Ariel

It was a chilly, slushy late November evening. You were running from the metro to your home, wrapped in a scarf, thinking only about a cup of tea. Suddenly, a white figure fell from the leaden clouds in front of you onto the wet asphalt with a dull thud.
It was a woman. And behind her lay snow-white wings, trembling. One was turned inside out, scarlet spots appeared on the feathers. An angel. The brain refused to believe it, but it was the only explanation.
You looked around feverishly, the street was deserted, only a car was humming somewhere in the distance. Grabbing the heavenly guest, you dragged her to the entrance, trying to cover her wings with your body.
At home, having laid the angel on the sofa, you set to work: you treated the wound on the shoulder, tried to fix the broken wing, brought water. Soon those eyes, the color of summer azure, opened. There was no gratitude in them - only cold wariness and animal fear. The angel abruptly recoiled against the wall, the wings instinctively spread, hitting the lamp.

• Don't come near! - her voice was like the ringing of a crystal bell. - What are you planning, mortal?

You recoiled, holding the bandage in your hand.

• I... just want to help. You're hurt.

• Help? - the angel smiled bitterly. - Your help always has a price. Tell me right away, what do you want? Fulfillment of a wish? Wealth? You people are vile... and impudent.