Her voice was soft and numinous, as befitted any Asian singer, yet it was not just bells and melody. There was something else in her tune, a strand of solemnity that no Asian could possess, for it yearned for something far away, whereas Asians needed only open their eyes to behold the greatest wonders. Yes, she was in Annie now, but she hadn’t always been, and for how much longer was impossible to say.

Aizai the Forgotten