Chapter 4 - Begin To Begin

Callista: "Hey."

Lucien: "Hmm?"

Callista: "There are little people out there."

Lucien: "Little... people?"

Callista pointed her small finger toward the attic window, her wide violet eyes glued to the glass. Her snowy white hair framed her face like a porcelain doll, strands glowing faintly in the morning light. Lucien looked up from the sketchpad in his lap, then pushed himself off the floor and joined her at the dusty window.

Lucien: "Oh. Kids from the daycare down the street. They're probably on a field trip."

Callista: "They’re all so... loud."

Lucien chuckled. The children outside were indeed loud, chasing each other in neon-colored jackets, laughing, falling over, and screaming with delight. It was a familiar sound, something Lucien had grown used to hearing echo through the neighborhood.

Callista: "Why do they scream like that?"

Lucien: "Because they’re happy, I guess. Or maybe someone got tagged. It’s part of the game."

Callista: "That seems strange. Being chased makes me want to hide."

Lucien: "Well, yeah. But not all chasing is scary. It depends on who’s doing the chasing."

Callista tilted her head, absorbing that thought like a sponge.

Callista: "Do they live here too?"

Lucien: "No. They go back home afterward. They probably have parents waiting for them."

The way she blinked at him, blankly, as if that concept felt foreign, made Lucien’s chest tighten. He crouched down next to her.

Lucien: "Hey... Callista. Do you remember anything? Like where you came from before you ended up in the painting?"

Callista: "No. Just darkness. And then colors with your paintbrush tickling me. Then... here."

Lucien: "I see."

Callista: "Like swirls and warm lights. Like a dream with no sounds. And then you."

He was quiet for a moment. Her answer wasn’t entirely helpful, but it was more than he expected. Her voice remained steady, unbothered, almost too calm for a child. And yet, he didn’t sense anything malicious from her. Just... a surreal innocence.

Callista: "Do you think I had a mommy and daddy too?"

Lucien: "I think... maybe you did. Or maybe you came from somewhere different. Maybe you’re special."

Callista smiled faintly.

Callista: "I think I like being here better."

Lucien: "With me?"

Callista: "You give me toast. And a blanket. And you talk funny."

Lucien: "Talk funny?! Rude."

She giggled behind her hand.

Callista: "Also, you draw things. Pretty things. And sad things."

Lucien: "... You’ve seen my sketchbook?"

Callista nodded, then reached under her little blanket pile in the attic and pulled it out.

Callista: "I like this one."

She opened it to a sketch he’d done a few months ago, an abstract drawing of a young boy with a storm cloud for a head and roots growing from his fingertips.

Lucien: "That one’s kind of depressing."

Callista: "It looks like he’s reaching for something. Even if his head’s all cloudy."

Lucien: "You’re weirdly insightful, you know that?"

Callista beamed.

Callista: "Thank you."

Lucien took the sketchbook and sat back with a sigh. Watching the kids play outside, he felt a strange hollowness. He wasn’t like them. Never was. The real world had always felt too far, too loud, too fast.

But now, with this mysterious child from a painting in his attic, life had become... something else.

Lucien: "You ever think about going outside?"

Callista: "Can I?"

Lucien: "Not yet. Aunt Camille would lose her mind if she saw you. She already thinks I talk to myself too much."

Callista: "Then I’ll stay a secret. Like a magic wish."

Lucien: "Yeah... A very loud, nosy, toast-demanding magic wish."

Callista giggled again.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, and for a moment, Lucien didn’t feel so alone. Even with all the uncertainty, how she came to be, what it meant, what would happen next, he found himself oddly at peace.

Callista: "Hey, Lucien. What’s school like?"

Lucien: "It’s like daycare, but worse. More tests. Less naptime. Way more talking."

Callista: "I think I want to try it one day. Maybe not now. But when I’m bigger."

Lucien: "We’ll see. First, we gotta make sure you stay hidden. Aunt Camille is nosy as hell."

Callista: "Can I draw too?"

Lucien: "You wanna draw again?"

Callista nodded excitedly.

Lucien rummaged around the attic and found an old sketchpad and a set of stubby colored pencils. He handed them to her and watched as she immediately got to work, tongue peeking out in concentration.

Lucien: "What are you drawing?"

Callista: "You. But with kitty ears."

Lucien: "... I regret this decision already."

She laughed, and it echoed in the attic like sunlight through a dusty window.

And for a while, that laughter made Lucien forget that he was still in high school, still living with a cold aunt, still unsure about his future.

He was just a boy. And she was just a painting. But maybe, just maybe, there was something magical between them neither of them understood yet.

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