Chapter Text
The orphanage was a quiet, worn-down building at the edge of the city, half-wrapped in ivy and shadowed by towering trees. It felt like a place that had existed long before she’d arrived and would carry on long after, filled with the soft echoes of laughter, whispered secrets, and small, careful footsteps.
Gigi’s memories of her first days there were hazy, like looking through a frosted window; just flashes of small faces and the muffled sounds of other children, the occasional quiet whimper that wasn’t hers. She remembered the sting of being left here, a sharp, hollow feeling that faded into something softer.
It was a strange, bittersweet place. The walls were full of peeling paint and faded paper rainbows and stars that someone had once placed with care but were now beginning to curl and droop. The caretakers were kind, but overworked, their smiles tired and fading by the end of each day. The other kids had formed their own small, shifting alliances, clinging to each other to ward off loneliness, but Gigi kept to herself. In that world of drafty hallways and small dorm rooms, she felt as if she might disappear entirely.
Then there was Raora.
Raora had been there a few years longer, and she’d made her mark. Raora was a girl who would laugh even when everyone else was too tired, someone who would lend you a piece of candy she’d managed to smuggle in or offer a blanket when the night felt too cold. She had a delicate way about her, timid but somehow fierce. It wasn’t long before she noticed Gigi and her room door that always seemed closed.
The first time they spoke, Raora had appeared beside her, holding out a half-eaten lollipop. Gigi had looked at her, wide-eyed, trying to figure out if this kindness was real. “My name’s Raora,” she had said softly, her voice steady even though Gigi could see her own nerves flickering just under the surface. Gigi was wary, but there was something so genuine in Raora’s gaze that she couldn’t bring herself to turn away.
In the weeks that followed, Raora became a constant presence. She nudged Gigi into conversations, albeit through her room door and Raora in the hallway, her soft laughter somehow melting away Gigi’s lingering resentment, even if only for a moment. Gigi had a bit of a temper, a stubborn streak that Raora was often gently steering away from trouble.
One rainy afternoon, Gigi was nine, maybe ten, sitting cross-legged in her favorite spot on the orphanage steps, watching the rain pool in the cracks of the pavement. She sat down beside her, nudging her shoulder gently until Gigi looked up, brows furrowed in mild annoyance.
Gigi didn’t say anything, but her eyes tinged with impatience. She’d been brooding, thinking over things that were heavy. Raora, though, just grinned, excitement dancing in her eyes. She looked after Gigi as much as she could but, in the end, she was an orphan too.
“I met Miss Bloodflame again,” Raora said, almost singing the words. “And she brought me that book on animals you like, the one with all the wolves.”
Gigi raised an eyebrow, glancing sideways. “Another volunteer?”
Raora shook her head, her smile widening. “Not quite. She’s young—only about twenty, I think. I don’t know everything about her yet. But I heard them say she’s here because… well, she just really wanted to meet you. She’ll come back next week. Maybe you’ll want to meet her then?”
Gigi’s curiosity stirred despite herself. “Why me?”
Raora shrugged, but her gaze softened. “I don’t know, Gigi. But not everyone comes here out of duty or because they have to. Sometimes, people just want to know us, just because.” She nudged Gigi again. “Besides, it might be nice to talk to someone new. Someone who isn’t me.”
Gigi looked at Raora’s hopeful face, trying not to smile. “You’re acting like this is some big deal.”
“Maybe it is,” Raora replied. “You should go see for yourself.”
Elizabeth didn’t try to be perfect, and that was the first thing Gigi noticed.
Gigi sat in the corner of the room, her knees pulled to her chest, eyes fixed on the slant of sunlight creeping through the window. She didn’t move as the door creaked open. That day, when Elizabeth spoke to her, she didn’t pretend to be something else.
“The pink girl with incredibly striking eyes told me about you,” she said one afternoon.
Gigi smiled, though Elizabeth didn’t notice.
“I know I’m supposed to be, like, a good example or something.”
She stood at the threshold between the hallway and the room, her lipstick a little uneven, as if she hadn’t bothered to reapply after the drive. Her long red hair flowed over her shoulders, slightly messy, like she had rushed to get here, but it looked effortless. Her coat was black, too big, the kind that tells you she doesn’t quite care what people think.
“Or, not? I don’t really know what I’m doing either,” she pushed her hair behind her ear, shifting slightly on her heels. “So, if I mess up or say something odd, you can just ignore me.”
Elizabeth hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of Gigi’s silence. Her fingers fidgeted, reaching into her coat pocket to pull out a cigarette. She glanced at Gigi, then looked away. “I know I’m not supposed to smoke inside,” she said, almost to herself, a little self-conscious. “I’ll go out in a minute. I just… needed one.”
She made her way to the open window, lighting the cigarette with an unsteady hand, the smoke curling upward like a small storm. Red nails, red hair, Gigi thought to herself.
Elizabeth inhaled slowly, then smiled at Gigi again. “You don’t have to say anything,” she added. “I’m not in a rush. We’ve got time.”
Gigi didn’t say anything at first, just stared at her, unsure if this was real. There had been so many others, people who came in with bright faces and hopeful words, only to leave with their promises unfulfilled. But Elizabeth was different. Elizabeth didn’t pretend to have all the answers. She didn’t promise anything that was impossible. She just… was there.
The first few weeks, Gigi continued to stare. Elizabeth would ask about her interests, even if she really wasn’t expecting a response. Sometimes she’d sing, maybe out of awkwardness. Elizabeth always insisted she wasn’t very good, but the hour would pass by as Gigi listened. She was oftentimes unoragnised, late, sometimes fumbling for the right words, but she was always there.
Every Thursday afternoon.
Somewhere in October, around Gigi’s birthday, Elizabeth came early.
She stepped into the room, her black coat swirling around her ankles as she took a slow, deliberate breath before pulling out another cigarette. She paused glancing at Gigi who was still sitting in her usual corner, her eyes watching her closely, but saying nothing.
“Good morning,” Elizabeth exhaled, the smoke swirling lazily into the air, and she offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry about this,” she muttered. “I say that a lot don’t I?”
She flicked the cigarette with her thumb, ash falling into the little tray she’d set up on the windowsill. “Bad habits and all that.”
Gigi didn’t respond right away. She just watched Elizabeth, her small face unreadable. The words were quiet, almost lost in the air, but there was a kind of apology hanging between them.
“I’m not proud of it,” Elizabeth added, her voice quieter now, as if confessing it to herself more than anyone else. “But... it’s hard to shake off.”
Gigi didn’t always understand what Elizabeth meant. She was too young, too used to the world of grownups who sometimes didn’t make sense. Finally, Elizabeth shifted, her shoulders straightening as if she were shaking off something heavy.
“Anyway…” she began, her voice lighter now, the words almost too quick to be casual. “You asked what I did for work last week.”
Gigi blinked, caught off guard. The shift was almost subtle, but it was enough. Elizabeth was looking at her with that same unassuming smile, as if nothing had happened, and pulled a leather-bound sketchbook from her bag with a slight flourish, like she was about to show Gigi something secret. She smiled, almost hesitantly, before flipping open the cover.
"So, as a present," she said, as though she was unveiling a hidden treasure. "It’s... not great, but I think it’s kinda cool."
She turned the page, revealing a series of intricate pencil drawings, filled with mechanical creatures that looked like they’d come from another world—machines with spindly legs and gleaming metal joints, steam rising from their tiny gears. Some looked like old-fashioned doctors, others like modern-day soldiers, their eyes glowing faintly in the shading.
"You like to draw and stuff, so I thought you could have my notebook. It’s not my job but, my father works with machines," Elizabeth said quietly, tracing her finger over one of the sketches, her eyes momentarily distant. "He’s a crazy engineer. He’s always designing these... weird things."
She didn’t seem to be entirely comfortable talking about it, but the anticipation still lit up her face as she flipped through more pages, revealing more drawings: a mechanical boy with a coil spring for his feet, a mechanical girl sitting at a desk, reading a book, her fingers too stiff to turn the pages.
"They’re not exactly real," Elizabeth explained with a slight laugh. "Well, not yet. He makes them in his spare time. Little projects. And sometimes I help with the designs. Not that he ever lets me really help, but, you know, it’s fun."
She paused, a flicker of something wistful crossing her expression, but she quickly masked it with another smile. Gigi leaned forward just slightly, her fingers brushing the edge of the book as Elizabeth turned another page, showing off a clockwork wolf, its legs outstretched, ready to take a pounce. It was detailed and beautiful in a way Gigi hadn’t expected from Elizabeth’s rough sketches.
"He doesn’t dabble in animals, but I did that one for you. Do you like them?" Elizabeth asked, her voice soft, almost as if she were asking for approval, though she didn’t seem to need it.
“They’re... cool,” Gigi said finally, her voice small but honest.
She wasn’t sure what it was about them—maybe the way they seemed to want to move, or the way Elizabeth talked about her father with a mix of affection and distance. It was almost like she didn’t have the words for it, but the sketches seemed to say everything she couldn’t.
Elizabeth looked at her for a moment, then shrugged as if she hadn’t expected anything more than that. But there was a flicker of relief in her eyes, like Gigi’s simple approval was enough to make the weight of the conversation lift for just a moment. "You know, I never really wanted to follow in his footsteps," Elizabeth said after a pause, her voice a little quieter now. “Do you have something you want to be when you’re older?”
Gigi nodded slowly, her eyes drifting back to the page with the human girl. Someone like her, unable to do anything she was capable of. Unable to feel anything she could. Elizabeth closed the sketchbook gently, the pages falling silent between them.
“Mhm, what would that be?”
“I dunno,” Gigi shrugged. She never really thought about her life outside of this place. Getting out was the first step, and she never really had the chance to. “I just want to run.”
Elizabeth didn’t press her. Instead, she leaned back a little, tapping her fingers against the side of her thigh. “Well, if I could do anything, I’d want to just sing all day,” Elizabeth said, her tone light. “That’d be my dream job, just singing whatever I wanted. But, you know, it’s not like I can just… start a singing career, right?”
“I like your voice,” Gigi said simply.
She laughed, a little awkwardly, but it was genuine. "You’re my first fan, then.”
Elizabeth ruffled the top of Gigi’s head before she could react, a satisfied grin on her face that quickly lost its spark. “It’s okay if it stays a dream, though. Besides, I’m surrounded by metal and technology every day.”
Gigi gave a slight nod, her gaze flicking briefly to the window, as if she could hear the echo of it all—the sharp sounds of the world outside, the constant rhythm of machines, of people working, of things being built.
But Elizabeth didn’t notice the shift in Gigi’s expression. She leaned forward, the playful look returning to her face. “So… when you grow up, you want to be an athlete or something? I can’t exactly picture you on grass more than I can on this bed,” she teased.
Gigi stared at her, brows furrowed. “Athlete?”
“Yeah, you know…” Elizabeth waved a hand, and she stood up quickly, pretending to dribble an imaginary basketball. “Run really fast, jump really high, and all that? It’s a thing people do, right?”
Gigi’s eyes flickered, the corners of her mouth pulling into something like a smile. But it wasn’t really a smile. It was more like the softest hint of a secret.
"No," Gigi said, shaking her head, but her voice held something deeper. "I don’t want to be an athlete. I just want to run."
Elizabeth blinked. “Oh,” she paused, a little thrown off by the simplicity of the statement. “Well, I guess I should’ve known, right? I thought you’d be more of an, uh, lets-play-tag runner kid than a run-away-from-things runner kid.”
She laughed, and placed herself back down next to Gigi. “Sorry. I know what you meant.”
Elizabeth’s tone was sympathetic for a moment. Her eyes grew, and she pointed to the window, the thin smoke of her cigarette’s embers lingering on the windowsill. “I think we’re gonna need to get you out of this room more. You could use some fresh air. Maybe I’ll take you to the park next time. Get some exercise, maybe let you stretch those short legs a little?”
Gigi looked at Elizabeth, not sure what to make of her offer. But there was something in Elizabeth’s tone: light, unassuming, like the possibility of a simple adventure. Gigi felt a strange kind of warmth rise in her chest, not from the idea of running, but from the thought that maybe, for once, someone wanted to bring her outside this place.
She didn’t say anything, but her fingers twitched, just barely, as if the idea of running in a wide-open space, without walls or limits, was something she could almost taste.
Elizabeth stood up then, stretching her arms above her head.
“Yeah,” she said, more to herself than to Gigi, “next time, we’ll go to the park. I’ll make sure you get a chance to run all you want.”
“Well, if they let me,” Elizabeth added, hopeful. “Fingers crossed, eh?”
Gigi’s gaze lingered on her, just for a moment longer than usual. Elizabeth’s words, her promise, weren’t much. But they were enough to leave a faint thread of hope.
It was a sunny afternoon when Elizabeth came to pick up Gigi. The park was a short walk away from the orphanage, but the distance felt like miles. Gigi had never left the grounds before, at least not for something like this—just the two of them, walking outside, like a normal thing. She had always stayed behind the gates, watching the world from inside, but today Elizabeth was there, smiling in her usual, unguarded way, a light breeze playing with her hair.
“I jumped through hoops and signed several papers I lied about reading to get you outside, so you better be ready,” Elizabeth said, tilting her head, the same playful gleam in her eye as when she’d made the promise.
Gigi hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. “I guess I am.”
It felt strange, strange and new, like stepping out of a room that had always been closed. But Gigi followed Elizabeth, her shoes brushing the grass, as they crossed into the park. The world outside felt different in the light, the trees towering above them, the sound of distant laughter mingling with birdsong. The hum of the city seemed far away.
They found a bench near a wide, winding path, shaded by thick branches. Elizabeth sat down and stretched her legs out, her coat still draped loosely around her shoulders, as she glanced over at Gigi, who was still standing, unsure. “You can sit, you know,” Elizabeth said with a grin. “It’s not a race. Yet.”
Gigi sat next to her, her knees pulled up to her chest, looking around, trying to take it all in. The way the leaves danced in the wind, the way the light flickered across the ground. “It’s nice here,” Gigi said quietly.
Elizabeth nodded, her eyes scanning the trees. “It is, yeah. And you know—” she shook her pocket, and Gigi smiled, “—I don’t want to get in trouble, so don’t worry. Fresh air.”
“You’re more afraid of jail than me dying?” Gigi said, narrowing her eyes with a playful seriousness.
For a moment, Elizabeth just stared at her, mouth agape, before a laugh burst out of her. “What the frig? You’re like, what—eleven now? Who taught you that?”
Gigi’s expression was completely deadpan as she shrugged again, as if the joke made perfect sense. "I dunno. Maybe you."
Elizabeth bent down, hand on her knee, trying to stifle her laughter, but she couldn’t help herself. “You’re sly, little one,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.
Gigi raised an eyebrow, still grinning. "Little one?"
“Yeah, little one," Elizabeth repeated, with a fond shake of her head. "You’re quick, I’ll give you that.”
From then on, the nickname stuck. It was a gentle jab, but it was also a little badge of affection, something that made Gigi feel both younger and more clever all at once. Over time, it became more than just a playful remark. It became something that made her feel like she belonged in a way she hadn’t before, like she was part of a world where Elizabeth cared enough to tease her, to call her something sweet and small, like she wasn’t just another child lost in the shuffle.
Elizabeth let the silence stretch for a moment, her eyes finding the movement of the leaves above them, the way they shimmered in the soft afternoon light. “I always say I’ll quit,” she said, her voice a little serious now, “but it’s always useless. I’m sorry I do it around you. I really do mean it.”
Gigi didn’t answer right away. She sat there, absorbing Elizabeth’s words, her gaze lost in the play of light and shadow in the park. It was the first time she ever felt Elizabeth was serious, apologetic, and… sad.
After a moment, Elizabeth leaned back against the bench, looking up at the sky, and Gigi followed her gaze. The sky was wide, open, and endless.
“Promise you won’t do it.”
“Fly?” Gigi asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.
Elizabeth let out a quiet snort of laughter. “No, silly. I mean smoke. When you’re older and people say you can, don’t. Promise me?”
“I would never,” Gigi wrinkled her nose, glancing at the pocket where Elizabeth would usually keep her lighter. “It smells bad.”
"Good, then," Elizabeth said, pushing herself up with a small grunt. "You fancy a run?"
Gigi hesitated for a second, then stood. Her legs felt a little shaky at first, like she had forgotten how to move in the open air. “Can you keep up, Liz?”
She glanced at Elizabeth, and for the first time in a long while, a feeling swelled up in her, a kind of quiet certainty that maybe, just maybe, the world was waiting for her.
Elizabeth shrugged, stretching her arms overhead with a lopsided grin. "Why not? I move sometimes!" she held out a hand to Gigi, her eyes bright with a familiar, mischievous spark. "Unless you’re scared of losing to an old lady like me."
“You’re not even that old,” Gigi laughed, the sound light and free. “But you’ll still lose.”
“Oh, cheeky!” Elizabeth teased, her laughter echoing between the trees. “Alright, come on, let’s see what you’ve got.”
They took off, their feet pounding in time, laughter and breath mingling in the warm, late afternoon air. The sun cast long shadows across the grass, turning everything golden, and Elizabeth’s laughter rang out, loud and carefree. Gigi couldn’t help but join in, a pure, joyful feeling surging through her as they raced. For those few moments, the weight of everything—the worries, the unspoken words, the promises—faded away. It was just them, the world around them a blur of green and blue, laughter carrying them along as if nothing else mattered.
But when they finally slowed to a stop, both of them breathless and leaning against each other, Gigi noticed that Elizabeth’s energy seemed to flicker out a little more quickly than usual. She was still grinning, but there was a slight droop to her shoulders, as if the sprint had taken more out of her than she’d expected.
Elizabeth placed her hands on her knees, gasping for air, and Gigi watched as she wiped her mouth quickly, her hand coming away with a streak of something red.
Gigi, squinting at it, mistook the smear for lipstick and grinned. “Oh, you really are old,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Can't even keep up with me without getting all tired.”
Elizabeth let out a short, breathy laugh, but it sounded more strained than usual. “Guess I’m getting older. Maybe I should start taking it easy,” she said, still trying to catch her breath.
Gigi shrugged, her smile wide. “Well, maybe if you didn’t smoke so much—”
Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively, her smile remaining in place but a little weaker now. “Let’s not talk about that right now, okay?”
Gigi, a little oblivious, bounced on her heels and gestured to the wide open space around them. “I’ll beat you next time! No way you’re getting away with that little head start.”
Elizabeth gave her a soft smile, her eyes tired but kind. She wiped her mouth again with the back of her hand, her fingers lingering on her lips a bit longer than Gigi noticed.
“Next time, kid,” she said with a light chuckle, but there was something in her voice, something distant, that Gigi couldn’t quite place.
The warm sunlight above them bathed everything in a golden glow, and for a brief moment, everything felt perfect. But as Elizabeth straightened, Gigi couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something had shifted. It was there, subtle, but enough to make her wonder. She pushed the thought aside, though, laughing it off as they started walking again, the world around them quiet, except for the sound of their footsteps on the grass and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.
At the beginning of December, Elizabeth had brought a folder of new drawings.
Though Gigi was starting to notice the subtle changes in Elizabeth; how her steps were a little slower, her smile a little softer, like she was carrying something heavy, something she didn’t want to share. Elizabeth was still as playful as ever, but there was an undercurrent of weariness to her now. Gigi could sense it.
The weather had gotten colder, and maybe it was just the season—December had that way of weighing on people. It was a month full of stuffy noses and coughs, after all. Maybe that was it.
Gigi’s small hands were carefully cradling a crumpled piece of paper Elizabeth had given her. Elizabeth herself sat beside her, her back resting against the wall, one arm wrapped around her knees, the other hand holding a cigarette she kept at a careful distance from Gigi. Like always, her lipstick was a deep red, smudged, her hair tucked messily under a scarf, and her eyes, though always warm, looked tired that day.
Elizabeth blew a thin trail of smoke out of the corner of her mouth, giving Gigi an apologetic look. “Bad habit, I know,” she murmured, though she never put it out.
Gigi shrugged. “You always say that,” and after a beat, “but it’s okay.”
Elizabeth always said she’d quit. But she also told Gigi once that she’d started out of nowhere, though between the two of them, noone really believed it. Gigi’s small, subtle nods gave her a little reassurance.
“Your drawings are getting so much better,” Elizabeth said, shifting the conversation.
She reached over, tapping a finger on the paper in Gigi’s hands, a quick sketch of a strange, faceless figure with smooth, jointed limbs.
“Yours are better,” Gigi said shyly, glancing down at the pile of Elizabeth’s drawings scattered between them.
They were simple but precise, each page filled with images of mechanical beings—automatons, Elizabeth now called them—some with thin metal joints, others with delicate faces like dolls. Gigi always thought they looked like creatures from a dream.
Elizabeth laughed softly, her voice hoarse but warm. “I’ve got years on you, little one. And besides, I’m cheating—I work with these things every day,” she stubbed out her cigarette against the floor, the ember smoldering as it disappeared. “I think you’ll be a bit of an artist when you get a little taller. Really.”
Gigi’s cheeks went pink, and she couldn’t help but smile. “Really?”
“Honest,” Elizabeth said, ruffling her hair.
She pointed to one of her own sketches, a more detailed image of an automaton with smooth, human-like features.
“This one is special,” she said, her voice soft, almost reverent. “I’m working on a new model. One that’s supposed to be… well, almost human.”
Gigi looked up at her, wide-eyed. “Like, it can smile and laugh?”
“Something like that,” Elizabeth said, her gaze distant for a moment.
She looked back down at Gigi, her usual smile softening into something gentler. “I’m making them for people, so they’ll always have someone to protect them. Imagine having a friend who’ll never let you down, never leave you.”
Gigi closed her eyes. In her mind, she saw an automaton with Elizabeth’s gentle eyes and warm smile, her voice that always felt like a small spark in the darkness.
Elizabeth’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Don’t think of me though, I’m not like that.”
Her short laugh stumbled out, almost apologetic, as if it didn’t quite belong. “They’re supposed to be helpers, protectors—strong, dependable, maybe even kind. Can you believe that? Kind," she gave a small, wry smile. “That’s rare, Gigi. To be kind and strong at the same time.”
Gigi didn’t say anything; she only leaned against Elizabeth’s shoulder, breathing in the faint smell of smoke and cheap perfume. Elizabeth’s arm wrapped around her instinctively, pulling her close, and they sat there in the quiet of the empty orphanage hall.
“Liz,” Gigi said after a while, her voice small. “Would you ever leave me?”
Elizabeth didn’t answer at first. She just hugged Gigi a little tighter, her chin resting on Gigi’s head. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “Not if I can help it.”
Gigi noticed then, the way Elizabeth’s smile had slipped, just for a second, her gaze turning inward, almost sad. She wasn’t sure what made her say it, but she said it anyway.
“You look upset,” Gigi whispered.
Elizabeth let out a soft laugh, though it sounded strained. “Guess you see right through me, don’t you, little one?” she gave Gigi’s shoulder a little squeeze. “It’s just grown-up things, nothing you need to worry about.”
Elizabeth’s breath had become a little uneven. Her chest felt tight, and a dull ache settled deep in her ribs, but she kept hugging her close, trying to ignore it. Her body was good at pretending. It was good at hiding what it couldn’t fix.
But Gigi knew. Even if she didn’t understand, she could feel it, like a weight pressing down on Elizabeth, a heaviness that even her kind smiles couldn’t quite cover up.
They sat together, quiet again, until Elizabeth finally broke the silence.
“You know,” she said softly, brushing her hand through Gigi’s hair, “if I ever do leave… just think of these automatons, okay? They’re… they’ll be a little piece of hope. A reminder that there’ll be good in the world, even if it’s hard to see.”
Gigi held the drawing in her hand a little tighter, her fingers tracing the lines Elizabeth had drawn. She didn’t understand, not fully, but she nodded anyway.
Elizabeth reached down, picking up another sketch. Suddenly, she felt the familiar, harsh cough rise in her throat. She doubled over slightly, pressing her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle it.
Gigi’s brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”
She went back upright quickly, her breath shallow, but forced a smile when she noticed Gigi glancing at her, concern written all over her face. “I’m okay, it’s just the weather. Here,” Elizabeth wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her fingers shaking just a little as she did. “You keep this one too. Merry Christmas.”
She grunted softly as she rose to her feet, brushing off her worn coat and slipping the remaining sketches into an inner pocket. She gave the pocket a pat, more out of habit than necessity, then reached for her lighter, turning it over thoughtfully in her hand before tucking it away as well.
“It’s only December third,” Gigi said.
“Yeah, I know,” Elizabeth took a deep, slow breath, squaring her shoulders, and forced a confident smile. “Colds get me pretty bad—I’m tougher than I look, but, I might miss Christmas day, and then I won’t be able to give it to you.”
Gigi nodded, but her eyes lingered on Elizabeth’s face for a moment longer. She wanted to ask more, to make sure Elizabeth was really okay, but something stopped her. Maybe it was the look in Elizabeth’s eyes, the way she always brushed things off. Gigi had learned, from the adults in her life, that when people said they were fine, they usually meant they weren’t.
But that was just the way things were. Elizabeth had always seemed so unbreakable to Gigi. And so, with a small frown, she turned her gaze back to the paper. “I like her hair.”
“It’s short, got two colours like you,” Elizabeth watched Gigi’s fascination for a long moment, a tightness in her chest that had nothing to do with the coughing. She felt the weight of the unspoken, the things she couldn’t say, even as the world around them continued to spin. “She’s my favourite one.”
Gigi looked up, her eyes searching Elizabeth’s face. “Why... why would you give this to me?”
Elizabeth smiled, but there was something bittersweet about it now, something that Gigi couldn’t place. “Because you’re like her,” Elizabeth said quietly, her voice trembling just a little. “The girl in the picture... she’s strong, even when she’s broken. Even when she’s made of metal and wires and bolts. She’s still... her. I guess, I just thought... I see something in you, little one. Something like that.”
“Thank you,” Gigi whispered, the words feeling too small for the weight of what she was feeling.
Then, a thought popped into her head, something silly, but it made her smile.
“Liz,” Gigi said, glancing up at Elizabeth with a sly grin. “If you’re drawing automatons and giving out gifts, does that make you, like, a mom or something?”
Elizabeth blinked, caught off guard for a moment, before she let out a surprised laugh, her eyes twinkling.
“A mum?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Gigi said, her grin widening. “You made something like me, like a little robot daughter. You’ve gotta be a mom now, right?”
Elizabeth’s laughter bubbled up, a faint strain in her throat that was hidden under her face. She shook her head in disbelief, her usual carefree tone back in full swing. “What? No way! I’m not old enough to be anyone’s mum.”
Gigi shrugged. “Well, you drew her. You made her. I’m pretty sure that counts.”
“Alright, fine,” Elizabeth said, ruffling Gigi’s hair affectionately, a little too much like an older sister than anything else. “I’ve got a little robot daughter. Take care of her. She’s your friend now.”
Gigi laughed again, but there was a little more quiet in it this time, something gentle and knowing. She didn’t feel so alone in that moment, sitting there with the drawing in her hands. It wasn’t just a picture anymore. It was a connection. A gift. A promise.
“I will,” Gigi eyes were glued to her hands. “I’ll take care of her.”
And they continued for a while, laughing. Just as Elizabeth was giggling about the idea of Gigi being a mother, a sudden, sharp cough cut through her words. It was deep and heavy, not quite like a cough of the ordinary kind, but one that seemed to have more weight behind it. Elizabeth quickly swallowed it down, trying to mask it, her hand moving to her mouth as she cleared her throat. Gigi looked at her, her lips pressing together in a tight line.
“You know, you can’t sing if you’re sick,” Gigi said, her tone firm, though there was a quiet worry underneath her words. Her eyes scanned Elizabeth’s face, searching for something, anything, that would tell her it was fine. But there wasn’t.
Elizabeth let out a small, half-hearted laugh, though it didn’t quite sound as carefree as usual. “I haven’t sang in a while, actually. I’ll be alright.”
Gigi shook her head, her voice steady and serious. “Well, when you go back to it,” she said, her eyes narrowing just slightly. “You have to take care of yourself if you want to keep singing.”
“I will,” she said quietly, though her voice didn’t quite carry the same certainty it usually did.
Gigi looked at her, unsure of what to say next. There was an ache in her chest, a feeling she couldn’t shake, but she didn’t know how to fix it. She only knew one thing: she had to be careful. She had to make sure Elizabeth was okay, that she wasn’t pushing herself too hard.
“Promise me you’ll rest,” Gigi said, her voice quiet but determined. “You have to.”
Elizabeth smiled again, this time more genuinely, and reached over to pinch Gigi’s cheek. “You know, all this nagging has you set out for motherhood.”
Gigi laughed, swatting at Elizabeth’s hand. The sudden lightness in her chest was a welcome contrast to the quiet worry that had been simmering there. She pushed Elizabeth’s hand away with a dramatic pout, sticking her tongue out.
“I’m not nagging,” Gigi protested, though her smile betrayed her. “I’m just looking out for you. Someone has to!”
Elizabeth chuckled, pulling her hand back and rubbing the back of her neck like she’d just been caught. “Oh, I see. You’re looking out for me, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“Yep,” Gigi said with a grin, her eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “It’s called ‘taking responsibility.’ You’d better watch out. Soon, I’ll be the one telling you to go take a nap. Or... something even worse, like... I don’t know... drink tea or something terrible like that.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, clearly amused. “Tea? Oh, no, not tea,” she said with a mock shudder. “That’s a fate worse than death. You’ve got the making of a real mum already. All that ‘rest’ and ‘tea’ nonsense. I can already see it now: ‘Liz, you’re overworking yourself! You’ve gotta take care of yourself, Liz!’”
She imitated Gigi’s voice, exaggerating the stern, childish tone, and they both laughed.
“You know,” Elizabeth said, glancing down at Gigi, a mix of warmth and something else, something hidden that Gigi could never quite name. She looked around the hall, full of misplaced empty chairs and tables. “We’re always the last two stragglers. Seems to be our thing.”
Gigi grinned up at her, hugging the new sketch to her chest. She felt the warmth of Elizabeth’s smile settle in her bones, a comfort that, even if no one else stayed, that she would always be here, right beside her.
Just the two of them.
Elizabeth pulled her coat tight around herself, fingers lingering at the collar. For a moment, her gaze softened, and she looked down at Gigi as if memorising every detail. Her hair was a little mussed, her cheeks pink from sitting on the cold floor, her hands clutching that crinkled paper like it was something precious.
“Right, little one,” she murmured, voice low. “You’d better get yourself to the dining hall before they clear it all out.”
She tilted her head, giving Gigi a gentle nudge with her knee.
“Make sure you eat something real this time, alright? No scoffing your gob with dessert first.”
Gigi laughed, her small hands gathering her bundle of papers, carefully tucking each one into the old notebook Elizabeth had given her a few months back. She looked up at Elizabeth, eyes wide with a hopefulness she didn't fully understand. “Will I see you next week?”
Elizabeth hesitated, just for a beat, but in that pause was a heaviness Gigi couldn’t see. She adjusted her scarf, and when she spoke again, her voice was steady, her smile soft.
“Next week, huh?” Elizabeth’s voice had a faraway quality, like she was talking more to herself than to Gigi. “I hope someone makes you happy like this,” she leaned down and gently touched Gigi’s shoulder, her fingers lingering there for just a moment longer than usual. “You deserve that, Gigi.”
Gigi’s face crinkled with confusion, but she didn’t think to question it. She just hugged her notebook close to her, looking up at Elizabeth with a smile.
“Okay,” she replied, not really understanding why it left a weird feeling in her chest. Gigi always thought Elizabeth’s words felt like the pages of a good book, filled with so much more than she could understand.
Elizabeth straightened up, giving her one last nod. “Get going, lovely.”
With that, she turned, her coat sweeping behind her, her steps sure and steady as she moved toward the door. Gigi watched her go, waiting for the usual pause, the moment when Elizabeth would glance over her shoulder with a smile, maybe give a little wave or another one of her knowing looks.
But this time, Elizabeth didn’t turn back.
The door swung shut behind her, leaving Gigi in the dim hall with her notebook clutched tight, a strange weight settling over her. She shrugged it off, shaking her head, already thinking of the week to come. There would be new sketches to show her, new songs to sing, and maybe even another little drawing of those magical automatons, her protectors, just as Elizabeth had promised.
For now, though, she headed down the hall toward the dining room, the worn pages of her notebook pressing close to her heart.
The orphanage door looked smaller than Gigi remembered. It had the same chipped paint, the same stubborn squeak that echoed as she nudged it open. Her fingers automatically reached up to adjust her glasses, a nervous habit she’d picked up somewhere between late-night study sessions and the awkward small talk that was part of adult life. She didn’t need the glasses, but they gave her something to hide behind.
She had received a message from Raora—the first one in months. Her last text was about an event, a party for everyone who used to live there. Gigi never replied.
Raora: GIGI!!! You’ll come to the reunion won’t u??? ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ
Raora: I don’t have ur address…
[Yesterday, 2:44PM]
Raora: GIGI!!! Are you free tomorrow? You’re graduating next week right?!??＼＼\\٩( 'ω' )و //／／ It’s important!!! Come by the orphanage again plz!!! 😾
The bell above the door jingled softly as Gigi stepped inside. The warmth of the building hit her immediately, like a comfort she didn’t realise she’d been missing. The old, worn walls still stood, though the edges were more chipped, the floors creaked a little more. But in a way, it still felt like the place where she’d once been a child.
There was Raora, leaning against the front desk. Gigi felt a flicker of surprise—Raora looked grown , in a way Gigi couldn’t quite place, as if every soft line and gentle edge from their childhood had settled into something steady and rough. She wore a long cardigan over a neatly pressed blouse, her arms crossed but open, like she was both waiting for Gigi and already understanding exactly why she’d taken so long to come. Her eyes had a certain steadiness to them, as though she had seen and survived the same storms Gigi had, and more.
“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in!” Raora grinned, hands on her hips, practically beaming as she stepped into view.
Gigi let out an involuntary laugh. “Raora. Hi,” she managed, tugging at her mask nervously.
“‘Raora, hi,’ she says,” Raora replied, eyes sparkling. “Like she’s been gone twelve years and isn’t sneaking back in like she’s dropping in from around the corner.”
“Fine, sorry. Hey, Raora,” Gigi said, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “Is that better?”
“Oh, much better,” Raora replied, then closed the space between them, sweeping Gigi into a hug so fast that Gigi barely had a chance to react.
“I missed you, stranger,” Raora murmured, voice a little softer as she pulled back, holding Gigi by the shoulders as if to check that she was really there. “You look… well, mostly good.”
“Mostly?” Gigi repeated, smirking and adjusting her glasses in her usual habit.
Raora raised an eyebrow, her gaze drifting to Gigi’s mask. “Might be better if I could see your face.”
Gigi looked down, tugging the mask just enough to show a bit of a timid smile. “You know, Raora, I’d forgotten how many opinions you have.”
“Oh, please. It’s part of my charm,” Raora shot back, linking her arm through Gigi’s as they strolled down the corridor. “Besides, I’ve matured. I have a whole therapy license now. So you could say I’m professionally opinionated these days.”
“That explains the paint everywhere,” Gigi said, motioning to the colorful splotches peeking out from Raora’s clothes. “Art therapist… wow, really living the dream, aren’t you?”
Raora laughed, a light, genuine sound that filled the hallway with a warmth Gigi hadn’t even realised she’d missed. “Better than that—I’m here full-time now. Just helping kids figure out life, one mess at a time,” she gave Gigi a gentle nudge. “Unlike you, Miss Fancy Graduate, who’s gone off to see the world and left us all in the dust.”
“Yeah, something like that,” Gigi murmured, glancing away. “I guess I just needed to be somewhere else, you know?”
They arrived at a small, cosy room, where sunlight spilled in through a large window. Raora sat cross-legged on a worn, comfortable couch, patting the seat next to her. Gigi hesitated, her gaze darting to the framed drawings, the soft colors, the toys scattered on the floor, all the little details that hadn’t changed.
“Now,” Raora began, the usual spark back in her eyes as she grinned at Gigi, “tell me. What’s the deal with those glasses?”
Gigi touched them instinctively, feeling her cheeks warm. “They’re, well, they’re comfortable, I guess.”
Raora laughed, playfully nudging her. “So, instead of a door… you’re hiding behind little things like glasses? I know you have perfect vision.”
Gigi rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “They’re not little. They’re very useful for pretending I don’t see people staring.”
Raora raised an eyebrow. “Well, I hope you’re planning on taking them off at least once while you’re here.”
Gigi smirked. “Maybe if you pay me,” she teased, though her voice faltered just slightly as she felt that familiar twinge of nervousness. The air was thick with something unsaid, something that had sat between them for years. It took everything in her to keep her voice light.
“So,” Gigi began, forcing her tone to be casual, “how’s Liz these days? Off on some big adventure, I assume?”
Raora’s smile froze, just slightly, before a look of confusion crossed her face. “Elizabeth?”
Gigi gave a small, embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, I mean, you know how she is—she probably just dropped everything to go off saving the world or something with her robots, right?”
“Red hair, red nails Elizabeth?”
Gigi tried to sound unaffected, but her fingers fiddled with the edges of her mask. “Well, who else?”
Raora’s expression shifted, an uncertainty settling into her features. She blinked, clearly at a loss for words, before her eyes softened with something close to pity. “Gigi… you don’t know?”
A strange, cold feeling settled over Gigi. “Know what?”
Raora took a breath, her hand drifting to Gigi’s, squeezing it gently. “She passed away that Christmas.”
The words hit her all at once, and for a moment, Gigi felt the world tilt. She shook her head slightly, not quite able to comprehend.
“No, she… she wouldn’t just…” her voice trailed off, and she looked away. “I thought she just… went somewhere. I thought she’d come back once I was…”
Gigi's shoulders slumped, her gaze dropping to the floor as her hands curled into fists. All those years, she'd held onto a strange mixture of love and resentment, imagining Elizabeth in some far-off place, living her life without a thought for those she'd left behind. The pain of it, the anger she'd carried, it all felt so misplaced now. Her throat felt thick as she swallowed, trying to hold herself together.
“But why didn’t she tell me?” Gigi whispered, her voice cracking. “Why wouldn’t she want me to know?”
Raora rubbed Gigi's shoulder softly. “She told me to tell you something, exactly on this day, on this year. I think she wanted you to have something when you were ready.”
Gigi's eyes fell to the bundle of letters Raora now held out to her, tied with a faded ribbon. The paper was worn, the edges slightly yellowed, and she reached for them with a shaky hand, her fingers tracing the familiar, careful handwriting.
“I hated her, Raora,” she said softly, her voice laced with regret. “I thought she'd just left us… left me, like she didn't care. I thought one day she'd show up, and I'd finally be strong enough to tell her how much it hurt. All this time, I thought… ”
Raora wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “It’s okay.”
Gigi could almost feel Elizabeth's presence there, in the delicate ink of each letter, in the words she hadn't yet read.
“And, hey, you don't have to read them alone. I'll be here as long as you need me. I’ll be annoying you every step of the way, so you can’t get rid of me even if you try.”
Gigi let out a shaky laugh, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I'm glad you haven't changed,” she managed, the smallest smile creeping back onto her face.
Raora chuckled, giving her a squeeze. “Now, when you're ready, you can read a letter. And, in the meantime, I’ll let you borrow my eyes, so you don’t have to hide behind those silly glasses.”
As Raora led her out of the small room, Gigi clutched the letters close to her chest, a quiet weight in her hands, knowing that this was the beginning of something she hadn’t expected to face. But she was ready, even if it hurt.
And she would always remember what Elizabeth had taught her: that she was stronger than she thought, no matter how broken or lost she might feel.
Gigi’s glasses were the first of these shields, she called them, something to protect her.
There were only so many spots that she was comfortable with, places that wouldn’t make it feel like she was being swallowed by a burning flame. These glasses, she didn't need them, not really, but the slight tint in the lenses gave her a sense of distance from the world, a soft veil between her and anyone who might be looking her way.
She liked that she could look through them without truly meeting anyone's eyes, without letting anyone look too deeply back.
Then there were her masks.
At first, they were purely practical, for the days when city life felt too close, when the chatter of crowds and the press of bodies in a crowded café made her skin prickle. But soon, she wore them even when she didn't need to—when the air was clear and her personal space wasn't threatened. The mask gave her an extra buffer, one more layer to help her feel at ease, a way to let her exist.
The drive back into the city was quiet. Gigi’s thoughts buzzed as she drove, almost on autopilot, taking a turn just to move, to not be still. She wasn’t quite sure where to go—home wasn’t an option, she’d stay in there for days. There was no school to distract her, no work for her to do.
Gigi reached for her cup, the faint name of Advent Coffee peering from side, the cold coffee somehow offering her a bit of warmth.
This place had been her haven for years now, a second home during long, grey days. She could already imagine Biboo's voice, bright and teasing, poking fun at her serious face, even if she couldn’t see it.
But as Gigi stepped inside, the usual comfort felt just a little out of reach. The person behind the counter wasn't Biboo. Instead, someone else stood in her place—someone tall, with shockingly white hair streaked in green that caught the shop lights like threads of emerald. Her gaze flicked up and met Gigi's, clear and sharp, studying her with an expression that was almost unreadable.
Gigi's heart skipped a beat; the shift in routine, however small, made her feel a bit unsteady. She took a breath, then approached the counter, trying to gather herself.
“Oh… hi,” she managed, her voice quieter than she’d planned. She tugged at her glasses, a nervous habit, hoping the slight motion would ease her.
“Hey there,” the girl said, her voice low, warm but with a hint of dryness, like she was amused by Gigi's hesitation. “You planning to order something? Or just here to people-watch?”
Gigi blinked, caught off guard, a little embarrassed. “Oh, sorry—uh, yeah. Just used to seeing someone else, I guess.”
The girl tilted her head, still smiling faintly. “You must mean Biboo. She’s not in today,” she explained, hands already moving toward the coffee machine. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.”
“Uh, yeah. Biboo,” Gigi said, her voice almost a whisper. She cleared her throat, hoping to sound a little more collected. “She still works here, right?”
The girl's lips curved into a knowing smile. “She does. Just not today," her gaze lingered on Gigi for a moment, curious. “Are you a regular?
Gigi nodded, feeling the faintest blush creep to her cheeks. “Yeah. I'm here a lot, actually. I didn’t expect… ”
The girl's smile softened, easing into something genuine. “I'm Cecilia,” she said, reaching a hand across the counter. Her handshake was firm, her fingers cool against Gigi's warm ones. “I’m filling in today.”
“Oh, right. Gigi,” she replied, her voice barely catching on the surprise of it.
But as she took Cecilia's hand, she couldn't help but notice something odd. Her sleeve shifted slightly, and for a moment, Gigi caught sight of a thin, almost seam-like line across her wrist.
The girl glanced up, meeting her eyes just as Gigi tried to look away. Her gaze was warm but piercing, like she was studying her right back, and Gigi felt her cheeks heat under the intensity of it. And for a second, the girl's eyes seemed to flash a brighter green in the light—a flicker of something electric, or maybe just her own imagination. She blinked and the colour was normal again, soft and steady.
“So, is this a regular thing for you?” Cecilia asked, breaking Gigi's silent thoughts. Her long fingers moved over the dials and levers without the slightest hesitation. “Coming here and pretending not to hover at the counter?”
Gigi let out a quiet laugh. “Hovering? I don’t… hover. I’m just here for the coffee.”
Cecilia raised an eyebrow, her expression faintly amused. “Sure. Well, Biboo did tell me to be extra nice to her favorite customer, so I’ll take your word for it.”
She passed the latte across the counter, her mouth quirking in a small, almost mischievous smile. “Here you go. Enjoy. I'll let Biboo know you came by.”
“Thanks,” Gigi murmured, taking the cup.
She wrapped her hands around it, feeling the warmth seep into her fingers. She felt a strange spark of familiarity, though she couldn't place why. Something in Cecilia's gaze, the quiet way she moved, even the timbre of her voice, it was like a memory that was just out of reach. But before she could ask anything else, Cecilia's sleeve shifted again, revealing that faint line on her wrist.
Gigi's eyes lingered on it, her mind flashing to something Elizabeth had once told her about. The image came back in strange, vivid fragments: delicate machinery, synthetic skin, eyes that glowed just a little too brightly. She felt her breath catch as a realisation formed, one that seemed impossible but felt oddly right.
Cecilia noticed her stare, and something like understanding flashed in her eyes. She glanced down, tugging her sleeve a little higher, almost like she was giving permission to look closer. Gigi swallowed, her heart pounding as she tried to meet Cecilia's eyes.
“Gigi?” Cecilia's voice was soft, a thread of concern in her tone. “Your change.”
“Yeah… sorry,” Gigi said quickly, glaring away as she scooped up the pennies. She tried to muster a casual smile, though she knew Cecilia could probably sense her unease. “It’s just been a long day.”
Cecilia nodded, her gaze softening as she looked at her. “I get it. But, hey—coffee always helps, right?”
Gigi managed a small laugh, clutching her cup. “Yeah. It… it does.”
She hesitated, feeling an overwhelming urge to ask more, but she didn't quite know how. All she knew was that standing there, in the soft glow of the shop, she felt a strange sense of comfort, a reminder of something she thought she'd lost long ago.
As Gigi settled into her seat, lifting her cup to take a sip, Cecilia's voice floated over the counter. “I’m not much of a coffee lover.”
Gigi looked up, blinking. Cecilia leaned one elbow on the counter, her face angled slightly as she watched Gigi's reaction. There was a playful gleam in her eye, as though she wanted a conversation.
“Really?” Gigi couldn't help the smirk tugging at her lips. “You work in a coffee shop and don’t even like coffee.”
Cecilia shrugged, a hint of a smile tugging at her mouth. “Not a fan of the taste. Too bitter, and tea is better anyway.”
She paused, her voice softening as her gaze drifted around the café. “But I don’t mind the smell… ” she hesitated, her eyes catching on the soft glow of light pooling against the walls. “Or the quiet.”
“Excuse me?” A woman in a long scarf and oversized glasses waved from the other end of the counter, sounding slightly impatient. “Could I get some help over here?”
Cecilia's face shifted, the softness tightening into her usual calm, polite expression. “Be right there!” she called back smoothly, her tone immediately professional.
She glanced back at Gigi, her lips tilting in an apologetic smile. “Duty calls.”
“Of course,” Gigi said, trying to sound casual, but the disappointment still crept into her voice.
Every now and then, she felt Cecilia's gaze shift in her direction, lingering for a second longer than it needed to.
Gigi glanced back, catching her eye just for a moment, but neither of them looked elsewhere right away.
Gigi spent the evening in her small apartment, lost in a haze of memories she'd been too afraid to confront. After her visit to the coffee shop, her mind had been racing, Cecilia's face clear in her mind like a photograph she couldn't stop examining. The line on her wrist, the flicker in her eyes, it reminded her of something Elizabeth had once shown her. And now, with that faint memory tugging insistently, she felt her feet pulling her toward the forgotten drawers in her desk, the ones she hadn't dared open in years.
She took a breath and pulled the first drawer open. Inside were sketches, crinkled and faded but filled with Elizabeth's familiar strokes, drawings of clockwork pieces, graceful hands, the faint beginnings of a face with delicate, precise lines. She reached for one in the back, a particular drawing she could never bring herself to look at since that Christmas. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded it, revealing an image of a girl with short hair streaked in two colours, a faint smile gracing her face. She looked so much like…
No, Gigi told herself. It can't be.
But the familiarity was undeniable. Elizabeth had once told her about a project she was working on, a gift for people, a kind of companion that would grow alongside them, someone who could be there when she couldn't. Prototype C, Elizabeth had once said. Gigi hadn't known what that was at the time, only that Elizabeth spoke the name with a kind of wistful hope.
Gigi traced the line of the drawing's jaw, the soft, knowing expression. She rushed for the stack of letters in her bag, unravelling the ribbon placed so tightly around. To Gigi, read this one first.
Gigi held the first letter between her fingers, its edges softened by time. The familiar looping script of Elizabeth's handwriting made her heart twist, each word a piece of her past and, maybe, her future. Raora had explained the instructions: ten letters, each one meant to be opened at a specific moment, when someone—someone Gigi suspected was Cecilia—reached a new chapter in her life. Gigi ran her fingers over the titles, each one in Elizabeth's careful handwriting.
Little one,
I suppose I can’t call you that anymore, can I?
You’re probably not as tall as me, but you’re definitely taller, maybe you’ve got a little wrinkle to you.
But I hope this finds you before you do. I hope this finds you before all that hate you have turns into something I can't fix. I hope you can forgive me.
And if you're reading this, then I guess you've come across my little collection. And if you've opened this letter first, well done—you've already started listening to me.
These letters aren't just any letters. They're small messages I've tucked away, each one meant for a specific moment, a unique turning point. And here's the secret: they're not really for you. Not entirely.
These letters belong to someone you'll meet one day—someone who will, in ways big and small, remind you of the stories we shared and the person I always hoped you'd become. I want you to read them, and give them to her, one by one, as you see her change, grow, and discover herself. Only you will know when the time is right to pass each one on.
You'll understand why I wrote these when you meet her, I think. Maybe you already do. These letters are little pieces of comfort, of encouragement, of reminders I wish I could have left with you for every hard day and joyful day. They're the things I couldn't stay around to say, but knew would still need to be heard.
So here's what you'll do: when you see her experience each moment described, share that letter with her. Give her these words when she needs them most, when she won't even know she needs them. There are ten letters, each for a different part of her journey, each one a little different.
Some of these moments might seem obvious, while others might be harder to see. But don't worry. You'll feel it in your heart, Gigi. I have no doubt about that.
And when you hand over the final letter, “For when she learns to love,” you’ll know it’s the last. Maybe by then, you'll both have a sense of what this has all meant—maybe even why I did this for you. But I don't want to tell you how it will end, because that's a story that only the two of you can write.
So, Gigi, trust yourself. And when you're ready, trust her, too.
Remember that I'm still with you, in every word, in every line, and in every quiet moment you share. And always, always in the love I left behind.
Be brave.
Yours, Elizabeth
Gigi looked through the entire pile, as much as her tears would let her.
For when she learns to laugh freely.
For when she makes a mistake.
For when she's proud.
For when she wants to be alone.
For when she cries.
For when she learns to forgive.
For when she learns to protect.
For when she discovers joy in small things.
For when she believes in herself.
For when she learns to love.
With a deep breath, she slipped the bundle back into her bag, knowing that when the time was right, each letter would find its way to her hands. And maybe, just maybe, Gigi would discover the world Elizabeth had left.