By the time Reina turned eighteen, the village had begun to talk.
Not loudly and never openly, but often enough that she could hear them whenever she passed by. The whispers followed her along the narrow roads, drifting between houses and market stalls.
"She's still here?"
"Eighteen already…"
"What a shame."
Reina walked with her head lowered, holding her basket carefully against the long sleeves of her kimono. Her steps were soft against the dirt road, steady and quiet.
"No one wants her."
"I heard they stopped asking years ago."
"Poor thing."
The words followed her like drifting ash: light, quiet, and impossible to brush away. She never reacted.
Reina had learned long ago that reacting would only make them look longer, and being looked at was dangerous.
Soon she reached the village well. She lowered the bucket, drew water, and lifted it slowly. As she turned to leave, the whispers continued behind her.
"At this rate she'll be a spinster."
"Eighteen and not even a promise."
"What family would take that girl?"
Reina adjusted her grip on the handle. Her hands did not shake. She had practiced holding things steadily for many years, even when her chest felt hollow. Without a word, she walked home.
The house was bright the following afternoon. Lanterns hung from the beams. Long banners of silk draped across the walls, and servants hurried from room to room carrying trays and decorations. Laughter echoed through the halls. But the celebration was not for Reina.
It was for Sakura.
Her younger sister stood proudly in the center of the main room, wearing a layered kimono embroidered with pale blossoms. Gold-threaded flowers climbed the silk like sunlight woven into cloth. Her hair shone under the lantern light, and her cheeks glowed with excitement. She looked like celebration itself.
Guests filled the house, important guests from wealthy families. They arrived in polished motorcars, wearing expensive fabrics and perfumes that lingered long after they walked past.
Reina knelt quietly near the doorway, holding a tray of tea. Her head remained lowered as strands of dark hair fell forward to hide her face.
Invisible.
At the center of the room stood a young man. He was tall and elegant, with the composed posture of someone raised in privilege. His suite was tailored perfectly, and his expression was calm and refined. When he smiled politely at Sakura, her cheeks flushed pink.
"The match is excellent," someone whispered.
"A fine family."
"Such a handsome groom."
When her name was called, Reina stepped forward and served tea to the guests one by one. Her movements were careful and precise. No one looked at her face. They only looked at the tea.
"That is the elder daughter," one guest murmured quietly to another.
The second man glanced briefly in her direction before quickly looking away.
"…Ah."
That was all.
Reina bowed, stepped back, and returned silently to the wall. Behind her lowered lashes, she watched Sakura laugh softly as the young man spoke to her. Their voices were light, easy, and warm like people who belonged naturally in the same world.
Reina did not feel jealous. She only felt distant, as if she were watching everything from underwater.
The next morning arrived quietly.
The lanterns had been taken down, the silk banners removed, and the laughter erased as though it had never existed. Only ordinary sunlight filled the courtyard.
Reina knelt beside the stone path, rinsing cloth in a basin of cool water. Each careful movement of her hands caused the surface to ripple slightly. As always, her sleeves covered her wrists completely, the damp fabric clinging to her skin. She did not look at her reflection.
Footsteps sounded at the gate. They were neither hurried nor hesitant, but measured and composed.
A servant slid the door open.
A woman stood outside.
She was dressed in fine clothing, though not extravagantly. Her layered silk garments were soft in color, her hair pinned neatly, and her posture straight and confident. She carried herself with the calm assurance of someone accustomed to being received politely wherever she went. Her gaze swept across the courtyard before pausing on Reina.
Not with disgust.
Not with pity.
Simply noticing.
Reina lowered her eyes immediately.
"I have come to speak with the master of the house," the woman said gently.
She was escorted inside.
Reina remained kneeling by the basin, her hands still submerged in the water. Her expression remained calm. But her ears listened. The voices carried faintly from the inner room.
They were polite voices, careful and controlled.
"I heard," the visitor said calmly, "that your elder daughter is not yet promised."
There was a brief pause before her father answered.
"That is correct."
"I have a son," the woman continued. "He requires a wife. If she is unclaimed, I would like to ask for her hand."
Reina's fingers stilled beneath the water. Her father answered without hesitation.
"She is available."
The words settled quietly in the air.
The woman nodded once.
"Then let us make arrangements."
There was no shock and no questions. There was no negotiation. Only agreement. Dates were discussed. Formalities were listed. Dowry arrangements were mentioned.
Reina resumed washing the cloth slowly and carefully, as though nothing had changed. Because in truth, nothing had changed. Her life had never belonged to her.
When the conversation ended, the woman stepped into the corridor.
As she passed the courtyard, she paused near Reina. Reina immediately bowed low in greeting.
The woman regarded her for a moment. Her gaze was not critical or cold. It was simply gentle.
"You must be Reina," she said.
Reina blinked softly.
"…Yes, ma'am."
The woman smiled. It was a soft and sincere smile.
"I am pleased to meet you."
The words were simple, polite, and ordinary. Yet no one had spoken to Reina like that in many years. Her fingers tightened slightly within her sleeves.
"…Thank you," she whispered.
The woman inclined her head politely to her as if greeting an equal before continuing on her way. Reina remained kneeling in the courtyard.
Still.
Quiet.
Something in her chest felt strange.
Not painful.
Not heavy.
Just unfamiliar.
That evening, Reina passed through the inner hall carrying folded cloth.
Voices drifted from behind a partially closed door. Her stepmother's voice and Sakura's.
"…Did you see that woman's face?" Sakura giggled.
Her stepmother laughed softly.
"I almost pitied her."
"Why would she want her?" Sakura asked.
"A desperate family," the woman replied smoothly. "I heard their son is over forty."
Sakura gasped.
"Forty?"
"And not entirely right in the head," her mother continued. "People say he rarely leaves his estate."
Sakura covered her mouth as she laughed.
"So he's old and strange?"
"Mm."
"Then they really are perfect for each other."
More laughter followed.
Light.
Careless.
Cruel.
Reina stood quietly outside the door, still holding the folded cloth. She did not move. Her face did not change. Her hands did not tremble. None of it surprised her.
Of course he would be old.
Of course he would be strange.
Of course no one else would want her.
That was simply how the world worked. Lowering her gaze, she turned and walked away. Behind her, the laughter continued. Ahead of her, only silence waited.