Night had fallen, and the makeshift plaza was packed to the brim. Oil lamps hung from the four corners, casting a warm, hazy glow over the darkness. The crowd buzzed with excitement, yet every gaze remained fixed on the lone wooden platform in the center.
Noah stood at the center of the stage.
Or rather, he was not simply standing. He was dancing. His movements flowed like water, silent yet remarkably fluid, as if the very air was being pulled along by the sweep of his fingers. There was no stiffness in him at all. Every motion extended with the grace of flesh and blood. For the first time, the audience, who had seen countless puppet shows, witnessed what true emotion looked like through a performance.
He was not mimicking humanity. He was expressing something beyond what humans themselves might be capable of.
Tonight, he was portraying a wandering street performer, one who played to empty corners of the city, always overlooked and forgotten. Until one day, he quietly slipped his last copper coin into the palm of a blind girl who was even poorer than he. In that moment, he lowered his head and brushed away a nonexistent tear from his wooden cheek.
The crowd erupted into thunderous applause. Some even stood and cheered.
"My gods, did you see that? He cried!" a boy gasped.
"Are you sure that's a puppet? Are you sure he doesn't have a soul?" an elderly woman murmured, her eyes misty.
Anya stood at the side of the stage, her cheeks flushed like the evening sky. She held a battered old hat in her hands, now brimming with copper and silver coins, even a few gleaming gold ones mixed in.
"Noah…" she whispered, her eyes shining with joy and disbelief.
As the performance ended, Noah turned and bowed—not to the crowd, but to her. Only her.
In that moment, Anya felt like she truly was the princess behind the curtain, and Noah was her knight.
"That was incredible," she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his wooden arm. Her voice trembled with excitement. "We finally… finally won't have to go hungry!"
Noah gave a quiet laugh. "I told you. I'll make sure you feast like royalty."
"We're having meat pies tonight!" Anya twirled in delight, her skirt billowing like the wings of a bird set free.
What she didn't know was that in the shadowy edges of the dispersing crowd, a man in a deep-hooded cloak stood silently. His eyes remained locked on Noah, and a slow, deliberate smile crept across his face.
From that day on, Noah and Anya became the talk of the town.
Each evening, as long as they set up their little stage, people would gather early just to claim a spot for the show. Old men sat back in chairs with contented smiles. Children jumped and asked when it would begin. Even the tavern owner came by after one show, handing them two mugs of warm milk and calling it "the most moving performance of the season."
Within a week, they had moved out of the tattered shed and into a modest but clean home in the town center. The windows were whole. The roof no longer leaked. They even had a bed they could call their own.
"Do you like it here?" Noah asked.
Anya sat in a chair with a warm loaf of bread clutched in her arms, her mouth full of crumbs. "Like it? This feels like a dream."
Noah stood quietly by the door, watching her with that soft wooden gaze, a glimmer of warmth flickering behind his eyes.
She had come alive again. She no longer curled up in corners at night trembling from cold and hunger. She had learned how to smile again, how to brush her hair, how to wear a bit of makeup. She even tried to make Noah a little jacket, though the stitching was crooked and uneven.
"I really… really like you," she said one night, resting her head on his shoulder.
Noah's heart gave a jolt, even though he didn't have a real one. He didn't reply. He just let her lean on him, sitting there in silence.
He thought, if things could stay like this, maybe—just maybe—he truly could make her happy.
But fair skies never last forever.
A few days later, a stranger appeared behind the stage after a show. He wore a black cloak, his expression calm, though his gaze lingered on Noah with unusual intensity.
"Did you make this puppet yourself?" he asked Anya, his voice low.
Anya felt uneasy. "I… my father made him."
The man nodded slightly and said no more. But Noah's eyes never left him, tracking his figure until he vanished around the corner.
"Who is he?" Noah asked.
"I don't know," Anya replied, frowning. A flicker of unease passed through her heart.
That night, the town slowly quieted down after the performance.
Anya sat by the window, mending their clothes by candlelight. Outside, an owl hooted somewhere in the trees. Noah sat beside her, watching her profile with quiet tenderness.
"Your stitches are straighter than yesterday," he said seriously.
Anya let out a soft laugh. "You just know how to make me feel good." She looked up at him, then paused. "Noah, will you… ever leave me?"
Noah fell silent. After a long moment, he replied softly, "As long as you don't leave me, I'll never go."
Anya said nothing. She leaned over and gently wrapped her arms around him, letting out a small sigh.
"You know what scares me most now?" she whispered. "That happiness like this won't last."
Noah held her tightly. His wooden fingers rested stiffly against her back, yet in that moment, they felt like the most reliable arms in the world.
Outside their warm, quiet little home, the wind was calm. But beyond the sleeping town, hidden deep within the folds of night, a pair of shadowed eyes continued to watch them, unblinking and cold.