There's a memory Anya always returns to. It's fragile and precious. She never speaks about it, afraid it'll mean less if others know about it. Afraid it'll be distorted by words.
The memory makes her happy when she's sad. It gives her strength when she has little. It makes her work hard for what she wants.
She's not sure how much of the memory is real, these days. Or if it even happened - it was such a long time ago.
But the feelings are real. The strength it gives her is real. Reality matters less.