If she had not had such beautiful ankles, I would never have noticed that Anya Fedrova touched the world lightly.
It was a fine spring morning, the finest, a morning to fall in love with the world all over afresh. But being in love, already, with life, I fell in love that morning with Anya Fedrova’s ankles, and therefore noticed, as I watched them with idle enjoyment, that she did not disturb the dust where she trod, did not, in fact, touch the ground, except when she remembered the need.
And in that moment, I knew her.
So I must tread my precarious road to salvation alone, and Anya must cherish and protect a more worthy soul. It is as it must be, and I accept it.
Even so, if they do not wish us to be aware of our guardian angels, they should not make them with beautiful ankles.
For the image that inspired this, and to see other responses to the prompt, please visit Anonymous Legacy