Her feet were tiny. Actually, that’s an overstatement, they were minuscule. She reminded me of a swallow on the wing, its little legs tucked up into its feathers, its claws going unnoticed. Where you and I might meander, she tottered. Where you and I might run, she staggered. To even balance in her children’s shoes was an achievement. In truth, I marvelled at her.
Her appearance was construed as comical by the populace at large. Women would point at her then talk behind their palms. Men would frown and then turn to other more complete figures. I imagined it might have broken some people, destroyed them, even. Not her. Not by a long shot.
No sooner had a man taken in her long, flowing hair, her exquisite torso, her curvaceous thighs, then followed it down to her stilted ankles, then he would mutter and move to the next prize…
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