Gigi wakes up twelve minutes before the alarm.
She knows this because the clock mocks her with its glowing red numbers, but she doesn’t bother trying to sleep again. Instead, she rolls over, her pink eyes settling on the figure beside her.
Cecilia doesn’t breathe. She doesn’t stir. She lies perfectly still, silver hair splayed across the pillow, the soft green streaks catching the pale morning light. Her porcelain body is cool beneath the covers, smooth as if she were some delicate museum piece—an elegant automaton waiting for the turn of a key.
The key that Gigi hasn’t wound yet.
Her tail shifts beneath the blankets, the golden eye at the tip half-lidded in drowsy contentment. Slowly, Gigi’s hand reaches out, tracing along Cecilia’s cheek with feather-light care. She isn’t warm—she won’t be until Gigi wakes her—but that’s never mattered.
Gigi admires her like this. She likes the rare stillness, the way she can take in every detail without Cecilia catching her staring and teasing her for it. She likes how, even now, when everything is quiet and unmoving, she knows that in just a few minutes, she’ll bring her to life again.
And she’ll get to see those green eyes flutter open.
She’ll get to hear the soft whirr of gears starting up, feel Cecilia’s fingers twitch before she reaches out sleepily—because even though she’s mechanical, she always reaches for Gigi first.
But not yet.
For now, she just watches. Twelve minutes of peace before the day begins.
Then, with a sleepy sigh, Gigi finally reaches for the key.
The alarm rings.