The weight of naming her pressed against Amelia's chest like a brush poised above a blank canvas. She had created this girl, yet the responsibility of giving her a name felt more intimate than any stroke of paint she had ever laid down. Would the name define her? Would it shape her existence the way color shaped form?
The girl waited, watching Amelia with patient curiosity, as if trusting her completely with this decision.
Amelia swallowed. "How about… Celeste?"
The girl—Celeste—tested the name silently, lips forming the shape of it before she finally spoke. "Celeste," she echoed, tilting her head slightly. A small, satisfied smile bloomed across her face. "It feels right."
Relief flooded Amelia, though she wasn't sure why. Maybe because something about this entire situation felt like a dream teetering on the edge of reality, and giving the girl a name made it all the more real. More permanent.
Amelia exhaled and leaned against the counter, rubbing her temple. "Okay. Okay. Let's just—let's back up a little." She gestured vaguely between them. "You came out of my painting. That's… impossible."
Celeste watched her, blinking slowly. "And yet, here I am."
Amelia ran a hand down her face. "Right. Okay. So, uh… do you remember anything? Before, I mean?"
Celeste furrowed her brows, as if trying to piece together fragments of a life she had never lived. "I remember… warmth. And colors. And you." She met Amelia's gaze, something tender and knowing in her expression. "I remember feeling like I belonged."
Amelia's breath hitched. There was something undeniably intimate about hearing those words. It was as if Celeste had always been a part of her, waiting for the moment she could step into existence.
"I painted you," Amelia said softly, half to herself.
Celeste nodded. "You created me."
Silence stretched between them, thick with questions Amelia didn't know how to ask.
Then, her stomach growled. Loudly.
Celeste's eyes widened slightly in surprise, and Amelia groaned, covering her face. "Oh my god."
A soft, lilting laugh escaped Celeste's lips. It was warm, like sunlight breaking through the clouds. "Are you hungry?"
Amelia dropped her hands and sighed. "Yeah. Apparently, dealing with the supernatural makes you crave a bagel." She pushed off the counter and made her way to the kitchen, still half-expecting Celeste to disappear if she looked away for too long.
Celeste followed her, observing everything with quiet fascination. When Amelia pulled out a loaf of bread and some peanut butter, Celeste tilted her head. "So this is what humans eat?"
Amelia paused, one brow arching. "Wait—do you eat?"
Celeste hesitated, as if considering it for the first time. "I don't… know?"
Amelia grabbed a slice of bread, spread some peanut butter over it, and tore off a small piece. "Here. Try it."
Celeste took the piece with delicate fingers and studied it before finally pressing it to her lips. She chewed thoughtfully, then brightened. "It's sweet."
Amelia chuckled. "Yeah, peanut butter tends to be."
Celeste nodded approvingly and took another bite, a small hum of delight escaping her.
Watching her, Amelia felt something settle in her chest—a strange sense of calm despite the utter absurdity of the situation. Maybe it was the way Celeste moved so naturally, or the way she took in the world like it was something to be cherished.
Or maybe it was the fact that, for the first time in a long time, Amelia wasn't alone.
Celeste swallowed the last bite and licked a bit of peanut butter from her thumb. "What do we do now?"
Amelia leaned against the counter, considering. "I have no idea." She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "I should probably freak out more, but honestly? I just… don't want you to disappear."
Celeste's expression softened. She reached out, fingers brushing against Amelia's wrist. "I won't."
A quiet promise.
Amelia exhaled slowly, letting the moment settle.
Outside, the city bustled on, unaware that something extraordinary had just begun in a tiny Brooklyn apartment.
And for the first time in a long time, Amelia felt like she wasn't just painting a dream—she was living one.