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You call me a mountain
And I call you the sea
I'll stand tall and certain
And watch you swallow me
Gigi wore a frown, her fingers mindlessly flipping through a stack of documents. Her eyes skimmed over the letters without registering their meaning, her hands moving in an endless loop. She sat in the living room of Justice—but only one thing truly held her attention.
She had always known she was cursed, but never truly understood what that meant—until today, when she noticed the red string tied to her pinky… connecting to—
“Gigi, are you listening to me?” Cecilia’s voice cut through her thoughts.
“Uhm, what?” Gigi blinked, looking up. Her gaze caught on Cecilia’s pinky, where the other end of the thread rested, faintly glowing against the automaton’s sleek surface. Her throat tightened as her eyes finally met Cecilia’s. What happened next was something she could never have expected. The automaton reached out; her porcelain, red-stringed hand brushed against Gigi’s cheek. It moved gently until Cecilia’s hand rested firmly against her forehead, as if checking for a fever.
“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Cecilia’s voice carried worry, and it unsettled Gigi’s insides. Something in her cracked, threatening to shatter under the intensity of Cecilia’s fretting gaze.
Gigi stiffened, forcing a nervous laugh. “Oh, I’m fine! Just... just gremlin things, you know.” Her voice came out uneven, and she immediately winced at how unnatural it sounded coming from her.
Her thoughts raced as she tried to regain composure, her gaze darting to the hum of Cecilia’s inner machinery. The soft whirring, normally soothing, now seemed deafening against the awkward silence. The thread between them felt vibrant, alive—and completely unnoticed by Cecilia. It was as if Gigi was the only one who could see it, and the realisation gnawed at her.
Panic settled in her chest, and she scrambled to her feet, nearly knocking over the chair behind her. “Oh, would you look at the time? I think I left my oven on,” she blurted, her voice rising an octave as she avoided Cecilia’s piercing gaze.
She turned sharply, nearly tripping over her own tail as she stumbled toward the door. Her hands fumbled with the handle, the smooth surface refusing to cooperate with her trembling fingers.
“Gigi, wait—” Cecilia’s voice called out, tinged with confusion and concern.
But Gigi didn’t stop. She forced the door open, ignoring the way Cecilia’s expression shifted from worry to puzzlement as the automaton stepped toward her. “I’ll see you later!” she threw over her shoulder, her tone strained and desperate to mask the crack in her composure.
The confused look on Cecilia’s face burned in her mind as she fled, the tug of the thread between them tightened, almost as if it resisted her escape.
The days that followed were nothing short of agonising. For Gigi, the red string was a constant reminder of the unspoken truth—a tether that bound her to Cecilia in ways she couldn’t understand, let alone confront. She avoided her as best she could, weaving excuses, slipping away before conversations could grow too long, and hiding behind doors whenever Cecilia entered the room. But the string remained, tugging at her like a cruel joke.
That morning, however, her efforts to evade the automaton’s presence came to a crashing halt.
Gigi stood in the kitchen, her hands resting on the counter as she stared blankly at the assortment of ingredients she had pulled out in an attempt to make breakfast. The warm sunlight spilling through the window did little to calm her nerves. She drummed her fingers against the smooth surface, her mind racing with nonsensical thoughts to drown out the one she didn’t want to think about—Cecilia.
And then she heard it. The soft, deliberate click of heels on hardwood floors.
Her stomach dropped.
Gigi turned her head just slightly, enough to see Cecilia’s figure entering the kitchen from the corner of her eye. Her movements were smooth, graceful as always, but there was something in her expression—a quiet determination—that made Gigi’s heart race.
“Good morning,” Cecilia said simply, her voice calm but carrying an edge that sent Gigi into panic mode.
“Oh! Morning! Didn’t see you there!” Gigi blurted out, her voice unnaturally bright as she grabbed a jar of jam, pretending to be very engrossed in inspecting its label.
Cecilia’s gaze bore into her, unyielding but unreadable. “Gigi,” she said softly, but with unmistakable weight, “are you avoiding me?”
The jar nearly slipped from Gigi’s hands. She set it down quickly, fumbling to keep her composure as she let out a strained laugh. “Avoiding you? No! Why would I avoid you? That’s ridiculous!”
Cecilia stepped further into the room, her feet making soft, deliberate sounds against the floor. “Is it?” she asked, her tone light but her expression anything but.
Gigi turned away, busying herself with grabbing a mug from the cupboard, as if the act of making tea could somehow save her from the suffocating tension. “I’ve just been busy, you know,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “Lots to do. Very busy. Can’t stop for a second, really.”
The automaton didn’t respond immediately, but Gigi could feel the air shift as Cecilia moved closer. The sound of her inner mechanisms—a soft, rhythmic whirr—grew louder, and Gigi’s body tensed.
The next thing she knew, there was a soft but firm pressure at her back. She froze, her breath hitching as Cecilia leaned in just enough that Gigi could feel the warmth radiating from her.
“Gigi,” Cecilia murmured, her voice impossibly soft but piercingly clear. “If you’re not hiding, then why do you keep running?”
Gigi’s cheeks flared as she gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles white. Her heart thundered in her chest, and the string between them pulled taut, as if it were urging her to turn around. “I—I’m not running!” she stammered, her voice cracking. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”
A low, exasperated sigh escaped Cecilia, but it wasn’t unkind. “You really are hopeless, you know that?” she said, her tone tinged with affection.
Before Gigi could respond—or flee—Cecilia moved, stepping in front of her and cutting off her escape. The red string glowed faintly in the space between them, and for a moment, Gigi thought she saw Cecilia’s gaze flicker toward it, but the automaton said nothing.
Instead, Cecilia reached out, her hands cupping Gigi’s face with a gentleness that left the gremlin stunned. “Gigi,” she said again, her voice softer now, almost tender. “I don’t know what’s going on in that messy head of yours, but I wish you’d stop hiding from me.”
Gigi’s throat tightened, her mind spiralling as she struggled to form words. “I’m not—”
Cecilia cut her off with a faint smile, her thumbs brushing lightly over Gigi’s cheeks. “You are. But it’s okay. I’ll wait for you to figure it out.”
Her words were simple, yet they carried a weight that settled deep in Gigi’s chest. The pull of the thread between them grew stronger, almost unbearably so, and for the first time, Gigi didn’t resist it.
She didn’t know what to say, or how to explain the whirlwind of emotions crashing through her, but for once, she didn’t run. She stayed, letting Cecilia’s presence wash over her as the string between them hummed with something that felt an awful lot like understanding.