Tallulah speaks in pauses. Not silence – pauses. The kind that stretch across a quiet room and ask nothing of you. She lives near the edge of Morrowbay, where fog walks upright and birds forget to flap.
On her first day awake, she met Candlewick – a stout, round lamp with a warm grin and no concept of time. He flickered jokes and offered to share his light. She declined politely, then borrowed it anyway.
They don’t talk much. Candlewick hums. Tallulah listens. And every so often, when the fog curls just right, she glows – not from within, but from the memory of his laugh.