Archer looked into Hannah's eyes.
She was still smiling, the innocent smile that one her age ought to have.
But the blood coursing through her veins was black.
"Hannah, I have to survive, don't you want to survive too?" she asked Archer.
Archer fell silent for a moment, then said, "I'm sorry."
He reached out, lifted Hannah off the table.
The little girl only reached up to his chin.
He could see her fluffy head top just by bowing his head.
"It's okay, I'm not mad at you," she smiled, lifting her head and lightly touching her eyes.
The meaning was clear without words.
Archer obediently squatted down, head lifted, eyes downturned.
Sunlight filtered through the window.
Sunlight after the rain.
Warm and dazzling.
Hannah reached out, gently touching the young boy's long eyelashes.
"So beautiful," she said.
The youth's eyelashes trembled, kneeling on one knee, fists clenched on his thighs.
For Hannah, Archer was her favorite doll.
