I personally love this story. It's a different kind of romance between a zombie and a puppet. The idea hit me as I was doodling in history one day. ::nods::: This is what I came out with.

(Zombie) bOys + (Puppet) girLs ARE ::heart::

She saw him from where she sat in the window. She saw the blue-green of magic enveloping him, reviving him. She saw how his flesh rotted, but didn’t rot. She saw how he saw her.

He saw the puppet in the shop, its owner long dead. He, too, could see the blue-green of magic around her. He saw her sitting in the faded high-backed chair, her flowered skirt under her folded hands, her near vacant eyes watching him as he passed.

He watched her through once green eyes, now fogged grey. He watched her as he gnawed on the human arm in his hands.

She watched him through pretty blue eyes, round glass balls put in place by her maker. She watched him as she sat, looking pretty.

One day, instead of passing up the shop, he walked in and sat on the floor next to the chair in the window. They sat. They said nothing. The magics mingled.

So, said the boy, what are you?

I’m a puppet, answered the girl. What are you?

I’m dead, said the boy. I’m Pauli.

I’m Maria.

And they sat some more, in silence. The boy felt the call of his remake, felt the pull of the magics, felt the longing to stay with the puppet girl Maria, but also the need to return to his non-home.

He went.

The girl cried un-tears, her face porcelain face unstained by her sorrow. She cried because he who could converse with her had left. She cried because he who would converse with her had left. She cried because she was all alone.

But the boy came back. He came back, but not immediately. He came back the next day, and sat with the girl again. They said nothing, but they could have. They could have talked about their existence before the magic had come. They could have talked about how they had nothing to do anymore. They could have talked about how no one wanted them. They could have talked about how they wish they were useful.

They could have talked about how they could be together.

But they didn’t, and the boy left, back to his non-home, and the girl cried her un-tears.

The boy thought while he took his lurching steps back to grave where he mock-slept. He thought about the girl, about Maria. He thought about how pretty she was. He thought about how the blue of the flowers on her skirt matched the blue of her glass eyes. He thought about how the black of her shirt shined just like the black of her modestly short hair. He thought about how her bangs covered her forehead and framed her face. He thought everything to think about her, and he smiled.

The girl thought while she sat in her old, faded chair where she spent all her time. She thought about the boy, about Pauli. She thought about how his baggy black shorts brought out the sickly green tint to his skin. She thought about how one of his eyelids sagged just so, making him look a little crazed. She thought about how his dead flesh absorbed light like a plant. She thought about how his thin chest heaved with unneeded breaths. She thought about the light hair framing his face, too long for a boy. She thought about the short dark hair on the back of his head, the kind that spikes up and odd angles. She thought everything to think about him, and she smiled.

He came back again, the next day, again. He sat next to the girl, on the floor next to her chair.

You have no arm now, she said, more to herself than to him.

I know, he said. It fell off.

Oh, the girl said, why?

Because I’m dead, the boy answered.

They went quiet. The magics did not. They could see it out of the corners of their eyes, each one touching and caressing the other.

Pauli? The girl asked.

Yeah? The boy answered

Why is life?

It’s… it’s because, he told her.

That’s it? Because? She asked confused.

Yeah. It just is.

Oh, she said again.

They went quiet again. The boy moved a little closer to the girl. Their magics held onto each other, pulling strands into one another. It folded together. It weaved together upon itself until it was one magic.

Maria? The boy asked.

Yes, Pauli? She answered.

Why is love?

It’s… It’s because, she told him, her porcelain lips twitching into a soft smile. The boy grinned toothily at the reuse of his words.

That’s it? Just because… it is? He asked wryly.

Yes. It just is.

Ah, he said. Then I must love you.

If the girl could blush, she would have, but she told the boy, Then I must love you, too.

He stood and offered her his hand. She lifted a heavy arm and laced her delicate fingers through his robust ones. She stood and he placed his undead lips on hers, and they had a use, a want, a life...

Together.