The first day felt strange.
Not loud.
Not frightening.
Just... wrong.
Like wearing someone else's shoes.
The house had changed overnight. Servants moved faster. Floors were polished twice. Fresh flowers appeared in rooms that had once been quiet. The new woman liked bright things.
Reina stood in the hallway holding her doll. It was made of cloth, stitched by her real mother long ago. The thread along one arm had begun to loosen, and one eye sat slightly lower than the other. It was not pretty. But it was hers. She hugged it gently and watched the sliding door where her new mother sat inside.
The door was open.
That meant she could go in.
She had learned that rule well.
The woman sat before a mirror while a servant brushed her hair. Sunlight caught the gold pins resting in the dark strands, making them glint like tiny flames. She smelled different.
Not like tea leaves or flowers.
Like powder.
Sharp. Sweet. Heavy.
Reina stepped inside quietly. Her small feet made almost no sound on the floor. She stopped a few steps away.
Waited.
Her mother had taught her not to interrupt adults. After a moment, she spoke softly.
"...Mother?"
The brush paused. The woman's eyes shifted in the mirror. She did not turn around.
"What is it?"
Her voice was smooth. But cool.
Reina brightened a little. She walked closer and lifted her doll.
"Do you want to play with me?"
Silence.
The servant glanced nervously at the woman's reflection. The woman's expression did not change.
"I don't play games," she said.
Reina nodded quickly.
"That's okay. You can watch."
She stepped closer. Just close enough to gently hold up the doll. The woman's brows tightened.
For a brief moment, something sharp flashed across her face. Not anger.
Something thinner.
Something colder.
Without warning she pushed Reina's hand away. The motion wasn't violent.
But it was firm.
The doll slipped from Reina's fingers and fell to the floor. The sound was soft. Just cloth against wood.
Still-
Reina froze.
The woman turned slightly now, looking down at her for the first time.
Up close, her eyes were beautiful.
And completely unkind.
"Do not call me that," she said.
Reina blinked.
"...Call you what?"
"That." Her gaze hardened. "Mother."
The word landed heavier than any slap. Reina looked down at the doll on the floor.
"Oh," she said quietly.
She bent to pick it up, brushing imaginary dust from its sleeve the way her real mother used to do for her.
"...What should I call you then?"
The woman did not answer immediately. She studied the child's face. Studied her eyes. Studied her mouth.
Studied... her resemblance.
Her fingers tightened slowly in her lap.
"You may call me," she said at last,
"Madam."
Reina nodded obediently.
"Okay, Madam."
She hesitated. Then carefully lifted the doll again.
"...Would Madam like to hold her?"
The woman's lip curled faintly.
She reached out not to take it. But to flick it from Reina's hands. The doll fell again. This time harder. Reina stared at it.
Not hurt.
Not angry.
Just confused.
Behind her, the servant shifted uncomfortably. No one spoke. After a long moment, Reina crouched and picked the doll up again. She hugged it to her chest.
"...She likes you," she said softly. "That's why she wanted to meet you."
The woman looked away.
"As long as you understand one thing," she said coolly.
Reina waited.
"I am not your mother."
Silence filled the room.
Reina nodded.
"...Yes, Madam." She said and bowed politely.
Just like she had practiced. Then she turned and walked out.
Quietly.
Carefully.
As if she were afraid her footsteps might bother someone.
Behind her the woman's gaze lingered.
And slowly very slowly her expression darkened.
"Such a pretty child," she murmured.
Not admiring.
Not warm.
Not kind.
Something inside her had already begun to hate.