The little girl wandered through the flower field, her mother too sick to play with her. She twirled barefoot, laughing as petals clung to her dress, unaware of the figure watching from the trees.

A tall man with dark hair and glowing eyes stepped forward, kneeling before her. "Do you play here often?" he asked, offering her a strange, glowing flower. She stared at him. "Who are you?"

"You may call me Grandpa."

She frowned. "You don’t look like a grandpa. You’re too young!"

He chuckled. "Then what shall you call me?"

She grinned. "Zaza!"

For the first time in centuries, Zypharoth laughed.