I blinked. Hazel eyes?

  To hazard a guess, there must've been well over a hundred feet between the gate and the manor, and thus it was quite unlikely that I should have been to see such as small a detail with any clarity.

  Yet even now, I could see them in my minds eye. In fact, I felt quite certain of it. Bright, glimmering hazel eyes, like those belonging to a week-old kitten, pressed into a chiseled and slightly tanned face. He must've been around my age, or perhaps a bit older if by wrinkles in his forehead were anything to go by, and way his dark lips hooked made it look like he was smiling, even when he wasn't.

  I shook myself. This was, in no few amount of words, absolutely impossible, and I cosigned myself to the believe that my wild imagination was galivanting childishly through my own mind.

  In that case, I would quell it by force of will.

  I stood up sharply, and looked myself over. Fortunately, despite everything that had happened, I was as of yet still presentable, and I leaned down to brush some dirt off of my pant leg, determined to stay that way. I couldn't fully tear my mind away from the traumatic experience I'd just sustained, but it was enough, at the very least, to ground me in reality.

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  After a moment, I looked down at my duffel, which sat on the seat next to me, wondering once again whether or not it were truly wise to continue. I could return it and quit this whole enterprise, though I tensed slightly at the thought of returning to that mansion so soon after.

  I supposed that I could simply leave it there, but I knew my conscience would not allow me, and nor was I about to let an obligation I willing took upon myself go unfulfilled. There would be time enough for me to consider my life choices once the deed was done, and not a moment sooner.

  Thus, I foisted the bag once again over my shoulder, and endeavored to press on. Neither rain, nor snow, nor the incredulous leers of strange men from high windows were going to put me out what I stood to gain.

  From there, the task was much less eventful. I'd taken the time to plot my route to the address while I sat in the park, and despite the late start, I made it to the destination as the sky was turning purple from across the mountain ridges.

  The destination was, in fact, quite ordinary: that of a pastry shop, which at that very moment the proprietor was closing down. He greeted me with a smile, I produced the package, and he sent me away with nary a word on might be contained therein and a scone for my trouble. It was altogether an odd exchange, but I paid it no heed, altogether only too pleased to have accomplished my task.

  Before long, I once again set foot inside of my cozy apartment, closing the door behind me.

  Would that I could say that was the end of this tale, and surely I might have simply gotten on with my life just the way it had been before that morning began.

  But such a thing would not, I think, have made a very good story.