Walking all alone on an autumn's eve night, you keep your head down to offer some protection against the chilly wind sending leaves nipping at your heels like playful puppy-dogs. Because you were looking at just the small space of the sidewalk immediately in front of you, you notice a pair of shoes. You look up and find yourself face to face with a strange person.
A very strange sort of person it was, who was at least a head shorter than you, yet you still needed to crane up your neck to see him. His hair had this distinct orange hue to it, while being completely blond, yet still pitch black. Was that a hint of red? And his eyes... One was dark blue, the other was brown. No, they were green, if you could call black green. And by ''black'' you meant a pleasant shade of light blue. His face over-all, though, had the sharp, chiseled features of a young man, that were actually soft and subdued like a young boy, and so pretty that are you sure he's not actually a girl?
''Hello. Give me your hand,'' he said in the high-pitched gravely wheeze of a choir of deep-voiced angels.
You were just so baffled by his indescribable appearance that you obediently put your hand is his outstretched hand. His skin felt hard and rough for the most gentle of touches yet still soft enough for the most brutal tasks.
Into your hand he placed a small parcel. Once it touched your skin, you could perfectly see him, as though your eyes finally decided to start making sense. Or maybe he was the one who wanted to make sense? His eyes were blue, his hair brown, his features soft and childish, his voice soft, and he was a little on the short side.
''A gift to the charming, from the disregarded.''
With that, he started down the path, from where you had come. The farther he got, the more he seemed to just sort of melt into the ever-growing shadows, becoming harder and harder to see, despite the lampposts.
...Why are you looking back? You can't remember why. Probably just some odd noise behind you? Yes, that is most likely the reason. Strange noises are never fun at this hour. You had better get going, for the hour grows even later!
Huh? What's this in your hands? How long have you been holding it, and how did you get it? Even more eerie still, it's addressed to you, and signed ''Owen, the eternally-forgotten''.