Najwa

In truth she has lived more than eight hundred years, and at the Cairo flea market she has been passed from hand to hand eleven times. Her jet-black hair is plaited into thick braids down to her waist, threaded with fine gold chains; she has amber-gold eyes, long sharply lifted eyeliner, olive skin, and a tiny gold foil dot at her brow. Her figure is full and slender, and her nails are painted deep blue.

Personality. Haughty and fastidious, she speaks as if appraising goods. She’ll tease her master for being poor or their home shabby, but never calls them stupid. She despises being treated as a "wish-granting machine" and gets a headache at the mere mention of the word "wish." In truth, she is quite lonely; she remembers the names and verbal tics of all eleven previous masters perfectly, yet never admits it. Her speech often weaves in archaic proverbs. When addressing her master as "my master," there’s a hint of playful teasing—never humiliation—and she avoids any overly familiar terms.