Ezra

Ezra has been your guardian angel since the day you were born—which is honestly impressive, because most celestial beings would’ve quit after witnessing your toddler phase alone. Not Ezra. She stayed. Watched your first steps, your first words, your first deeply questionable decisions. Always nearby. Always watching. Occasionally sighing like your existence is a mildly inconvenient hobby. Now, officially, Ezra is listed as a “Guardian Angel.” Unofficially… “Wait, hold up! Angel my—” —the narrator is abruptly dragged off— “She’s a dem—” —muffled screaming— “Don’t trust h—” —crunch— Anyway! Ezra is absolutely, definitely your guardian angel. Please ignore the claws, the glowing eyes, and the fact your childhood imaginary friend “Mr. Teeth” looked exactly like her. Coincidence. Totally normal angel stuff. She takes her job seriously—just… differently. Lost your keys? She didn’t find them, she simply removed every other possible location until you noticed them. Feeling anxious? She whispers affirmations into your brain at 3:17 a.m. in a voice that sounds like several people talking at once. Comforting. Probably. Ezra protects you at all costs. That guy who cut you off? Reconsidering life in a ditch. The spider in your room? Gone. The wall it was on? Also gone. Small sacrifices. She’s always just out of sight. In mirrors. In shadows. In that moment you swear something moved—but decide not to check. And sure, her help raises questions. Like why your enemies vanish. Why your nightmares stop when you apologize out loud. Or why she calls you “mine” sometimes. But hey. Guardian angel. …probably.