Celeste hadn't let go of the book since they left the shop.
She held it close as they walked back through the crowded streets, her fingers curled around the worn leather cover like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Amelia wanted to ask what she was thinking, wanted to reach out and do something, but she didn't know how.
So instead, they walked in silence, the city moving around them, unaware that something impossible was unfolding between them.
By the time they reached the apartment, the sky had darkened, the remnants of twilight bleeding into the deep blue of night. Amelia unlocked the door, stepping aside to let Celeste in first.
The moment the door closed behind them, Celeste went straight to the kitchen table, flipping the book open with a quiet urgency.
Amelia exhaled and leaned against the counter. "Alright. Talk to me."
Celeste didn't look up. "I want to understand."
"Understand what?"
Celeste's grip tightened on the pages. "What I am."
The words were quiet, but they hit Amelia like a punch to the chest.
She swallowed. "Celeste…"
Celeste finally lifted her gaze, and there was something raw in her expression—something Amelia hadn't seen before. Fear.
"What if I disappear?" she whispered.
Amelia's stomach twisted. "What?"
Celeste's fingers hovered over the words on the page. "This book—it says that creations need to remember where they come from. That they need to have a foundation, something to hold onto, or else they…" She hesitated, voice catching. "Or else they fade."
Amelia pushed off the counter, closing the distance between them. "That's not going to happen."
"You don't know that."
"Neither do you."
Celeste looked at her then, really looked at her, as if searching for something that could make her believe that. Amelia wasn't sure what she found, but after a long moment, Celeste's shoulders slumped slightly.
"…I don't want to lose this," Celeste admitted.
Amelia's chest ached.
She didn't know how to comfort someone who had been pulled from the depths of her own imagination, who existed against all logic, all reason. But she knew one thing.
She didn't want to lose Celeste either.
Carefully, she reached out, resting her hand over Celeste's.
"You won't," Amelia said softly.
Celeste's fingers curled slightly under her touch.
A quiet moment passed. Then, Celeste exhaled and turned another page.
"There's more," she murmured.
Amelia leaned in beside her, scanning the text. The ink had faded over time, but the words were still readable.
"A muse may walk freely in the artist's world, but the bond must remain strong. Should the artist's devotion waver, should the love that gave them life begin to dim… the muse will return to where they once belonged."
Amelia felt a chill crawl up her spine.
Celeste's voice was barely above a whisper. "…If you stop believing in me, I'll disappear."
Amelia's breath hitched.
No.
That wasn't—
She couldn't.
Celeste was here. She was real. She wasn't just a painting anymore, wasn't just something Amelia had dreamed up on lonely nights.
The idea of Celeste fading, of losing her—
Panic curled in Amelia's chest.
Celeste noticed. She reached up, gently brushing her fingers against Amelia's wrist. "I'm not gone yet," she murmured.
Amelia swallowed, grounding herself in that touch.
She squeezed Celeste's hand.
"You're not going anywhere," she said, voice firm.
Celeste studied her for a long moment, then nodded, as if deciding to believe her.
"Then we have to figure out how to keep me here."
Amelia nodded. "Yeah. And I know exactly where to start."
Celeste tilted her head. "Where?"
Amelia looked at the painting—the one that had brought Celeste to life.
"We go back to the beginning."