Chapter Text
'Have you heard about the ghost girl of Lumière?'
Maelle was seven when she first heard of her, from a fellow foster child sleeping on the bunk above her during a sleepless night. They had just been moved into that house together, and the other child was a boy two years older than her whose parents had just gommaged a few months ago.
She didn't remember his name, but she did recall him climbing down in the darkness and sitting on the floor near her. What made that boy think she wanted to hear a horror story, she never figured out, but it she had sat up on the bed to listen.
'…No. Who is that?'
She could barely see him, but she knew he must've been smiling from the way his voice sounded. 'It's a girl from before the Fracture.'
Maelle frowned. 'No one—'
'That's the point,' he interrupted her. 'No one from back then is alive, right? So she should be dead. That's what you were gonna say.' She huffed in response. The boy continued. 'They say her whole family died in the Fracture, and she had to bury the bodies herself.' She shivered. She'd seen the Gommage, but she also knew some people died before their turn, in which case they dropped like dolls forever and had to be thrown into the sea. She'd never seen one of those, though.
'A-And?'
'She hated the sea, so she set herself on fire, but she didn't die. So now she has a melted face with melted eyelids and everything, and walks around Lumière looking for people.'
Maelle hoped the boy couldn't see her gripping her pillow with her right hand. 'F-For what?'
He chuckled like it was obvious. 'To burn them alive.'
It was awful. It made her feel scared of looking out of the window and finding that terrifying woman there. For a while, it made her afraid of leaving the foster homes, no matter how unwanted she felt.
Then, she learned about adults making up stories to scare children, and she understood the ghost girl was just that. A scary story to make kids obey their parents like many others she'd heard before. And she was always an especially badly behaved child, so she heard those threats often.
The ghost girl, though, still terrified her a bit, remaining in the recesses of her mind as a monster that would come out in her nightmares, when she least expected it. Maybe it was the idea of being burned alive that sent shivers down her spine, or maybe it was those odd nights, one every few years, when she'd wake up from a nightmare, and see that the darkness had shifted, and that even the lamplight that was meant to be yellow had turned grey.
Lumière's orphanage was an unassuming building smack dab in the middle of it's second quartier, with a light brown facade and no other sign of its purpose other than a bronze plaque near the door with a simple inscription.
"Orphelinate de Lumière"
Simple and to the point. And he had an appointment, so by all means he ought to ring the doorbell and walk in. But Gustave was nervous for good reason: Inside this building, there was one child that, if everything went well, would be going under his and his sister's care, and he absolutely needed to leave a good first impression.
But how could one go about this? In theory, he had to transmit safety, confidence, authority, and approachability, all at once, in the little time they were going to spend together today. If at least he could ask Sophie, she would probably—
No, no, no. That was not the time to be thinking about Sophie. Get it together, Emma would've told him. Don't make a fool of yourself.
He forced himself to ring the bell, whatever happens, will happen. A woman opened the door before Gustave could consider himself ready, and a cascade of background noise could be heard immediately from within. 'Good afternoon, monsieur. What do you need?'
'I'm Gustave,' he started, but then he realised this woman didn't necessarily have to know everyone from the multiple — and growing — foster families around Lumière. 'Gustave Eiffel.' Not like people used surnames a lot nowadays. 'I, eh, had an appointment for today. To meet a prospective foster child?'
The woman smiled and nodded, which soothed Gustave's nerves somewhat. 'Yes, I remember. I'm Faustine, please come in.'
The place was nicely decorated. Some of the walls had remains of drawings made in chalk on their lower halves, and the paintings present on the walls represented Esquie and a variety of gestrals. Behind the closed doors Faustine and Gustave passed by, the white noise unraveled into clear voices of children, some crying, some laughing, some chatting. Children that had lost their parents months or years ago, and children that didn't even remember them. He wondered if it was worse to never have known them, or the grief of watching them disappear when you could remember it.
They arrived at what looked like an office, but Faustine stopped in front of it, her gentle voice turning into a murmur.
'I trust you've read her history?'
Gustave nodded, of course he had. He and Emma had gone over it more than thrice on the precious free time she'd had from her work at the council. Maelle, twelve years old, born in year 49 of the Monolith to a marriage that died together on their 46th Gommage, leaving her behind with no close family to care for her. Nine years adrift, she'd already been re-homed ten times due to "bad conduct". This was her eleventh chance, and maybe the last. Not many children needed this many chances, as far as Gustave knew, but maybe it was a matter of the Last Generation encroaching upon them. More children with dead parents as their cap became lower and lower. Less and less people willing to spend the last of their years caring for those that were doomed anyway.
'Very well,' Faustine said. 'I'll be inside with you, but I won't interject unless it's necessary. She's…' The woman sighed. 'She's a good girl. Just troubled by circumstance.'
'I understand.'
Faustine opened the door, and there was already a girl inside getting up from a couch where she'd been sitting.
When he first saw her, the thing that stood out the most to him were her eyes. They were strikingly blue, boring into Gustave with clinical interest. She was assessing him harder than he was assessing her, and Emma would no doubt have said it was ridiculous that he was feeling intimidated by a twelve-year-old. And she'd have been right.
Gustave took a deep breath and smiled crookedly, unsure if he was supposed to lower himself to her level so she didn't feel talked down to, or if she was old enough to consider that humiliating. He decided to grab one of the chairs present in the room and sit down, a middle ground of sorts that might not help at all.
Whatever, it was done. She just kept observing him with her arms crossed in front of her chest, and without so much as a sign that Gustave's decision had influenced anything. Fine. That's good too.
'I'm Gustave. Gustave Eiffel.'
She sighed like this was the most tiring conversation she'd had that week. 'I'm Maelle.' She shifted her weight from one feet to the other. 'Just Maelle.'
'Wonderful.' Was it? Was it wonderful that she didn't remember her family name? Get it together, Gustave. 'I'm an inventor, and my sister Emma is part of the council of Lumière. You'll be living with us from now on, if you'd like.'
Maelle nodded, still looking at him with caution. 'Sure.'
On paper, this was going well, but the atmosphere was strange. Gustave's eyes darted around the room in search of something, anything that could spark an amicable conversation. On the couch where she'd been sitting, there was a book. 'What were you reading?'
She seemed startled, perhaps even a bit embarrassed. 'It's, uhm. A book… about adventures.'
'I love those.' He hoped she could tell her was being sincere. 'From before the Fracture?'
She shook her head, indecisive about showing him the book or not. She glanced past him, at Faustine, who must've approved of whatever it was she was asking her. 'It's… From right after. Look.' She turned around and grabbed the book, handing it to him, and Gustave recognised the title. 'The lonely wild. By A. de la Fontaine.'
It was a book about a girl venturing into the Continent to find her missing expeditioner brother. Gustave didn't recall the ending clearly — he had been more enchanted by the way the author had of describing what wonders could lay there — but he remembered it was bittersweet. Maybe the girl couldn't bring back her brother, or something like that.
'I remember reading this a long time ago. His books are excellent.' The copy was worn down, probably from the many children that had read it. Some of the pages were loose, even, and on the back he saw a date that made him raise his eyebrows. 'This copy is an original edition, too, from year 71 of the Monolith.'
For the first time, Maelle smiled a little. Gustave held back a sigh of relief. 'Hm. It's… really cool.'
He nodded in agreement, handing her back the novel. 'I have many books at home, you know? A bunch of them are about engineering, but I have a lot about history, too. They're not as impressive as your original edition book, but they're pretty interesting.'
She looked mildly sympathetic, which was the most he could ask for a child he'd just met.
'You said you had a sister,' she questioned after a few seconds of silence, hugging the book against her chest. '…Where is she?'
'Emma? She's working right now. She's part of the council, I told you before, right? So she's a… pretty important person.' And aiming to become even more important. Gustave's skin crawled just thinking of having to navigate that atmosphere. 'But she's very nice, you'll see.'
Maelle shrugged. Well, he couldn't ask this kid to believe everything he said just yet. It was good enough of a result that she was giving him this little bit of trust.
On their second visit, Emma was free, and they took her to a nearby café. Maelle looked at the menu with a deep frown, like she was trying to decipher the language it was in.
Emma stared at Gustave, and Gustave stared back at her, and they talked without words. There was nothing in her history that said she struggled with reading, the opposite in fact, it said that she spent a lot of her free time reading. Emma smiled at Maelle then. 'I'll have… some tea, I think. Maelle, have you decided—'
'Coffee,' she mumbled, with half her face hidden by the menu. 'Black. Black coffee.'
Gustave looked at Emma again, who raised an eyebrow. What twelve-year-old liked black coffee? A theory sprung in Gustave's mind, but he'd have to test it. 'Sure. I think I'll get some apple juice myself.'
Maelle looked at him with a hint of disbelief, but didn't say anything. Whatever judgement she had of Gustave's character she kept it to herself, and she hid further behind the menu when the waiter arrived to take their command.
In the time between, Emma asked Maelle about her favourite things, which didn't turn out to be many: She liked books, she especially liked A. de la Fontaine's books, and she also liked walking around Lumière, because the city was pretty, and her favourite time was sunset. After this, she fell silent and started fiddling with her clothes and kicking her feet.
Was this a good development? Gustave remained unsure. Maybe they were doing well enough?
The waiter arrived with the tea, the coffee, and the apple juice. He placed the latter in front of Maelle, who made an annoyed face, and Gustave interjected, 'ah, that one's for me. Thank you.'
He tried to not stare as Maelle looked at her black coffee. She took it in her hands and brought it to her mouth in the way someone about to consume poison would, and then took a sip. Emma occupied herself with her own tea as Maelle's whole face scrunched up in disgust at the bitterness of it.
It was a bit amusing, but he held back his smile well enough. He took a sip of his own apple juice, and made the same expression, to which both Emma and Maelle gave him a look.
'Agh. I think I might've made a mistake.' He said, pretending to taste the apple juice a bit more. 'Mm, no, no. It seems I'm not really in the mood for it today. Emma, would you—'
'I'm not exchanging my tea for your juice, Gustave.'
He clicked his tongue, and then looked at Maelle. 'Maelle, would you…'
She, once again, assessed him with those bright blue eyes of hers. In the end, she rolled them and huffed. 'Fine. If you can handle it.'
'Thank you very much.'
He didn't even like black coffee to this extent, but Maelle clearly liked apple juice much better, because she started gulping it down with gusto once she let go of her cup. He took a sip of the coffee then, getting a full body shiver from the sheer bitterness of it. Putain, that was terrible.
'Actually, I think I'll ask for some milk…'
Maelle tilted her head, barely able to hide her amusement. 'So you couldn't handle it?'
Emma smirked. 'Apparently not. Some Lumière citizen you are.'
Gustave shrugged in defeat, getting up from the table to ask the waiter for a dash of milk on his coffee. Since he was there, he ordered some croissants and chocolatines too. Perhaps too many, but if there were any left, Maelle could take them back to the orphanage. The waiter noted everything down with a half smile on his face, and commented, 'kids, they're all like that at that age.'
He grinned back. 'Yeah.'
It was pointless.
Maelle had been through this many times. Ten, according to records from her orphanage, ten times she'd gone through the motions of meeting a new person or persons, and they'd assured him that they'd wanted her. The first and second time she'd believed it. Failing one time was fine, it happened. Failing two was… normal. Sometimes a kid would have bad luck, and that only meant their chances next time were bigger. That's how it worked.
The third time she found herself back at the orphanage, and Faustine looked at her with what could only have been pity, her belief in her caretaker's words started to erode. She started asking her, with her usual gentleness, why she was doing things like running away, talking back, sometimes even breaking things, and Maelle wouldn't answer, because the answer was useless.
I don't belong here. I've never belonged here.
But how could she explain it, the distance she felt from others since the moment she was cognizant? How she didn't belong in this world that, after her parents' Gommage, had no space for her?
By the tenth time she was rejected, she'd only been with the family for two months, and she'd tried to at least look embarrassed about it to Faustine. Another child she and the other workers would have to look after. A grown girl — eleven years old already! — that should've known better. Misbehaving could be understood on younger children, but she was about to be able to start working.
But she liked the orphanage better, anyway. It was full of people that didn't have a place to belong. And besides…
'Well, from what you're telling me, they were quite nice, weren't they?'
Maelle shrugged. 'I guess.'
After a few seconds of silence, Faustine squeezed her shoulder. '…I think this is the one, Maelle.'
Maelle tried to brush her off. 'You've said that before.'
'I know.' She didn't give up. She never gave up on them, somehow. Not even her upcoming Gommage made her lose faith. 'But you deserve a family, Maelle, as much as everyone else.' She wasn't so sure. She kept looking at the wood flooring, and shifted her weight on her feet, making the floorboards creak. '…This is the last one. Alright?'
She shrugged again. She'd comply, pack her bags, move in with the Eiffels, and she'd take her at her word when everything was over and Gustave, no longer as well meaning and kind, came back to the orphanage with her to give her up.
It was always the same, every single time. The only space she could've possibly occupied in this world had flown away alongside her parents on their Gommage, gone with the red petals and the smoke.
She was told she'd be moving in with the Eiffel siblings three days in advance. The other children didn't bother to say a heartfelt goodbye, as Lumière was small, and she would certainly be back. Faustine helped her pack, and placed that edition of The lonely wild in her suitcase. Maelle arched an eyebrow when she saw it there, alongside the dresses and the shirts.
'Don't worry about it. We're going to get a new one, anyway.'
They wouldn't have to, and her endless hope burned her more than the other orphans' assuming she'd be rejected again. But she accepted it, and put on her newest dress, despite how much she hated it, to be picked up by the siblings. Faustine was emotional. Gustave looked a bit emotional too. Emma just seemed content, and Maelle was neither. She just felt resigned. Hollowed.
Their house was an apartment in a pretty building inside an equally pretty quartier. There was a kitchen, a dining room, a bathroom, and three bedrooms. Her own was small, but it was only meant for her, and it had one bed, one desk with its corresponding chair, a wardrobe, and some shelves.
At least it didn't look like a recycled storage room, or a place to share with one or two more kids. Individual adoptions were getting rarer as the numbers on the Monolith ticked down every year, though it was probably due to her being a difficult case that she was adopted alone.
She didn't decorate, except for the book Faustine had given her, which she placed on the otherwise empty desk. The bed was comfortable, and the sheets were soft. The desk smelled like it was new. The view wasn't the prettiest — her window looked directly at the building next to theirs — but it was fine enough. Emma and Gustave's food (especially Gustave's) was alright. He did have a lot of books, and she was allowed to go into his room and browse them, but Maelle didn't, even if she really really wanted to.
It was a matter of time.
A month passed, and while they didn't seem bothered by her just yet, it would happen. They were just better at pretending than the foster families that came before them. Emma especially, Maelle knew one day she'd irritate her too much, and she might personally bring her back to the orphanage and dump her there. There had to be a limit somewhere, because there was always one before, and they were no exceptions. It got strange when, even as she went for walks at night, they didn't get properly frustrated at her: They were worried, and asked her to tell them when she was planning to do it, and to at least stay within their neighbourhood. It's not like we can monitor you all the time, Emma had said. But be careful.
Three months turned into four. Maelle started feeling anxious, so much so she felt sick. Something terrible was going to happen, it was taking too long for them to realise their mistake, there must have been something else going on. Were they getting bribed by Faustine to keep her until at least after her Gommage so she'd be able to pass on with some peace? Was that it?
What other explanation could there be?
It ended up happening one night, when she was eating dinner with Emma. For once, Gustave was the one missing, working on something in his bedroom. A prototype of… what was it? A new safeguard for the Dome, because the old one had flaws. She'd barely been sleeping lately, and Emma had one of her stress headaches from work, and dinner was onion soup that didn't taste that good, and she wanted Maelle to talk when she really didn't want to.
'So,' Emma mumbled, massaging her temple in between spoonfuls of soup. 'How are your studies going?' Maelle shrugged. She hadn't been doing much of that lately, what with that feeling of her brain melting under the stress of knowing the inevitable was coming. The lack of sleep, too. 'You could answer me with your words.' Maelle groaned, and Emma frowned. 'Maelle.'
Why? Why did they insist on having faith in her? Making her go to school to learn things when she was going to die before thirty anyway? She grumbled, 'it's pointless.'
Emma blinked. 'What did you say?'
'I said it's pointless!'
It all happened fast: She got up from the table, she made an angry gesture with her hand, and the chair fell on the floor at the same time as the bowl of hot soup turned sideways, spilling all over the table, no, all the way to Emma and her pristine dress.
They both stared at the splotches of brown on light pink fabric for a few seconds, and Maelle, with a mix of dread and relief, realised it had finally happened. It had taken a bit too long, but this had to be it. Especially with the way Emma muttered her name next, 'Maelle.'
She was angry. It was always that tense tone with that little shake of their voices that rung right before everything went badly.
So she left the kitchen. She was opening the apartment door when she heard Gustave walk out of his room. He'd be mad at her too, so she didn't look back. She slammed that door behind her and the main door of the building too, once she'd made it down the stairs.
She stood there for a second, breathing heavily, but no one came after her. Holding back a sob, she walked away from the building in ample, angry steps.
There was too much silence. The streets of Lumière felt particularly cold in a way that was familiar. Yes, she'd experienced this before: Nights when all the colour seemed to be sucked out of the world, where the yellow lamp lights were light grey and the sky was nearly black, with none of its blue hue. She'd never been outside during these weird waking nightmares before, though, so this time she also noticed that the stars were pure white and the wind was still, so the sea had become a mass of black goo.
Even more worrying, she saw a flag waving — no, frozen as it was waved by the wind that didn't exist. The few people she found on the street were frozen too, their expressions stuck mid-word, their chests still. They didn't breathe, and didn't react to her presence. She saw a cat about to jump, and leaves about to fall.
Dread started building up within her. What was happening? Why was it just her that was able to move in this terrifying stillness? Why only her and no one else? How could she stop this? If she went back home, would she find Emma and Gustave frozen like this?
Another horrifying thought appeared in her mind: Was this her fault?
She teared up. Had she done something terrible, and this was her punishment? Maybe it was the Paintress. Yes, only the Paintress would be powerful enough to do this. Maelle ran to the harbour, and between the statues of Expedition 0, she found the Monolith. But even the glowing "36" on it wasn't glowing its usual gold. And the giantess underneath was as still as ever… no, even more still. She, too, was frozen.
Maelle swallowed through the building knot in her throat and blinked very fast. If not even the Paintress was responsible for this nightmare, she must've been asleep. Yes, this was a nightmare, like when she had dreams of her parents with their faces smudged out on the day of their Gommage, or the ones where the ghost girl burned her alive. She just had to wake up.
She sat on the floor, and pinched herself on the arm. Nothing happened.
She pinched herself harder. Nothing happened.
Her breath started quickening, and a sob escaped her. She didn't want to be here. What did she do wrong? If only someone could tell her, she'd fix it, she promised to whoever was listening she'd do her best to fix it. She tried a third time, so hard that her sobs came out uncontrollably. 'P-Please,' she mumbled, 'I'm scared… I want to go home. I'm sorry, I'm—' she hiccuped, 'I'm sorry…'
She heard steps on the cobblestone and looked up, but could barely see through her tears and the darkness. Someone was standing there in front of her, they were moving, breathing, and she could see a glimmer on one of their eyes. They were wearing a long dress, and the moonlight reflected beautifully on their white hair.
An angel, maybe? This was the only person that had listened to her pleas for help, so it must've been one.
She wiped her tears 'H-Help me… Please…'
Without a word, the person moved closer, squatting down to her eye level, and Maelle got to see their face.
A single eye, completely grey skin, and on her cheeks and mouth, burning scars. Maelle shrieked, crawling away from her — the ghost girl she'd been warned about. She was real. She'd listened to her pleas for help, but she wasn't going to help, was she? She was going to burn Maelle alive for causing too many incidents, for being too terrible of a child to keep around, for being useless and utterly unlovable, for being a stain on Lumière. And she— she was going to burn her—
'I'm sorry! Please! I'm very sorry!' She sobbed, covering her eyes with her hands. 'I'm sorry!'
She waited. Waited for the ghost girl to say anything, or for the flames to start burning her to death. But nothing happened. The world remained still, the only noise being Maelle's own heartbeat and the girl's breathing.
Maelle looked through her fingers, and saw the girl leaning down with one hand extended towards her. She waited patiently for Maelle to take it, and there wasn't a speck of malice on her expression. In fact, it was almost like— a feeling of comfort, like she knew this girl from somewhere. But she was certain she'd never seen her before.
Maelle's hand was shaking when she accepted the girl's, and her fingers curled around it, just tightly enough to help her up. Her touch didn't burn, in fact, it felt cold, grounding even. Maelle kept wiping away her tears for a while as the girl observed her.
She was waiting for something. Maelle tried to go over what she knew of the legend, but there wasn't any code or anything on how to avoid getting burned by the ghost girl. She found you, and you were gone in a blaze of fire. But that hadn't happened.
So now, what?
Was she supposed to utter a wish?
'I—' Maelle sniffled. 'I want t-to go home.'
The girl smiled kindly and nodded. Hand in hand, she took Maelle through the streets of Lumière, those that were familiar to her and those that weren't, and the girl remained silent through it all. Her dress looked old, like something from the Pre-Fracture illustrations, and in that way she very much looked like a pretty doll.
They walked by the cat, the people, and the flag. The lack of wind or waves was less unsettling when she had the living touch of someone else on her hand, or the sound of their steps synched on the ground. Slowly but surely, Maelle started recognising exactly where she was being taken: This was the quartier where Emma and Gustave lived, and down the road, there was their building.
How had she known? As they stood in front of the main door, Maelle looked at the girl. The scars that had seemed so terrifying when she first saw them weren't so startling now. She looked at Maelle, tilted her head, and another smile appeared on her lips, and though no words came out, Maelle knew what she was asking.
Is this your home?
Maelle pursed her lips. She was still unsure, but… But if anywhere had to be her current home, this would've been it. Even if it wouldn't remain as such for long. 'I guess.'
Her reply didn't surprise the girl at all. She nodded, and took Maelle's hand between her own, giving it a little squeeze. Then, she extended one of her arms and made a circular motion with it, clicking her fingers at the end.
On her command, colour flowed back into the world. The light from the lampposts was yellow again. The wind blew softly, making her silver hair and the ends of her sleeves float. Her skin remained grey, though her eye gained the slightest slivers of red at the edges.
'That was you?' The girl nodded, looking apologetic this time. 'I thought…'
Maelle shook her head, holding the girl's hand tight. Was she about to confess to a stranger that she had taken for a monster… that she feared the Paintress was trying to punish her personally? That was ridiculous.
She heard voices from inside the building, and even Gustave calling out to her from her window on the side of it. 'Maelle!' Followed by a word that was most likely a swear. The would most likely set out to find her, even if it was the middle of the night…
The girl let go of her hand, and an outburst of panic came over Maelle at the loss of that grounding touch. 'W-Wait!' The girl had already turned on her heels, ready to leave. The ghost girl — what she'd thought was the ghost girl, at least — hadn't even told her anything yet. 'I-I'm Maelle. What's your name?'
The girl didn't answer. She walked away, disappearing into another street just as the main door of the building opened.
'…Maelle,' it was Emma's voice. Soon, Gustave's arms were around her, a gesture so sudden and strong she almost lost her balance.
She was supposed to be apologising, or complaining, or arguing. They were supposed to be scolding her, yelling that she'd be taken back to the orphanage if she didn't behave.
Instead, Emma was rubbing her back, and Gustave was finally loosening up his grip to take a look at her face. She saw a million questions pass through their eyes — where have you been? Why did you leave? Have we done something wrong? — but not a single accusation.
'E-Emma,' she managed to get out, 'your dress…'
She sighed. 'Don't worry about it. I'll just have it washed… I bet there's some way to get stains out of it.'
'Let's go inside,' Gustave suggested. 'You scared us a bit there.'
She thought back to the moment where she'd been all alone, wandering the streets of a frozen Lumière. '…Sorry.'
Gustave nodded, and nudged her inside. Emma followed after.
Outside, the wind blew, and the ghost of Lumière looked back at the street where she'd come from. She stood there for longer than she should've, all alone with her thoughts.
In the end, she smiled, and kept walking.