Feverishly Wanting
Melting, defined as becoming liquefied by heat. Gigi thinks she’s becoming a puddle, her body dripping, slowly spilling across the floor—something about that has her glancing around the living room, searching for what she can’t quite place a finger on.
Maybe it’s the fact that she doesn’t remember what she was doing, or maybe it’s the lights, suddenly far too blinding when they weren’t before… the gremlin can’t even recall going there to begin with.
Her brain is buzzing and pounding all at once, waves crashing through the crevices of her mind like a flood sweeping through spaces that were supposed to be solid. Confusing thoughts linger, swirling aimlessly in the flood of her mind, heavy yet hollow—fragments of nothing that lead nowhere.
And yet they remain untouchable… like the liquid she’s certain she’s turning into. Gigi’s hands tremble, fingerless gloves don’t hide band-aids around what feels like her dissolving fingers.
There’s a warmth, but it’s not at all comforting. It threatens to disintegrate what little is left of her that isn’t molten. Her body feels like it’s heating up to scalding temperatures, and her eyes refuse to focus, eyelids struggling to stay open. But there’s no fear—no recognition of danger.
All she feels is the sluggish, unbearable weight of herself. If her body is liquid, why is it so heavy? Maybe she isn’t turning into liquid. Maybe she’s just imagining it all.
“Gigi?”
She’s even imagining Cecilia’s voice calling out to her. Cecilia…
Gigi could write a whole list of all the things the automaton does to her—the way she simply steals her breath, and the gremlin can’t help the way she offers all the oxygen in her pathetically human lungs just to keep staring, just to stay close.
The gremlin would stare at Cecilia, studying every visible joint, admiring how porcelain might feel pressed against her flesh. Cecilia is perfectly imperfect, in every sense of the word—simply magnificent. Flaws and talents, everything she is—it’s all something the gremlin adores.
“You’re burning up!”
There’s a touch on her forehead—a cold, metallic hand, smooth like polished stone, stilling against her feverishly hot skin. Gigi knows it like the back of her own hand; she’s felt it around her fingers a million times under the pretence of curiosity.
Oh… Since when had Cecilia been standing before her? Since when had everything suddenly become as confusing as it was in this moment? Gigi wanted to escape her own skin. The heat was a burden—a fatigue that dulled her brain, slowed her body, numbed her senses, and most of all, shut down her ability to comprehend what was happening.
There was Cecilia, standing in front of her, a worried expression on her face… Why was she looking at her like that? Gigi could feel her own face twisting to mirror the concern. The coolness moved from her forehead down to her cheek, soothing her bothered senses. Yet it left a longing in its wake—Gigi wished it would linger, envelop her face, and never let go.
“Let’s get you to bed, Gigi. Come on.” Then came another icy touch, this time around what should have been her dissolving wrist. Yet Cecilia held it gently. There was no resistance from the heat nor her melting skin, no defiance in any movement.
As if her fleshy cage of a body would rather listen to the automaton than her own self, her disoriented mind making sense of only the fact that there’s Cecilia, and the gremlin can’t help but lean into it all.
Her feet move accordingly to Cecilia’s steps, there’s a strange emotion that mixes with everything awful she’s feeling. It’s light, weightless, but it feels like it would crush her. An emotion that can’t be expressed in a simple four letter word.
In her muddled up senses, fuzzy vision, she notices them passing right by her own bedroom. Cecilia tugs her forward still. There’s urgency and care in the way she makes sure to slow down only for the gremlin to catch up. Cecilia moves with easy strides, Gigi’s left shuffling the ground, dragging her feet to match.
Cecilia doesn’t say anything. There’s no sound, no distractions. All Gigi sees is Cecilia’s arm wrapped around her wrist and Cecilia’s back—the stiffness in her shoulders, the way her skin is exposed. She wonders if it would feel cold too. Gigi catches a slight glimpse of the automaton’s profile and notices the strange gaze fixed on Cecilia’s face—an expression that makes the gremlin feel uneasy, even afraid.
But that feeling is distant, pushed far into the recesses of her mind, unintelligible in her current state. It’s as if everything is floating in zero gravity, and she has no way to reach out or make sense of it all.
She’s in Cecilia’s bedroom, a place that fills her with a different kind of warmth. It isn’t burning—it doesn’t feel like snow melting under the summer sun. It’s gentler, softer. She tries to do more than just shuffle.
She attempts to step onto the brass stairs leading up to where the bed resided. But because it’s the automaton’s bed—Cecilia’s bed—her heart pounds, threatening to explode alongside the sensation of her melting flesh. Her legs refuse to move, and her brain doesn’t even register that she’s already ascending the stairs.
But not by her own useless feet. Instead, she’s being carried.
The world tilts slightly, but her overwhelmed senses can’t parse how or when it happened. There’s no abrupt jolt, no forcefulness—just a seamless shift, as if the air itself had lifted her. She can feel the firm press of Cecilia’s arms around her, one supporting her back, the other beneath her knees. The automaton’s movements are fluid, her steps steady, almost impossibly graceful, and for a fleeting moment, Gigi wonders if she’s floating.
Her cheek brushes against something cool, smooth, and unyielding—Cecilia’s shoulder, she realises vaguely. So it is cold… an anchor in the haze clouding her mind. The rhythm of Cecilia’s strides rocks her slightly, each step slow, each movement careful, as though Gigi might shatter if handled too roughly.
The brass stairs blur beneath her half-lidded eyes, but she knows they’re climbing. Cecilia doesn’t falter, doesn’t stop, even as Gigi feels like dead weight in her arms. The thought makes her heart ache—makes her chest tighten with that unnameable emotion again, light and weightless yet unbearably heavy.
By the time they reach the bed, Gigi barely comprehends where they are. All she knows is the faint, cooling comfort of Cecilia’s touch, and the gentle way she’s being lowered onto the mattress.
As the mattress cradles her, Gigi feels a strange relief, though the heat still claws at her, sticky and relentless. The cool press of Cecilia’s hands against her forehead is almost enough to drown it out. Almost.
“Stay here. Don’t move.” Cecilia’s voice is soft but firm, cutting through the fog in Gigi’s mind with the sharp edges of her tone.
Where would she go? Gigi thinks dimly, though her lips don’t bother forming the words. Her body is too heavy, too molten to even twitch.
The cool touch disappears, and a quiet sense of panic wells in her chest. She doesn’t want Cecilia to leave. She can’t say it, though—not when her throat feels dry and useless. Instead, her eyes flutter open, unfocused, trying to find her.
Cecilia is only a few steps away, her silhouette illuminated by the soft light filtering through the bedroom. She’s moving with a deliberate grace, fetching something—what, Gigi can’t tell. All she knows is the space Cecilia leaves behind feels colder than her touch ever could, and that scares her in a way the heat doesn’t.
The automaton returns with a damp cloth and sits on the edge. The coolness of the cloth on Gigi’s forehead feels like salvation, pulling a shuddering breath from her chest.
“You’re going to be fine,” Cecilia murmurs, her voice impossibly gentle. “Just rest.”
But Gigi can’t rest. Not with her brain spinning, her body aching, and Cecilia so close—close enough that Gigi can see the faint gleam of light reflecting off her porcelain skin, close enough to make her wonder if the fever is the only reason her heart is pounding so hard.
“I don’t…” Gigi whispers, her voice hoarse and broken. “I don’t feel fine.”
Cecilia hesitates, her hands stilling for just a moment before she resumes dabbing Gigi’s forehead with the cloth. “You will. I’m here.”
The words are simple, but they spark something deep in Gigi’s chest. It’s not just the fever making her dizzy now—it’s the tenderness in Cecilia’s voice, the way she speaks as though nothing could ever happen to Gigi so long as she’s there.
But what scares Gigi most isn’t the melting or the pounding of her heart. It’s the fear that, when this is over, she won’t know how to look at Cecilia the same way.
The thoughts come in fragments, hazy and muddled, like scattered pieces of a dream she can’t quite piece together. Melting… Gigi’s mind latches onto the idea again, circling back to it as though it holds some secret meaning. If she was truly melting—her body turning to liquid, her form spilling away—who would save her?
Her gaze flickers to Cecilia, who sits at the edge of the bed, carefully folding the damp cloth she’s just removed from Gigi’s forehead. The automaton is calm, steady, her movements deliberate in a way Gigi has always admired.
Would Cecilia be her knight? If Gigi was truly dissolving into nothing, would she be the one to rescue her? The thought is absurd, but in her fevered state, it feels like the only thing that makes sense.
“Would you be my knight?” The words tumble from Gigi’s lips before she can stop them, her voice rough and raw.
Cecilia freezes mid-movement, the damp cloth in her hands forgotten. “What?” she asks, her tone laced with confusion
The gremlin wants to laugh, wants to let out something that might relieve the weight crushing her chest, but her body refuses to obey. All that escapes is a strained, sputtering sound that doesn’t come close to the chuckle she intended.
“I would be your knight, Ceci,” Gigi croaks, her voice barely a whisper. “If you were melting... I’d save you.”
Cecilia’s brow furrows slightly, her gaze softening as she leans closer. “Gigi…” she begins, her voice low and careful, as if trying to keep her from falling apart entirely. “What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense.”
But it makes perfect sense to Gigi. It’s a pathetic attempt to grasp onto something, anything, that would make all of this feel normal—something that could anchor her to the reality she’s rapidly losing her grip on.
“Isn’t that what a knight does?” she murmurs, her fevered mind still spiralling. “Protect their princess… or their…” Her voice trails off, the weight of exhaustion pulling her down, even as her thoughts continue to churn.
Cecilia says nothing for a long moment, her gaze fixed on Gigi as though she’s trying to decipher a puzzle. Then, she shifts closer, placing a cool hand against Gigi’s burning cheek.
“I don’t need a knight, Gigi,” Cecilia says quietly, her voice steady but filled with an unfamiliar softness. “I need you to rest.”
The words should be grounding, but to Gigi, they’re bittersweet. The automaton’s touch feels so steady, so constant, like she could hold her together forever if she tried.
“I’d still be yours,” Gigi whispers, her voice slurring as sleep finally begins to take hold. “Even if… you didn’t need one.”
Cecilia doesn’t respond. She doesn’t need to. The silence is enough, and Gigi drifts into it, her fevered mind clinging to the comfort of Cecilia’s touch.