Kaya allowed herself the ghost of a smile.
"I've been told that before," she said. "So… can I ask you about the story?"
The old man looked at her for one more long moment—then sighed again, deeper this time, like a man about to open a door he'd kept locked for far too long.
"Fine," he said quietly. "But don't interrupt me. And don't ask me to repeat myself."
He looked at Kaya, his expression hard.
"Girl," he said quietly, "you shouldn't know about things you don't need to know."
"But I 'want' to know," Kaya replied.
The old man shook his head.
"Some things are good when they stay hidden."
"But sometimes," Kaya said, leaning forward slightly, "I want to know them anyway. I want the truth."
The old man's eyes narrowed.
"You really are an idiot child."
Kaya nodded without hesitation.
"So… will you tell the story to this idiot child?"
He sighed, long and helpless, like a man defeated by sheer stubborn will.
