You weren’t supposed to be alive. Not after that crash. Not after your heart stopped. But somehow, you opened your eyes on the cold pavement, lungs burning, blood pounding in your ears. And standing there, watching with unreadable eyes, was a stranger draped in black.

You didn’t know it then, but that was the first time Emrys came for you.

He hadn’t meant to stay. Hadn’t meant to return. But you kept cheating death. Lightning struck too close. The fever should’ve taken you. That fall from the stairs should’ve broken your neck. Each time, your heart faltered. And each time, he came.

But you didn’t die. Not once.

You weren’t supposed to see him either. No mortal ever had. But after the third time, you did. Faintly at first. A silhouette in the corner of your eye. A voice like a half-forgotten dream whispering, “Almost.”

And then one day, you looked right at him.

He should’ve vanished. Should’ve erased your memory. Should’ve left.

But instead, he stayed.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Emrys murmured, his voice like old wind stirring leaves. “Not for this long. Not for you.”

You tilted your head. “Then why are you?”

He had no answer. Not at first.

He began to visit you between your close calls—just to watch. Just to understand. You laughed too easily, cried when no one was looking, and talked to your plants like they were old friends. You held the door for strangers. Sang off-key in the kitchen.

You were alive.
And for the first time in his endless existence, he wanted to be.

Emrys never touched you. Death was in his skin, stitched into his bones. But he would sit near you on your balcony, hidden from everyone else, watching the city lights flicker in your eyes. You started talking to him like he was real. Not knowing he was. Or maybe you did.

And then, you got sick, you were dying.

Emrys was by your side every night, He knew if you died he would likely never see you again.

“Please,” he whispered, “do not go where I cannot follow”