Entry Number 050603A

"I hate sand." She murmurs, her mechanical arm twisting at the wrist a few times as grains of sand spill towards the floor. "It's course, rough." Looking up to me, she runs a hand through her hair and looks away again. I'd never noticed how much she looked like the Supreme Leader, and maybe it was better that way. For her. "It gets everywhere."

I have no doubt she looks like her grandparents as well.