She approached cautiously, every muscle tensed to flee at the slightest provocation. Then—movement. A shadow stirring just beyond sight. She hesitated. Should she keep going? Curiosity overpowered fear, muffling even the loudest warnings of common sense.

  A man stood behind the tree.

  “Good morning.” The wind carried his voice to her.

  “G-Good morning,” she replied reflexively—then clapped her hands over her mouth.

  “No one taught you not to talk to strangers?”

  Alice didn’t answer. Instead, she edged left, angling for a better view. The stranger leaned against the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak, arms folded, one boot braced casually against the bark. His threadbare gray tunic seemed absurdly thin for the weather, yet he showed no discomfort. His dark trousers were tucked into crude rawhide boots, laced in a pattern that baffled her.

  “Staring’s rude, you know.”

  A soft laugh cut through the snap of a falling branch nearby. Alice froze, eyes darting to the shattered limb on the ground—half-expecting it to twitch and vanish into the underbrush. After a beat, she turned back, voice timid:

  “Who… are you?”

  “Someone who’ll die for you.”

  Silence. Even the wind stilled.

  Alice stood paralyzed, her smile rigid, brain lagging behind her ears. When comprehension refused to come, she forced herself forward—three paces—and finally met his gaze.

  "Something wrong? Cat got your tongue?" He smirked, clearly amused by her stunned silence.

  His face was ageless—one of those impossible visages that defied time. Long silver hair cascaded over his shoulders, blending with the gray of his tunic. A hood cast shadows across his features, but nothing could dim those golden, coin-bright eyes that held her captive. She stared, transfixed.

  "I'm Alice," she blurted, cheeks flushing.

  The man bowed with courtly grace, pressing his lips to her hand like a storybook prince. "Welcome, Alice."

  "And you?" she asked, shifting her weight awkwardly.

  "Names are dangerous things. You shouldn't speak to me—shouldn't even know I exist."

  "Why not?"

  He patted her head, his touch feather-light.

  "Because I came here to die, Alice. Run—before my death wastes its purpose."

  Alice reeled. A joke? A cruel one, surely. But his face—the eerie serenity in his gaze—stripped the laughter from her throat. Years later, she'd recognize that look: the quiet of a man who'd made peace with the abyss.

  "I don't understand," she whispered, retreating. "That's not funny."

  "Oh, but it is," he sighed. "Just not for us. We're... premature audience members. The punchline hasn't landed yet."

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Her voice shrank to a breath:

  "Are you really going to die?"

  Another step back.

  The man caught her wrist—gentle but unyielding—and guided her to a tree stump. Crouching before her, he spoke faster now:

  "I'd tell you a story, Alice, but time's a noose tightening around us. My killers are coming. Listen closely." He leaned in. "The universe has rules. Ironclad ones—especially in living worlds like yours. But I'm an intruder here. You felt it, didn't you? That whisper in your bones saying I don't belong? Crossing boundaries has consequences. Beings like me... we disrupt the natural order when we enter human worlds. The energy ripples. Someone always notices. Someone always comes." His golden eyes flickered toward the tree line. "Any moment now, two men in black will step into this clearing. They'll draw their weapons. They'll kill me quickly - because I've broken this world's laws."

  A pause. The wind held its breath.

  "I'll put up just enough resistance to make it convincing." His lips quirked. "But when I'm dead, Alice, they'll look at you. And if they suspect you saw... if they think you understood..." He let the implication hang like the mouse's limp body. "They might decide to clean up all the loose ends."

  Her heart hammered against her ribs - not just fear now, but primal terror. The stranger saw it in her eyes. His hand, surprisingly warm, stroked her hair.

  "You must fool them completely. You saw nothing. You know nothing. If they kill you..." His fingers stilled. "Then my death becomes meaningless. You don't want that, do you?"

  Alice shook her head violently, her vision blurring with unshed tears.

  "Good." That faint smile again. "I'm rather fond of my existence."

  He rose with unnatural grace, stretching like a cat in sunlight, and took three casual steps away - as if discussing grocery lists rather than his imminent murder. Then abruptly, he crouched again, rustling through the leaf litter until...

  A tiny mouse. Still warm. Still trembling.

  Alice's breath caught. The creature's obsidian eyes mirrored her own terror perfectly. One last twitch of pink paws - then stillness.

  "Hold her," he instructed, pressing the small body into her palms. "And weep."

  The air rippled. Two shadows materialized between the birches - black-clad, blades gleaming dully at their hips. Alice screwed her eyes shut. The mouse's fading warmth seeped into her skin as genuine tears spilled over. She didn't watch. She didn't need to. The wet sound of steel finding flesh told her everything.

  It all unfolded behind her eyelids—like a grotesque film reel. She didn’t know how, but the certainty of what was happening coiled in her gut like a snake. The men spotted the stranger the moment he passed her. A glance. A nod. Then, they struck. The stranger fought back—for a heartbeat, maybe two. But he never stood a chance. The first blade sank into his throat. The second pierced his chest. Blood bloomed across his clothes… then dissolved into nothing. Not a single drop clung to the leaves beneath him; the earth drank every trace. When the stranger finally crumpled, his body vanished, but the two men remained, their lips curled in twin grins.

  Alice was sobbing. Tears cut down her cheeks, her skin raw from the cold and the weight of what she’d witnessed. She didn’t understand—but the wrongness of it all pressed against her ribs, suffocating. And beneath that, a darker truth: this was her doing. Her mind flickered, a dying candle. She clutched at reasons—was she mourning the dead man? The cruelty? Or the hollow terror of being next? Then, ice shot through her veins.The men were staring. Their footsteps crackled toward her.

  “Where the hell did she come from?” the first hissed. “We should’ve fucking sensed her.”

  “Shut it. No one finds out about this,” the second growled. “You know the consequences.”

  “So what’s the play? Why’s she crying? Do we—?”

  “I said shut it.”

  They loomed over Alice. Her breath hitched; her tears fell hotter. Then—the weight in her palm. The dead mouse. An absurd, fragile comfort: if she couldn’t name her grief… maybe she could bury it instead. Yes. This, at least, she could understand. She uncurled her fingers and laid the creature in the hollow of the tree stump. With trembling hands, she heaped dirt over it—a tiny, desperate funeral. She let the tears come. They might be her last. Above her, the men watched.

  “Do we kill her?” one muttered.

  “Are you out of your damn mind?” the other snapped, blade twitching at his side. “She doesn’t even see us. Look—she’s burying a fucking mouse. We kill her, then what? Leave it. She’s just some hysterical kid. Even if she saw something, who’d believe her?”

  The first man grunted, though his fingers still danced near his knife.Luck, for once, was on Alice’s side—he wasn’t the one making decisions.Seconds later, the clearing was empty.