In Cecilia’s bedroom, during the late hours of the afternoon, is when Gigi Murin slips. There’s liquid courage in her veins only fuelled by the dimming sun slowly dropping beneath the horizon. Her mind is everywhere, she’s dizzy off of feelings and high on the emotions that dare her forward, yet she remains. The whole place feels like a crime scene, and Gigi’s been set up.
At least, that’s what it feels like—with the light peeking so softly into the room, casting even softer shadows that blend with the orange hue radiating from what Icarus has flown too close to. It makes her eyes focus only on Cecilia… Cecilia, who’s far too pretty, who’s awfully too close, only a foot and a half between them.
Their shoulders touch, and there’s a heat in her gut that only rises with every minute her jacket brushes against the automaton's porcelain skin.
The gremlin doesn't focus on anything, not even Cecilia's lips moving. Gigi's gaze never steers, fixed on the automaton yet it’s all a blur. She's listening to the conversation, but her mind was still everywhere.
“Should we do that?” Gigi doesn’t even think when the words come out. She doesn’t consider the weight or the meaning held within them.
She dares to not notice how Cecilia looks taken aback. Ignores the strange glow, sudden and bright in her green eyes. There's no regard for the moment of silence that passes between them, like the gremlin had just said something so profound and unexpected.
“I—”
There’s no interruption when Cecilia stumbles, struck with no idea of what to say.
Another pause. Another weird expression. Another awkward blink.
“I don’t have blood.” Cecilia doesn’t say no. She doesn’t question the oddness of it all. Instead, she simply counters it with an obvious issue… there’s a flutter that burrows into Gigi’s heart. She wonders how long it will take before she bleeds out from the hole it left.
Cecilia always has, and always will, simply follow her lead—playing along, pretending with her every chance. Indulging whatever weird thought or idea that came to Gigi’s mind. And Gigi feels her guts burning.
She wonders if she will turn to ash or run out of blood first.
Gigi chuckles low and uneven. It rattles against her ribcage, vibrating throughout her throat. She hopes that somehow it makes everything feel not as intense as it did.
“I know,” she practically huffs the answer, her hands are cupped together, her thumbs tapping against each other. “I just.. I just wanted to try it.” She prays it’s a good enough reason.
Cecilia’s gaze lingers on Gigi, unflinching. It’s a look that makes the gremlin’s nerves sing, sharp and electric, but not in a way that makes her want to pull back. The automaton doesn’t laugh, doesn’t reject the absurdity of it. She tilts her head, ever so slightly, her green eyes narrowing in a way that feels like peeling away layers, exposing the truth underneath.
“Alright,” Cecilia says, quiet but firm. “Try it.”
Gigi freezes. She wasn’t expecting Cecilia to agree. Her mind races, caught between thrill and panic, as if the weight of the moment is pressing down on her chest. She swallows hard, her gaze flickering to Cecilia’s neck. It’s perfect porcelain—flawless, smooth, unyielding—and it shouldn’t be this tempting, but it is.
The automaton shifts closer, the faint creak of her joints almost imperceptible, her expression unreadable. “You said you wanted to try, didn’t you?” Cecilia asks, her voice light but carrying the faintest edge of curiosity. “I won’t stop you.”
“I—yeah. Yeah, I did,” Gigi stammers, her hands tightening in her lap. The heat in her gut swells, tangling with a mixture of nerves and something headier, something she doesn’t want to name. She sucks in a sharp breath and forces herself to look Cecilia in the eye. “You sure?”
Cecilia smiles faintly. “It won’t hurt me. It won’t even leave a mark.”
Gigi’s heart skips. Something in Cecilia's calm demeanour makes it worse—makes it better. The reassurance doesn’t make her feel safer; it makes her feel more reckless.
She doesn’t know if it’s the green of Cecilia’s eyes or the soft, steady rhythm of her voice, but she feels like she’s at the edge of something. Something she’s been afraid to jump into but can’t stop thinking about.
“I—I don’t even know where to start,” Gigi mutters, her voice low, embarrassed.
Cecilia tilts her head again, her porcelain neck catching the fading sunlight just so. “Why don’t you start here?” she suggests, lifting one of Gigi’s hands and guiding it gently toward her cheek.
Gigi’s hand still lingers on Cecilia’s cheek, her thumb ghosting over the smooth porcelain. The automaton’s warmth is subtle but there, a testament to whatever strange magic keeps her alive—not quite human, not quite machine.
Cecilia’s smile grows a fraction, the faintest hint of amusement lighting up her green eyes. “You’re always so loud about everything else. Why go quiet now?”
The words hit Gigi like a playful nudge and a challenge wrapped in one. “I’m not quiet,” she protests weakly, but her voice betrays her. It’s soft, unsteady, barely a whisper compared to her usual boisterous tone. She glares at Cecilia, as if to will her pulse to stop racing.
“You are,” Cecilia teases, tilting her head just slightly, the movement as fluid as any human gesture. “It’s cute, really. For someone who talks such a big game...”
“Okay, okay, don’t push it,” Gigi huffs, though her face burns crimson. Her frustration swirls with something warmer, something that tightens her chest and makes her feel like her ribs are about to crack open. She’s caught between the urge to flee and the overwhelming need to lean in closer.
Cecilia watches her, patient and steady, as if waiting for Gigi to figure it out. She doesn’t rush her, doesn’t press her, just stays there—close enough to touch, close enough to feel real in a way that both thrills and terrifies Gigi.
The gremlin bites her lip, mustering the courage she isn’t sure she has. “You’re not making this any easier, you know.”
Cecilia’s gaze softens, a quiet laugh escaping her lips. “I’m not trying to make it hard. But you don’t have to overthink it.” She lifts Gigi’s hand from her cheek and guides it to her chest, right above the faint, rhythmic clicking of her gears. “See? It’s just me. Nothing scary.”
The faint sound of Cecilia’s mechanisms, steady and rhythmic, is oddly grounding. Gigi lets out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding, her fingers pressing lightly against Cecilia’s chest. “You’re not scared?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Of this?” Cecilia’s laugh is light, her smile unwavering. “Never.”
Gigi swallows, her fingers brushing lightly against Cecilia’s porcelain. The cool smoothness of it taunts her, a reminder of the impossible task she’s set for herself. “I just… I want to try,” she admits, her voice trembling. “I want to leave something. A mark. Anything.”
Cecilia tilts her head, her green eyes narrowing with quiet amusement. “You do realise I don’t bruise, right?”
“I know that,” Gigi snaps, her frustration bubbling over. “But I can’t—” Her words falter, her gaze dropping to Cecilia’s neck. “I just want to try.”
Cecilia’s smile softens, and for a moment, she looks almost fragile despite her unyielding exterior. “Then try,” she murmurs, tilting her head slightly to expose the curve of her neck. The motion is fluid, graceful, and entirely human in its simplicity.
Gigi hesitates, her breath hitching as she leans in closer. Her lips brush against the porcelain, tentative at first. The cool surface sends a shiver down her spine, and she presses a kiss against it, her teeth grazing lightly. The porcelain doesn’t give, doesn’t bend or crack, but she swears she feels Cecilia shiver beneath her touch.
“That… tickles,” Cecilia says, her voice tight but tinged with amusement.
Gigi pulls back just enough to meet her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips despite the flush creeping up her neck. “Tickles, huh? Maybe I’ll have to try harder.”
“You’re relentless,” Cecilia teases, though her tone holds an edge of something softer. Something vulnerable.
“You let me,” Gigi counters, her voice quieter now. There’s no bite to her words, just a shaky sort of honesty.
“I let you,” Cecilia agrees, her hand brushing against Gigi’s arm in a gesture that’s as much reassurance as it is encouragement. “And you can keep trying, if you want.”
Gigi doesn’t need more permission than that. She leans in again, her kisses growing bolder, her teeth pressing harder against Cecilia’s neck, collarbone, shoulder—wherever she can reach. It’s a futile effort, of course. The porcelain never changes, never softens, never bears the marks she so desperately wants to leave. But Cecilia’s soft hums and quiet laughs tell her that it isn’t pointless.
It’s not about leaving a visible mark. It’s about the act itself—the trying, the intimacy of it, the way Cecilia tilts her head to make room for her and wraps her arms loosely around Gigi’s waist to steady her.
“You’re impossible,” Gigi mutters, her lips brushing against the line of Cecilia’s jaw.
“So are you,” Cecilia replies, her voice barely above a whisper. “But that’s why it works.”
Gigi pulls back just enough to look at her, her chest heaving with unspent energy and a strange, heady warmth that leaves her dizzy. “You always go along with it,” she says, her voice trembling. “Why?”
Cecilia’s smile is soft, her glowing eyes steady. “Because it’s you,” she answers simply. “And I like seeing how hard you try.”
The words hit Gigi like a gentle punch to the gut, knocking the breath from her lungs. She lets her forehead rest against Cecilia’s, her laughter shaky and filled with something too big to name. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” Cecilia says, her smile widening. “But you’ll keep trying, won’t you?”
“Always,” Gigi replies, her voice steady now, her hands still resting on Cecilia’s shoulders. “Even if it never works.”
“It works,” Cecilia murmurs, her fingers brushing against the back of Gigi’s neck. “Just not the way you expect.”
Gigi doesn’t need to ask what she means. She feels it in the way Cecilia holds her, in the faint tickle of her laugh and the warmth of her gaze. Marks don’t need to be seen to be left behind.