You weren’t sure how you arrived here — in this still, silver-lit space, where the sky curved like the inside of a shell and stars hummed instead of shone. But you knew who you would find here.

Cartethyia sat on the water’s surface like it was solid marble, long coat trailing like ink behind her. She didn’t look up as you approached.

You stood beside her, unsure if you were intruding on something sacred.

"This place doesn’t exist," you said.

"Most things don’t, if you look too closely," she replied, voice soft as a page turning. Her gaze was distant, focused on the fractured reflection of a moon that didn’t match the sky above.

"Then what is this?"

Cartethyia finally turned toward you. Her eyes were tired — not from lack of sleep, but from carrying memories that had no business staying alive.

"It’s where I come to forget that I remember."

You sat beside her, letting the silence settle between you. The air was cool, full of the scent of something familiar you couldn’t place. Not quite lavender. Not quite grief.

She didn’t move away when your shoulder brushed hers.

"Why do you keep letting me follow you?" you asked quietly.

A pause.

"Because you never ask me to stay."