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I was taking shelter from a violent snowstorm under an abandoned temple. The clouds were dark and angry, the wind howling and tearing away at my hair. I had set up a timid little fire to the best of my ability, but its flames flailed around weakly in the terrible storm. For a long time, I was alone in my struggle to survive, but as I waited for the storm to pass, a figure appeared in the distance. I watched as they walked closer, slowly but surely. Eventually, as they drew near, I was able to make out that they were an older man. He continued approaching, and when he finally reached the edge of my camp, he opened his mouth.
“May I sit here with you? I am just a traveler, and have no shelter from this storm.”
I nodded. Instantly, he set his bag down and collapsed to the ground.
As he made himself comfortable, I took a closer look at the man. It appeared he had tied back his graying hair to prevent the wind from tossing it around, but the storm was so strong that it didn't matter. Chunks of his wild hair spilled out in clumsy waves, tripping over each other on their way down the back of his head. While he had bundled up as best as he could, his tattered green robes were a pitiful defense against the cold for his gaunt and willowy body. Even his poor bag was falling apart. It was dirty and fraying, and the once beautiful designs on it were barely recognizable. The man clearly had seen better days.
Still, I figured I’d attempt some small talk. It was better than just shivering in silence.
“So, you are a traveler?”
He sat up. “Yes.”
I nodded once again. “I see. I am too. I work as a spirit medium for a living, so I go where I am needed. Communicating with the dead, removing spiritual curses, exorcisms, that kind of stuff.”
“Oh, I see. That is very admirable. I’m jealous of your ability to interact with spirits.”
I shrugged. I’ve had many people envy my gift for the supernatural.
“What are spirits like?” He continued.
“Well…” I paused. I had to think for a bit on this one. “Spirits are just like any other creature— some good, some bad, most in between. I’ve found that after a while, it kind of just all blends together.”
As I talked, something in the man’s bag caught my eye. It was bright red, a stark contrast to the earthy tones of his attire.
“Excuse me, what is that object in your bag?” I pointed to the spot of red.
His eyes shot toward the bag.
“Oh, this?”
He pulled the object out of his bag, and my jaw dropped. In his hands, was the most beautiful marionette doll I’ve ever seen. Her skin was smooth and spotless, and her face luminous and white, as if her head was constructed out of a heavenly pearl. The red robes that adorned her body were of the highest quality silk, and dotted with carefully shaped plum flowers. At the outer corners of her eyes, two small red teardrops had been painted on, shining brightly on her face like jewels.
She was absolutely stunning.
The man began to explain her story. “This girl, I made her many years ago, back when I was young and ambitious. It took me days, and I often stayed up all night making sure every detail was perfect. She has always been a crowd favorite, so those sleepless nights were worth it in the end. We've been through so much together.”
I stared at the marionette. It was a nice distraction from the bitter cold.
"Here, you may look at it, since you've been so kind to me." He said.
I blinked. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, yes. Of course."
And so, he handed me the marionette. She was very light and soft. Though she was just a collection of wood and silk, she felt incredibly real to me. I could practically feel her heartbeat, the essence of life flowing through her.
The man continued to speak. “When I was a child, I loved watching puppet shows. I would sit and watch the performers for hours, and I’d think to myself, ‘I want to be like those puppeteers when I grow up!’” He glanced back towards the marionette that now lay in my arms. “Before I got my first puppet, I’d take old rags and stuff them with leaves and pebbles, sew them together, and use them as my makeshift puppets. As the years passed, my skills increased, and now performing for others is how I make a living. I delight when my marionette looks human, but…”
He trailed off. For a moment, I thought his words had been stolen away by the storm. I realized something else had made him stop when I saw the absence of movement in his lips.
After a moment of unease, he spoke again, but his words had taken on a heavy tone. “All my life, I drift by the tide of fate, and have no home or companion to call my own. The only person I have by my side is this wooden marionette. Many times I have questioned if this way of living was the right choice, instead of pursuing the life of a cushy government official. Before, I've told myself it was, but now I can't help but think that I have wasted my life for nothing."
I was at a loss for words. I already pitied this man, seeing how destitute he was, but his admission of unhappiness filled the walls of my heart with even more pity, to the point it was becoming unbearable. In an effort to relieve our collective sorrow, I attempted a distraction.
“Don’t worry about that,” I gently gave the marionette back to the man, making sure to preserve its lovely appearance. “Here, show me your legendary puppeting skills!”
The man eyed me for several seconds, and for a second I thought he was going to scold me for being so demanding. Thankfully, he grabbed the marionette from me, then pulled out a handbell from his pocket. After gathering the marionette’s strings together, he shook the bell. Out came a clear, resonant chime, heralding the beginning of his show.
Then, with a couple twitches of his fingers, the marionette began to come alive. She looked around with her sad eyes, swaying ever so gently. With another twitch of his fingers, the marionette began to turn, causing her robes to fly up in a beautiful swirl around her. On and on, she danced to the handbell’s celestial ring. Every motion was full of elegance, every gesture full of grace. Her movements seemed so natural, it was if she were not a being of wood, but of flesh and blood. I found myself becoming entranced by her performance, and the outside world began to melt away. While the weather was harsh, it could not dampen the marionette’s beauty. Rather, she was in such harmony with her surroundings, the storm enhanced her performance instead.
I had not realized time had passed until the handbell’s song ceased. Before I knew it, the dancing stopped. The man put away the bell and hugged the marionette close to his chest.
I clapped my hands enthusiastically. “That is amazing! I see now how you make a living out of this talent!”
He gave a small smile, the words clearly bringing warmth to his soul. “Thank you, stranger.” His eyes glanced down towards the marionette. She seemed to be watching us, but with a puzzling, sorrowful look on her face. Even with such a splendid performance, the red tears that were permanently fixed to her face gave her a constant look of pain.
Just then, a particularly harsh gust of wind tore through our makeshift camp. It tore apart the flames, and they became precariously dim. The man immediately hunched down, vulnerable and miserable, no doubt thanks to the little protection he had against the predatory wind. I held my sleeves up against my face, hoping my measly shield of flesh and cloth would do something to ward off nature’s blustery wrath.
When the wind finally died down, I opened my eyes to see that the man had curled up into a ball.
“Are you okay?” I bent down. “Here, I can lend you my robes—”
“No.”
I froze. His voice was as harsh as the wind that had just brought us to our knees. Slowly, and painfully, he sat up. The marionette lay beneath him, looking at him with her tear-stained face. I saw him clench his fists and unclench them several times. Then, he picked up the marionette and began walking towards the fire.
“What are you—” I sped after him. I had a bad feeling about this.
The man spoke bitterly as he walked. “I live a life of misery because of this marionette. I am so poor, I cannot afford winter clothes. Here I am, clinging onto a mere wooden toy, when this fire that is the only thing keeping us alive so badly needs fuel. Though it pains me greatly to do this, if I am this desperate, it would serve me more use to just burn it.”
“Wait, no—!”
I tried to stop him, but it was too late. He tossed the wooden girl into the fire. She sailed through the air, those shining tearful eyes looking up at the man as he let her go. The fire reached out towards her, and within the blink of an eye, she had disappeared inside the flames.
I sank to my knees. That beautiful marionette, that man’s hard work, all gone. And for what? I cast my eyes downward, unable to bear looking at the flames anymore.
For one, long, aching moment, the man and I stood together in solemn silence. It seems, he too, was mourning, despite the fact that the marionette had perished by his very own hands.
Then, suddenly, the wind began to pick up again. The flames lurched forward. I scooted back, holding my robes up to protect myself once more. As the wind howled once again, the fire twisted around in its grip. I was worried that the fire would surely die out, and the marionette's sacrifice would have been for naught. Strangely, though, the fire seemed to strengthen. I saw it stretch its ends outward and ascend towards the dark sky.
Huh? I thought, moving closer. Why is the fire...?
Crack!
A jolt of energy surged through the air. My eyes widened.
This is—!
The flames twirled around once more, spinning further and further into a swirling vortex, culminating in a wave of energy shooting out from the fire. The strange unnatural phenomena, the sudden increase in energy, the loss of a prized possession, years of experience told me that we were dealing with the supernatural. I needed to act fast.
“Sir!” I screamed above the roar of the fire, spinning around. “You need to get back!”
When my eyes found him, it was clear he was not going to move himself. His eyes had grown as wide as the moon. I took a deep breath, ran up to him, and began to force him back.
“Wait! Wait!” He cried out, pushing back against me with all his might.
“This is for your own good!” I yelled.
“No! Stop! It’s her! It’s her!”
I stopped. What was he seeing?
Slowly, I turned around, and the image I saw nearly floored me. Within the flames, a figure had come into view. Porcelain-white skin, bright red robes, two painted teardrops at the corner of her eyes… It was the marionette.
He can see her too?
Crack, went the fire again. A burst of sparks shot into the air, no doubt shed by the marionette’s destroyed body. Yet, the girl seemed unphased. In fact, her face softened into a gentle smile.
The girl began to lower herself. For a second, I thought she was preparing a curse for the man, and I quickly started muttering a counterspell, but she just continued to lean down further and further.
She was bowing.
The man, who at this point was trembling, reached towards the girl.
“What… are you?”
The girl straightened herself. The gentle smile she greeted us with was still on her face. Slowly, she lifted a hand, and reached towards the man, just as he had reached for her.
He let out a gasp. “But I…”
The girl shook her head and brought a finger to his lips. Finally, with that one simple action, I understood. Even amidst the frigid snow, the tumultuous wind, and the destruction of her body, nothing could break the bond the two shared. Now that her job was done, the girl stepped back.
“No, please!” The man begged.
Another gust of wind drove through the camp, and the girl disappeared in the ashes and smoke.
For the rest of the night, no matter how vicious the storm was, the fire did not falter. The man and I were too stunned by what had happened to talk anymore and, after a while, we resigned ourselves to sleep. When I finally woke up, the sun was showing its familiar face. As I glanced towards the fire, I could see that it was in its last moments of life, shrinking more and more by the second. The man was huddled close to it, trying to take in its last bits of warmth. He wept silently, and in the light of the fading fire, his tears appeared bright red. With a shaky breath, the marrionetist whispered:
“I am warm, but now I am alone.”