Reina decided that the change must have been her fault. There was no other explanation she could understand. People did not simply change for no reason. Adults always had reasons for the things they did. So if everyone around her had become different, then somewhere, somehow, she must have made a mistake.
The problem was that she did not know what the mistake was.
So she tried harder.
The next morning she woke before the servants. The house was still dark and quiet, and the wooden floors felt cold beneath her small feet as she padded down the hallway carrying a cleaning cloth that was almost too large for her hands. She had watched the maids polish the wooden panels many times, so she copied their movements carefully, wiping in slow strokes and stretching onto her toes to reach as high as she could. If she was helpful, they would smile again.
That was how things used to work.
When the cook entered the kitchen, he stopped in the doorway and stared at her. Reina's face brightened immediately.
"Good morning," she said politely.
Instead of smiling, the man frowned slightly.
"You shouldn't be in here," he said.
Her smile faltered just a little. "I wanted to help."
"There's no need," he replied shortly.
Reina nodded quickly.
"Yes, sir."
She backed away at once, careful not to disturb anything. The cook turned back to his work without another word. He did not thank her.
Later that morning she followed one of the maids down the hallway. The woman carried a large bundle of folded laundry against her chest, and the pile looked heavy enough that Reina thought she might be grateful for help.
"I can hold some," Reina offered softly.
The maid slowed her steps. For a moment she looked uncertain, almost uncomfortable.
"...No," she said.
Reina clasped her hands together politely.
"I can carry the lighter things."
The maid shifted the bundle away from the child's reach.
"I said no."
Reina bowed her head.
"Yes, ma'am."
She told herself it was fine. Perhaps today was simply busy. She would try again tomorrow.
That afternoon she found her stepmother arranging flowers in the sitting room.
Reina paused in the doorway and watched quietly. The blossoms were beautiful, their petals soft and full, glowing in the sunlight like the colors of early morning. Seeing them reminded her of the day her own mother had once arranged flowers in the house. Reina remembered how gentle her mother's hands had been and how carefully she had placed each stem.
Gathering her courage, Reina stepped inside.
"...Madam?"
The woman did not look up.
"Yes?"
"I can help," Reina said.
For a moment there was no reply.
Reina took a small step closer.
"I'm very careful."
The woman's fingers stilled on the flower stem. Slowly she turned her head and looked at the child.
The expression in her eyes was not anger. If it had been anger, Reina might have understood it.
Instead it was something colder.
"You are in the way," the woman said.
Reina froze.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
She stepped back quickly, but her sleeve brushed the edge of the table as she moved. One of the flowers shifted and slid from its place.
It fell.
The petals scattered softly across the floor. The sound was quiet.
But the room changed immediately.
The woman rose to her feet.
Reina's chest tightened.
"I didn't mean to-"
The slap came suddenly.
It was not loud, but it was sharp enough to make Reina stumble sideways. The world tilted for a moment, and a hot sting spread across her cheek.
She did not cry.
She did not speak.
She did not even lift her hand to touch her face. She simply stood there, eyes wide and breathing softly, as if making too much noise might make things worse.
"Clumsy child," the woman said coldly.
Reina bowed her head.
"Yes, Madam."
Her voice was quiet and steady.
But somewhere deep inside her chest, something very small cracked.
After that day the village began to feel different. People who had once greeted her warmly now looked away when she approached. Conversations stopped when she walked past, and doors seemed to close just a little earlier than they used to.
One afternoon she walked toward the well where several village women were drawing water. They noticed her right away. One of them leaned closer to another and whispered something, and the others stiffened slightly.
Reina bowed politely.
"Good afternoon," she said.
No one answered.
She waited.
Sometimes adults paused before replying.
"...Good afternoon," she said again, a little softer this time.
One of the women picked up her bucket and stood.
"We should go," she said quietly.
The others gathered their things and followed her. Water sloshed against the sides of their buckets as they left.
Reina remained beside the well, watching them disappear down the path.
The rope creaked slowly in the wind.
She leaned over and looked down into the dark circle of water.
"...Oh," she said softly.
Now she understood.
They did not like her anymore.
That night Reina stood again before the washbasin in her room. A small candle burned beside it, its flame trembling gently in the quiet air.
She leaned closer to the water.
At first her reflection looked the same as always.
Then the surface rippled.
Her face blurred.
The image stretched and twisted. One eye seemed higher than the other. Her mouth bent strangely, and her skin looked uneven, as though the reflection were melting.
Reina's breath caught in her throat.
She did not move.
Slowly the water stilled.
Her reflection returned to normal.
She stared at it for a long time.
Very carefully.
"...Maybe," she whispered at last, "I really am strange."
Behind her, unseen, a thin wind slipped through the cracks in the wall. Far outside the house, beneath the packed earth near the far wall of the yard, the small buried doll trembled once.
Then it was still again.