"Look at that, the Jefferson girl is causing trouble again!" A woman sitting beside her basket of yarn paused her work and turned to her husband. Their house was only separated from the Jeffersons' by a wooden fence; every noise from next door could be heard clearly.
"Oh, that girl Emily… honestly, I've never seen a child like her before!" the woman—Mrs. Wilson, to be exact—complained to her husband.
Mr. Wilson had been sitting quietly in his armchair, listening to his wife. He adjusted his glasses slightly and turned his head toward the window.
The Jefferson house was indeed noisy. Voices overlapped with the sounds of things breaking. Mr. Wilson shook his head and lowered his gaze back to the newspaper in his hands.
"The Jeffersons really have it rough," Mrs. Wilson clicked her tongue.
"They were kind enough to take that girl in, and yet it's nothing but trouble. We're truly lucky to have a child like our Veronica." She suddenly shifted the topic, smiling proudly. "This morning, I met Miss Ashley and we talked about her studies. Oh, I was so delighted. Listen to what she said."
Mrs. Wilson straightened her back.
"Veronica is one of the most intelligent girls I've ever taught." Her face turned serious, as if she were Miss Ashley herself.
"She completes every task perfectly, she's obedient, hardworking, and loved by everyone."
Returning to herself, she looked at her husband.
"See?" she said, unable to hide her pride.
Mr. Wilson nodded. Their daughter truly was exceptional.
"Perhaps we should get her a gift?" he suggested. "I remember the last time we passed by a shop, she seemed to really like a dress there."
Mrs. Wilson smiled. "I already bought it," she said. "Our daughter—"
Both of them suddenly stopped and looked toward the door.
A little girl was standing by the fence. She looked about eight or nine years old, wearing a dark blue dress. Her hair was tied into two braids falling over her shoulders. One leg was hooked over the wooden fence—she seemed to be trying to climb over.
"Oh my…" Mrs. Wilson gasped.
Emily jumped down on the other side. She stood by the fence, looking at the Wilsons, then lowered her head.
"I'm sorry for climbing over without permission. My aunt locked the door." The girl gave a mischievous smile, bowed once more, then disappeared beyond the fence.
"There… do you see that…?" Mrs. Wilson trembled, pointing toward the fence, unable to finish her sentence.
"Alright now…" Mr. Wilson patted her shoulder and sighed.
Emily ran across the village fields. From afar, she looked like a small moving dot of blue, flickering through the waves of golden crops. She ran tirelessly, flowers and grass clinging to her dress, but she paid them no mind, heading straight forward.
She finally stopped beneath a tall tree.
"Dan, I'm here," she said.
Emily sat down at the base of the tree. This was her secret place. Dan was the name she had given the tree.
"Dan, a lot happened today," she said.
"I made my aunt angry. But you know what? She acted so strangely. She locked me in, but then she shouted as if I had locked her in instead. Oh—and everything got broken." Emily giggled.
"I ran away. The Wilsons looked shocked when they saw me. I explained, but I don't know if they believed me. I guess they didn't. So I ran all the way here, to you, Dan."
She tilted her head up; dark green leaves reflected in her eyes. Emily wrapped her arms around her knees and lowered her face.
"I wish I didn't think so much. They make me feel so sad, Dan… I don't want to have so many feelings," she whispered. Luckily, only here.
"Is that so, little girl? Do you truly not wish to carry so many emotions?"
A voice suddenly spoke beside her ear, accompanied by a faint rattling sound.
Emily jolted to her feet in shock. Standing before her—she didn't know since when—was a man.
He was tall. His hat cast a shadow over half his face. He wore a long, flamboyant coat that didn't quite fit him, and when he lifted his head, Emily saw a white mask covering his face.
She stepped back. The man was… strange.
"Don't be afraid, don't be afraid," the man said, stepping back slightly.
"Who are you?" Emily cried, her fingers clenching tightly.
"I am Tom. That's what people call me," he replied. "Little girl, don't be scared. I'm just passing by."
Emily looked at him with suspicion. Tom noticed, and took another step back.
Suddenly, he tripped over a tree root. With a startled cry, he fell to the ground.
"Are you okay?" Emily asked hesitantly.
"I'm fine." Tom shook his head and stood up, brushing off the dirt.
"Little girl, I believe we should make a deal," he said.
"I think I can grant your wish."
"What do you mean?"
"I heard what you said. You don't want to be hurt by others. I think I can help."
"I don't need help," Emily snapped, anger rising as she realized her secret had been overheard.
"Oh, come now. You're too quick to anger. That's exactly why others can hurt you so easily. You're sad, and you need a true friend. What if I told you I could take away those tangled emotions… and make you happy?"
"No one would ever be able to hurt you again. You would live happily—no sadness, only joy."
Emily looked at him steadily, her face calm.
"Why do you want to help me?" she asked.
The man seemed surprised. As if her question was something unusual.
Tom sat down beneath the tree. "This seems like a fine resting place. And its owner deserves something better than sorrow."
He lay back against the roots, his colorful clothes coiling around him like a serpent.
Emily watched him. After a long moment, she slowly sat down.
"Do you really know what I need?" she asked.
"You can trust me just this once, child. Give me your sorrow, and you will be happy."
"How could I even give it to you?" Emily laughed.
"If sadness and pain could be taken away, then everyone would be happy, wouldn't they?"
Tom smiled. Suddenly, his voice seemed right beside her ear. Beneath the mask, his gray eyes stared intently at her.
"Would you like to try, little girl? Give me the emotions you despise… in exchange for happiness?"
Tom pulled out a small bottle.
It was tiny, transparent, with a faint silver-gray mist swirling inside.
Emily was drawn to it, as if hypnotized. Her fingertips touched the glass. A cold sensation pierced through her skin, seeping into her bones.
"I agree," she said.
The stranger smiled.
He slowly opened the bottle.