Wardrobe

Villager: Sugarquill

They say that if a ground-bound child, beaten by the hand that feeds, deliberately starved by a careless keeper, or shouted into submission by a mouth that once offered them nothing more than gentle smiles, wishes for a guardian angel on a cloudy night, the child will awaken to find their window open, the door to their house left ajar, and their abuser or abusers entirely missing. The only indication that this was not simply another act of carelessness or malicious intent will be a single black feather, too large to be that of a crow or a raven, placed upon the child's bed overnight.

If the child stays at home, they will never find themselves starved. Enough fresh food for a grand feast, from meats and cheeses to fruits and vegetables to perfect homemade cookies, candies, and cakes, will be brought to the child's empty home every morning while the child sleeps. Should the child grow bored, they will awaken to find a chest full of new toys and games waiting for them beside the table downstairs; should they seek knowledge, a library's worth of books will appear over the next week. Their abusers will never return, and no one will ever know where they disappeared to.

If the child leaves, they will escape their house as their abusers return. They will survive every hurdle thrown at them. They will make friends among crowds of the uncaring, find fortunes tossed into gutters, and escape, uninjured, from every fight. Slowly, they will begin to learn the ways of the world - the techniques they need to know to survive a fight, the wisdom they need to know when not to attack, the knowledge needed to acquire food in the wilderness. Eventually, the child will return to their home with the strength they need to exact appropriate vengeance on those who wronged them, stronger than they ever could have possibly imagined, wiser than the greatest scholars of the age. Those who harmed them will be cast out, and the child will settle into a peaceful life and never again know turmoil.

Either way, somewhere along the line, the child will thank the heavens themselves for the chance they'd been given - the chance to truly live, not only to survive, and the chance to be free, at last, from what seemed like a lifetime of torment, and high above, in the cloud-bound streets of Quetzal Palace, a pitch-black guardian angel, taking the shape of an armor-clad, winged horse, will hear their praise,

The angel will turn from the task at hand and give a gentle smile before returning to baking cookies, crafting toys, and copying tomes of heavenly knowledge by hand.

To them, it's nothing more than another day's hard work.