Sometimes he was amazed by their similarity. Naturally light-colored, almost white hair, eyes of inhuman purple hue, some uncanny resemblance was peeking through even in their faces. Sometimes you could even mistake them for a father and daughter – and they would, too, if only he weren't sure he never had a daughter, and if only she didn't know for sure who was her real father.
The rest of townsfolk, however, were falling for that little illusion anyways. Old woman Josie who "daughter" sometimes visited, was talking about her as of "prettiest little dolly" and even that "you couldn't ask for a better girl".
Well, heck, they did play along anyway, and with pleasure. They called it among themselves "playing house".
At mornings, if they happened to wake up in one building, he always prepared breakfast for two. She tied his tie with her slender, a bit chilly fingers. When she walked in on him with Carlos – perfect and beautiful Carlos – she wasn't surprised much, instead offering them a cup of coffee. Or tea – which one would their guest prefer.
Later he found out about nonetheless perfect and beautiful Kanaya.
She was eager to know about town – sometimes he, as the older one and a local one of them, teased her about growing a third eye if she keeps this up. But that possibility, as it seemed, did not phase her for a smidgen.
She didn't appear at Christmas – much to his chagrin. A hand-knitted vest appeared instead, staring at its new owner with all of its seventy hand-knitted eyes. With the present came a postcard with a grass-colored sun against the space – mostly void, with a complete absence of stars – and with good wishes, written in her elegant handwriting, in her purple ink. In return, he left for her a postcard with winter town and a tape with weathercasts. Both presents had vanished in the morning.
She listened to all his broadcasts – at least, the ones she could catch – and later discussed them with him. She even took interest in seeing the Station Management, and even eagerly wanted to meet them, despite all his warnings. Sometimes, in turn, she shared her news with him, although she didn't like to talk about it much. More often she was making predictions – about future turns of events and everything else – and rarely was proved wrong. If City Council ever found out about her, they definitely would raise the topic of banning any clairvoyance practices.
One day she appeared home late in a form of a drunk mess. Giggling while he tried to take off her shoes, trying to hang on his neck, calling him "daddy" when she ever could spell that properly, and finally, falling asleep on his coach once her head touched the pillows. The morning she spent in a bathroom bawling in shame – although everyone knows it's not always safe to hide in your bathrooms unless you're hiding from helicopters painted with complex murals depicting birds of prey diving, which are much worse. He nearly came late to work that day because of trying to calm her down, and upon coming home found a long letter full of apologies and explaining. And of course, without a sight of her.
She knew Cecil's name but rarely spoke it out loud – claiming that names do not always matter. At least not here and not now.
He didn't know Rose's name but didn't really needed it. She liked to answer to his cute and a bit silly "Sunny".