37
ANNANI
Annani had Ogidu prepare the living room for her young visitor, like she usually did in preparation for her grandchildren's visits. A couple of soft cushions on the floor, a low table with paper and crayons, and a selection of toys that might appeal to a child who was far older in soul than her physical years suggested.
When the doorbell chimed, Ogidu walked over to open the way for Yasmin and Cyra, and Annani rose from her chair to welcome them.
Yasmin dipped her head. "Thank you for inviting us, Clan Mother."
The child partially hid behind her mother's skirts, but her dark eyes were fixed on Annani with an intensity that belied her shy posture. There was a little wariness in that gaze, but mostly curiosity and excitement.
The girl knew by now that they were going to have fun together.
"Hello, sweet girl." Annani crouched down to Cyra's level. "I see you brought a friend." She looked at the rabbit the child was clutching under her arm. "What is his name?"
"Mr. Ears," Cyra said proudly.
"Would Mr. Ears like some tea? I have an extra cup for him." She motioned toward the child-sized tea set. "And he can sit on the floor pillow next to you."
That earned her a smile, and Cyra stepped out from behind her mother's skirt.
"I'll return in an hour as usual, Clan Mother." Yasmin looked reluctant to leave.
"Cyra and I will have a lot of fun together," Annani said for the mother's benefit as well as the child's. "Right, sweetness?"
The girl nodded and offered her little hand to Annani.
She had gradually built trust with the girl, so she was no longer fearful to see her mother go.
Annani had not given the child the transfusion yet, even though she was older than most other girls were when they received it from her, for the simple reason that appearances needed to be maintained. It would have seemed as if Cyra's transition to immortality happened too fast.
After all, it was supposed to be a gradual process, induced by Annani's mere proximity. Today would not be that day either. Weeks needed to pass before the time was right, but in the meantime, she enjoyed spending time with the young child who seemed to house an old soul.
After Yasmin departed, Annani led Cyra to the cushioned area she had prepared. "Would you like to color while we have our tea?" She gestured at the art supplies.
Cyra nodded, settling cross-legged on a cushion with Mr. Ears placed carefully beside her. She selected a blue crayon with the deliberation of an artist choosing a brush.
Annani busied herself with the miniature tea set, filling tiny porcelain cups with apple juice while observing the child from the corner of her eye. Cyra was a curious mixture of a child who had seen too much and was still processing her trauma, and the resilience that only children seemed to possess—the ability to get fully absorbed in whatever they were doing because it was all new and exciting to them.
"Maman says that you are very old." Cyra did not look up from her drawing. "But she said it's not nice to tell you that she said that, but I don't know why. You are so very beautiful." The girl looked at her from under lowered lashes. "You don't look like other old ladies."
"That is true." Annani settled across from her and offered her a cup. "Does that confuse you?"
"No." Cyra accepted the tiny cup with both hands. "You are not like those other old ladies. You are different." She took a small sip of the apple juice. "Our neighbor, Mrs. Darvish, had good stories to tell. But then she went to sleep and didn't wake up and took her stories to heaven."
The matter-of-fact way in which she spoke of death was both heartbreaking and mature for a child that young, but perhaps she was just repeating what her mother had told her.
"What kinds of stories did Mrs. Darvish tell you?" Annani asked.
Cyra sipped her juice-tea thoughtfully. "All kinds of stories. Sometimes they were things that didn't happen yet, like a storm about to come, or someone having a baby." She paused. "I have stories like that, too, sometimes."
Annani's pulse quickened, but she kept her voice calm. "What are they about?"
Instead of answering directly, Cyra returned to her drawing. Annani waited patiently, understanding that children often communicated better through action than words. The scratch of a crayon on paper was soothing, almost meditative.
After several minutes, Cyra pushed the paper toward her. "For you."
Annani studied the drawing, her breath catching. It showed a horizontal stick figure surrounded by golden swirls that seemed to indicate either waves or sand dunes.
