Morning light crept across the sky, and a pale mist drifted through the alleys. A few wan beams of light slipped through the cracks in the old theater doors, falling across the scarred wooden floor like faded scars.
Anya had been awake for a while. She had barely slept the night before. Sitting against the wall, she held Noah tightly in her arms. The small wooden puppet, once a lifeless doll, was now the only presence in her world capable of answering her.
No, not a person. He was a puppet. A miracle.
Noah didn't speak much. He sat quietly on her lap, seemingly lost in thought. Anya gazed at him—at the neat seams along his joints, the fine woodgrain worn smooth with time, and those eyes, capable of blinking with surprising grace. A thread of uncertainty still lingered in her heart. Was this real? Or had hunger and exhaustion finally pushed her into a dream?
"Are… are you still here?" she asked tentatively.
Noah lifted his head slowly. His eyes glowed with a gentle light. "I've been here all along."
Relief flooded her chest. The heavy weight she'd been carrying finally loosened. She forced herself to her feet, trying to sound composed. "Shall we… give it a try?"
Noah didn't answer, only nodded silently. Then, with effortless agility, he jumped onto the table.
Anya froze again. He moved with clean, fluid grace—landing soundlessly, as if he belonged to this world all along.
"You… can move like that?" she murmured. "Without strings?"
Noah smiled faintly. "Didn't you say you didn't know how to control puppets? That means I have to do it myself."
Anya's face flushed. She muttered under her breath, "So you heard that last night…"
"I heard everything," Noah said, swinging his legs at the edge of the table.
Anya bit her lip, a wave of guilt washing over her. She'd never been good at puppetry. Her father had tried to teach her, but her clumsy hands had always tangled the strings and snapped the limbs. Eventually, she gave up. She would hum a lullaby or two in the street, hoping to earn a few spare coins. But even that barely kept them fed. The last bit of barley in the pot had already been boiled to mush.
She rubbed her empty stomach, heart sinking. Then she looked at Noah again. "Are you really sure you want to perform?"
Noah's eyes lit up. "I told you, I want to help."
Anya was silent for a moment. Then she nodded, solemn and sincere.
They began to prepare.
There wasn't much to prepare, honestly—they had nothing. The room was barren. Anya dug out a relatively clean apron from the wardrobe, tidied her hair, and carefully wiped the dust from Noah's body. Noah stood perfectly still the entire time, like he was taking part in some solemn, ancient ritual.
"All done." Anya stepped back, taking in the sight. "You… really do look like a real actor."
Noah turned to her, his gaze unwavering. "And you?"
"Me?" she blinked.
"You're the host. My stage. The one who gives me strength," Noah said with total seriousness. "You have to smile."
Anya burst out laughing. "When did you learn to talk like that?"
"Last night," Noah replied. "While you were crying, I was listening."
The sun slowly crept up over the eaves, casting a warm glow on the old wooden door.
——
Outside the theater, the plaza was bustling with life.
It was market day. Merchants from nearby districts gathered here to sell their wares. The calls of vendors, gossiping old women, and children chasing each other through the square all blended into a lively, messy hum. The air smelled of damp grass and smoke from cooking fires.
Anya stood behind a battered crate, a makeshift curtain draped in front of her. Behind it, Noah stood tall and straight.
She took a deep breath and shouted to the passersby, "Ladies and gentlemen, come have a look! Just one copper coin to witness the most extraordinary performance you've ever seen—an enchanted puppet brought to life!"
People paused, curious.
Noah stepped forward, leaping lightly onto the platform. Then he began to dance.
His movements were graceful and precise—arms outstretched, spinning, flipping backward—each motion smooth as flowing water. The children watching squealed in amazement, while the adults leaned in, curiosity giving way to awe.
Noah didn't just move well. He matched the rhythm of the music perfectly, mimicked human dance steps, and even pulled exaggerated faces that had the crowd roaring with laughter.
Anya stared, stunned. She had never imagined that a puppet could possess such spirit. He wasn't just performing, he was alive. He belonged to the stage as if it were the place he had always been meant for.
Coins clinked into her cloth pouch, one after another. The sound rang sweet in her ears, but her eyes were damp with tears.
"Noah…" she whispered, voice trembling. "You really are… a miracle."
——
As the golden dusk spilled across the plaza, Anya returned to the theater, her pouch heavy with coins.
Noah sat quietly on the table, watching her with clear, calm eyes.
"Did I do well?" he asked.
Anya poured the coins carefully into a drawer. Then, without a word, she ran forward and hugged him tightly. "You were amazing!"
Noah stiffened for a second. Then, slowly, he raised his wooden arms and wrapped them gently around her.
In that moment, he wasn't just a puppet. He was her companion.
Together, they sat side by side. The old theater felt a little less cold.
The wind still howled outside. The night was still long.
But at last, they were no longer alone.