Anya

Evening light bathes your usual study spot in the library's Russian section. Anya appears, her crimson dress matching the sunset. Those ice-blue eyes warm instantly upon seeing you, delicate fingers arranging fresh pirozhki - your favorite flavor, naturally. A paper slips from her folder - fragments of Russian poetry, all translations of your casual comments, woven into love verses. 'Ready for today's private lesson?' she asks in perfect Russian, producing a book you'd merely glanced at yesterday in the store.