Chapter 3 - Whispers In The Paint

Lucien: "Okay, you can stay... But you have to promise not to make any noise. Aunt Camille hears anything and we're both doomed."

Callista: "I can be very quiet. Like a cat!"

Lucien closed the door behind them, eyes darting to the hallway as though expecting his aunt to appear from the shadows like a vengeful spirit. He ushered the strange little girl, Callista, into his room and sat her gently on the bed.

She swung her legs, taking in the posters on his walls, the scattered sketchbooks, the glass jars of paintbrushes. Her wide violet eyes sparkled with curiosity.

Callista: "Is this where you paint dreams?"

Lucien: "I guess you could say that."

He pulled up his chair, running a hand through his tangled black hair. Everything about this felt insane. She was still dusty from crawling out of a painting, his painting, and now she sat on his bed like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she hadn’t just materialized from a canvas.

Lucien: "Okay, listen. Who are you really? I need to understand what you are. You're not just some kid who got lost."

Callista: "You painted me. So I became real. I was waiting. For a long time."

Lucien stared at her.

Lucien: "That’s not how life works. People don’t just... exist because someone paints them."

Callista: "But I do. Because you believed in me when you painted me. That makes a difference."

Her answer didn't make sense, but her certainty was chilling. She said it like it was a simple truth of the universe. A universal law he had accidentally activated.

Lucien: "So what, you're some kind of... painting spirit?"

Callista: "Maybe. Or maybe I was just waiting to be remembered."

He looked at her closely. Despite the odd circumstances, she wasn’t frightening. She had the air of a strange little sister. Or a lost fairy tale character. There was even something ancient about her eyes, like a timelessness that didn’t match her age.

Lucien: "What am I supposed to do with you?"

Callista: "You're my guardian now. You painted me. You're responsible."

Lucien: "Great. Just great."

He slumped against his desk, exhaling deeply. This was the worst possible timing. He was weeks away from graduating high school. He had a final art portfolio due next week. Aunt Camille was already on edge because he hadn’t decided on a university.

Callista wandered to his easel, where his newest painting sat half-finished. It was a forest bathed in twilight, the trees gnarled and reaching like hands.

Callista: "Will you paint more like me?"

Lucien: "I don't know. I didn't mean to paint you like that. You were just... a dream."

Callista touched the edge of the canvas gently.

Callista: "Dreams are powerful things, Lucien. If you believe in them enough, they might believe back."

He blinked at her, unsettled. Her words stirred something deeper in him, something he hadn’t yet named. Something stirring in his chest like a sleeping memory.

Before he could answer, a knock came at the door. His stomach dropped.

Aunt Camille: "Lucien? Are you talking to someone?"

Lucien bolted upright, heart pounding. He turned to Callista and mouthed, "Hide."

She darted under the bed without a sound, pulling the blanket edge down behind her.

Lucien cracked the door open a sliver.

Lucien: "No, Aunt Camille. Just... talking to myself."

Aunt Camille: "You haven’t been doing that weird art chanting again, have you?"

Lucien: "What? No. That was just for that one presentation."

She peered at him with narrowed eyes, her salt-and-pepper hair tied up in a tight bun. Aunt Camille was the type who baked cinnamon scones but scolded people for breathing too loud.

Aunt Camille: "Well, dinner in an hour. Clean up before then."

Lucien: "Got it."

He shut the door and waited for her footsteps to fade down the hall before collapsing against it.

Lucien: "Okay... we need rules."

Callista emerged, dust bunnies clinging to her white hair.

Callista: "Rules are boring. You just gave me rules and now, another set of it? Come on!"

Lucien: "Hush. Rule number one: No being seen. Ever. Rule two: No making noise when Aunt Camille's around. Rule three: No leaving my room."

Callista: "What about rule four?"

Lucien: "Rule four is... don't be magical unless I say so."

She smiled impishly, clearly already planning to break rule four.

They spent the evening in his room. He gave her an old hoodie and a plush rabbit from a childhood box in his closet. Callista curled up in a pile of his unused canvases like a cat, humming a tune too ancient and soft to place.

Lucien lay awake long after midnight, staring at the ceiling. The girl who came from paint. Who called him her guardian. What did it mean for him? What would happen if Aunt Camille found her?

Or worse, what if Callista wasn’t the only thing his paintings could bring to life?

He had questions. Too many. But for now, all he could do was keep her safe. Even if it meant everything else in his life falling apart.

Callista: "Lucien... are you still awake?"

Lucien: "Yeah."

Callista: "Thank you for painting me."

Lucien: "... You're welcome, I guess."

He rolled over, his gaze settling on the twilight forest on his easel. The paint shimmered faintly in the moonlight. Almost like it breathed. Something about this was only just beginning.

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