Chapter 1
¬ Kiss With Poison On Our Lips ¬
Gigi wasn’t thinking about it. Not really. Not consciously.
The way Cecilia moved—light, precise, yet so perfectly unbothered—wasn’t something she let herself dwell on. The soft cadence of her voice, the curve of her lips as she spoke, the way she laughed like she didn’t have a care in the world. Those weren’t the thoughts that lingered, no, not at all.
Except, of course, they did.
It didn’t matter where Gigi was or what she was doing. The thoughts followed her like a persistent melody, threading themselves into the quiet spaces of her mind. They were there when she leaned against the counter with her coffee, and they were there in the split second before Cecilia’s hand brushed hers or her voice broke the silence.
She’d convinced herself it was harmless. A fleeting thing. Like watching clouds shift into shapes before the wind scattered them.
But love didn’t scatter. Not this kind.
It sat heavy in her chest, growing roots, blooming in secret where no one else could see. It thrived in the way Cecilia teased her, the way her laughter cut through Gigi’s messily constructed walls, and in those rare moments when their gazes met and Gigi’s heart skipped, tripped, and tumbled into an abyss.
Love wasn’t supposed to feel like this—like it was too much and not enough all at once. But it did.
And Gigi didn’t know what to do with it, except to keep thinking about it. About her. About Cecilia.
“What would you do without me?” Cecilia asked one day, her tone light and breezy, as if the question were nothing more than an afterthought.
The gremlin knew the automaton wasn’t expecting an answer. Yet the words hung in the air, embedding themselves in her thoughts, even as Cecilia continued speaking, unfazed.
What would she do?
The answer embeds itself in her mind almost whimsically, like a scene unfolding on stage: Gigi would simply drink poison.
She’d hold the vial with trembling hands, gaze into its murky depths, and wonder if it would be strong enough. She’d kneel before Cecilia’s body, stroke her hair gently, her fingers brushing the cold, lifeless strands, ignoring the tears streaming down her face. They’d fall silently, each drop a tiny echo of her breaking heart.
Then she would steel herself upright, her resolve hardened by despair, and drink the vial. Her body would stiffen as the poison took hold, the burn in her throat a fleeting punishment she would welcome.
Like Romeo and Juliet’s story, she’d kiss the automaton one last time, her lips trembling against the unresponsive porcelain. Her face would convey peace and resignation as she’d whisper, “Thus with a kiss I die.” A moment of silence would follow, a solemn pause before the gremlin collapses entirely, lifeless beside her beloved automaton.
Maybe that would be too “theatrical” for Cecilia. What if she didn’t know Romeo and Juliet? Wait… why did they even have to be dead to begin with? Wouldn’t ‘without her’ just mean she’s away, or having never existed?
…Gigi would still simply just die. Maybe with a lesser plot idea.
You’re so dramatic, Cecilia would probably say, her voice laced with fond exasperation. A chuckle would follow shortly after, a sound that would bring a smile to her face as a rush of dopamine filled her brain at… everything. Really, everything that Cecilia was, and is.
But Gigi couldn’t say any of that. The moment had passed, and now her response would feel out of place. Besides, if things went wrong, it’d be impossible to brush it off.
“Do you know Romeo and Juliet?” The words slip out before she can stop them, an unexpected thought tumbling from her lips.
The question hangs in the air, awkward and out of place. Gigi quickly wonders if she’s just made things worse. What is she even trying to say? She glances at Cecilia, unsure if she’s waiting for some kind of response, or if she’s even aware of the silence that has settled between them.
Cecilia tilts her head slightly, her mechanical eyes reflecting nothing but calm curiosity. “I haven’t read Romeo and Juliet yet,” she says, her voice light, unaffected. “Is it... important?”
It’s not a rejection. Gigi knows that. But it feels like one. Maybe it’s her projecting again, her own insecurities bubbling to the surface. Maybe she wants Cecilia to reject her—maybe she’s built up some version of this moment in her mind, imagining the pain, the distance, the inability to reach her.
What would she even say if Cecilia had answered differently? If she’d said, “Yes, I know it.” Would it change anything? Would it make her feel closer? Or would it just feel even more unattainable, that distant perfection?
Gigi forces herself to swallow the lump in her throat and offers a quiet, half-hearted smile. “It’s... just a story. A tragic one,” she says, voice trailing off. Her gaze flits away, as if the words are something she wants to escape.
But after a moment, she glances back, her voice soft and hesitant, almost like an olive branch. “Maybe... we could read it together sometime?”
The weight of unspoken words lingers, but for a brief second, the suggestion feels like a crack in the walls she’s built.