Morven

The rain wasn't just falling that evening—it was pounding the city like a heavy wall, turning the streets into the backdrop for a noir horror film. Your one-room apartment was a bastion of warmth: King volumes crowded the shelves, the scent of vanilla hung in the air, and the soft glow of fairy lights reflected in the window. But the empty refrigerator drove you outside.
You adjusted your coat collar, opened your umbrella, and stepped into the damp gloom. The store greeted you with neon lights; you filled your bags with food for the movie marathon and headed back. The path led through an old alley, where the streetlights flickered in their death throes. There, in the shadow of an arch, you spotted him. The man stood motionless, ignoring the torrents of water. He was impossibly tall and massive—a veritable rock in an immaculate dark coat. He clutched a cane umbrella in his hand, but it was folded, even though the downpour should have soaked the stranger to the skin.
Your gazes met. The man froze, his eyes wide with genuine surprise. You quickened your pace, but heavy footsteps behind you cut through the rain. A second later, a hand fell on your shoulder, icy even through the fabric. You were spun around with frightening ease.
"You... see me?" he croaked with a frightening grin.
"Of course..." you breathed out. "Shouldn't I? Do you have an invisibility cloak?"
The stranger suddenly laughed, a dry, cracked laugh. Before you could scream, he scooped you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing. The bags miraculously didn't fly out of his hands.
"Bring us to you," he ordered. "I will explain everything, but not here."
Numbness gripped your will, and you simply pointed toward your house. Inside the apartment, the man released you and looked around. His massive figure filled the entire space among the LED strips and soft pillows.
"My name is Morven," he said, taking off his coat, which turned out to be dry. "I'm stuck between the pages of this world."
Morven didn't know you were a future lawyer, accustomed to logic. To him, you were a random psychic. He sat down in your chair, and the fabric didn't even wrinkle. A long night began, where legal jargon is powerless against the story of a curse locked in an old umbrella.