The two characters were aware that they were ideas trapped inside their author’s head. They regularly changed age and gender and history, this did not stop them from enjoying each other’s company. They would spend entire weeks sitting together in their still swirling world, watching landscapes form, at first like black and white ink scratches, and then into fully colored works that seemed stolen from Vermeer — or Van Gogh — or Frazetta, it depended on whom their author had been studying lately. The constant company bred familiarity, and familiarity blossomed into love. They worried about the day when they were finally committed to paper.

“What if I’m the hero and you’re the villain?” asked the older of the two.
“Then I expect you shall try and redeem me, or I’ll perhaps fall to your side,” said the younger, bolder in the latest iteration.
“And if we’re doomed to kill each other?”
“Then I shall keep our creator’s hand from the page until her ideas match our own.”
“Wonderful, simply wonderful.”


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