all we know for now. It is a great loss; we must treasure her memory and move on. There will be homework this week ". Schrader left the room in silence. How could the Goddess die? How? She was a piece of art a moving statue, the Gressenhiller Venus de Milo that was my only thought on the matter.

Over the years I have gained a dubious reputation, I feared no one and nothing. The law and polite society meant nothing to me, my only joy was my art lessons and their purpose was singular. Scotland Yard is on my trail right now as I speak I have no fear of them I want nothing but the Goddess the beautiful Goddess. I hear a scuffle outside, I know my freedom (if you can call it such when my heart is turned to cold stone) is nearly over I have got to see her one last time. I pull the rope cord of the curtain concealing my treasure a perfect copy of the goddess is there, every time I see it I expect her to walk off the canvas like in a dream .I am trapped in time, people tell me" You have got to move on ." Even Layton moved on he's married to a woman named Remi, not as beautiful as the Goddess, she's more of a forest nymph, not heavenly at all. They are happily expecting their first child in utter bliss how it infuriates me. How could he forget Goddess so easily? "Goddess", as that word plays in my head the officers from Scotland Yard break down the door. "Paul Donnston you are under arrest for multiple accounts of identity theft, attempted murder and kidnapping you have the right to remain silent, if you do speak anything you say may be taken down and used in evidence against you", Inspector Chemley says in his usual gruff voice as the Bobbies handcuff me. As I am led from the room I turn to the Goddess for one last time and mutter,

That's my last Goddess ' painted on the wall,
 looking as if she were alive. I call
 That piece a wonder, now: Don Paolo's hands
 Worked busily a day, and there she stands.

Professor Layton belongs to level 5

My Last Duchess belongs to Robert Browning

I own nothing

I based my story on my theory that Don Paolo fancied Claire based on her looks I believe this because when Celeste Claire's younger yet identical sister appears Don Paolo flirts with her " Layton you take the children Celeste I will escort you myself " in my mind you don't flirt with your dead unrequited love's younger and identical sister unless you just love the image of the person