Chapter 5 - Whispering Leaves And Window Dreams

Lucien: "Callista, get away from the window."

Callista: "But they’re so loud… And small."

Lucien looked up from the sketchpad on his lap, resting against the windowsill of the attic. Callista’s small fingers were smudging the already dusty glass, her breath fogging a little circle as she leaned close to watch the kindergartners playing outside. Their laughter echoed faintly through the thin attic walls.

Lucien: "They're just kids. Like you."

Callista: "They're not like me. They don’t look like me. Their voices sound different. And they didn’t fall out of a painting."

He sighed. She had a point.

Lucien: "Still. It's not safe for you to be seen, remember? My aunt-"

Callista: "Would scream like a banshee?"

Lucien: "Exactly."

She pouted, folding her arms.

Callista: "You keep saying that, but I’ve been good. I didn’t even make the ceiling hum this time."

Lucien: "That’s a terrifying sentence, Callista."

She giggled and pirouetted away from the window like a little ballerina in a dusty pink dress. Her white hair caught the light, casting faint shimmers like snowfall.

Lucien tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in his chest. She shouldn’t exist. But she did. She was real, tangible, loud, and full of mischief. And, somehow, she made this musty attic feel alive.

Callista: "What are you drawing?"

Lucien: "Nothing."

Callista: "That’s a lie."

She tiptoed over and peered at the sketchpad. A loosely drawn figure stared back at her, tall, elegant, cloaked in feathers. One eye gleamed like a moonlit lake, the other hidden beneath dark curls.

Callista: "Is that... the woman again?"

Lucien: "What woman?"

Callista: "The one from your dreams. You talk in your sleep, you know."

He flushed.

Lucien: "I don’t-"

Callista: "You whisper her name sometimes. 'Sorielle,' you say. It sounds like a secret."

Lucien closed the sketchpad.

Lucien: "Don’t eavesdrop on people’s dreams, Callista."

Callista: "You’re the one dreaming so loud."

He laughed despite himself. She always did that, poked through his moods like a little needle trying to stitch things together.

Just then, a loud knock echoed from below. Lucien stiffened.

Lucien: "Hide."

Callista: "Is it the banshee?"

Lucien: "Yes. Go."

She scurried behind a stack of old boxes. Lucien moved to the attic door, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. He descended the creaky stairs and opened the front door.

Camille: "Lucien, were you stomping around up there?"

Lucien: "No, just sketching."

Aunt Camille squinted at him.

Camille: "You’ve been acting strange lately."

Lucien: "Maybe I’m just tired."

Camille: "Tired people don’t talk to themselves in the hallway. Or giggle in the attic when no one else is home."

Lucien: "So you did hear banshee laughter?"

She narrowed her eyes.

Camille: "I’m watching you."

He smiled weakly.

Lucien: "Noted."

She turned on her heel and walked away, muttering about “teenage hormones” and “creaky old houses.”

Back in the attic, Callista emerged slowly.

Callista: "She didn’t notice?"

Lucien: "Barely. You’re lucky you didn’t sneeze again."

Callista: "That wasn’t me. The dust sneezed first."

Lucien: "That’s not how that works."

She hopped onto the wooden floor, arms out.

Callista: "Can we go outside? Just once?"

Lucien: "No. It's too risky."

Callista: "But I saw a butterfly land on the teacher’s hat. It looked like magic. Maybe it’s trying to tell me something."

Lucien stared at her.

Lucien: "That’s a very specific butterfly."

Callista: "Maybe it knows who I’m supposed to be."

Lucien: "Callista..."

She turned to him, voice softer now.

Callista: "Lucien, what am I?"

He didn’t answer right away. How could he?

Lucien: "You’re… a girl. You’re Callista. That’s what matters."

Callista: "But I wasn’t born like the other kids. I just... appeared. You drew me and I came out."

Lucien: "Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask how that works."

Callista: "I don’t know. I remember stars, and wind, and color. Then light. Then you."

Lucien rubbed his temples.

Lucien: "Great. I birthed a metaphysical toddler."

Callista: "I’m not a toddler!"

Lucien: "Then stop jumping on the bed!"

She grinned and did it anyway. Dust flew in little clouds. Lucien coughed and laughed at the same time.

Callista: "Lucien?"

Lucien: "Yeah?"

Callista: "If I came from a painting... does that mean I’ll fade if you stop drawing me?"

The question hit him like cold water. He stared at her for a long moment.

Lucien: "No. You’re real now. As real as me."

Callista: "Promise?"

Lucien: "Promise."

She crawled onto the bed and curled into the blanket, her eyes fluttering closed.

Callista: "Then I want to grow up. Like the others."

Lucien watched her until she fell asleep, her breaths soft and slow. Something tightened in his chest. He didn’t know what force brought her into this world, but he knew one thing, he’d protect her, no matter what.

He reopened his sketchpad and turned to a blank page.

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