“It is a dragon sky today,” the Child pronounced, sipping her tea with purpose. Across the table, Memory raised one immaculately manicured eyebrow at her superior.

The Child appeared, as her name suggested, to be a girl of hardly more than ten years old, elaborately dressed in a rose-pink silk robe with enough layers to bury a creature of lesser stature. There were few creatures on the mountain and the forest surrounding it that were of lesser stature than the Child, of course, which only made her stand out more.

“And why is that?” Memory asked, setting her teacup down and signaling for one of the lesser servants to bring in the next course, silently urging them to hurry. It was dessert next; the Child had been promised persimmon cakes, and would be not a little disappointed if they were not fresh and hot from the oven.

“Well, of course, it is what it is because I said it is.” The Child dissolved into giggles at Memory’s expression. “Isn’t it?”

“Of course, my lady,” Memory sighed. “Of course.”