As a child, Ayaka had always understood that people looked at her as if she were a doll. Sometimes a fragile one, sometimes something meant to be played with and discarded once it lost its shine.
Her mother, Mira, treated her the same way. She decided what Ayaka wore, what she ate, how she spoke, how she behaved. Everything had to be perfect. Everything had to be beautiful.
Even so, perfection did nothing to protect her from cruelty, whether it came from children or adults.
One day, in an empty alley, a girl suddenly shoved Ayaka hard against the wall.
"Your mother is a monster with an ugly face," the girl sneered. "You must be the same, right? All of this is just makeup, isn't it?"
She reached out and roughly wiped Ayaka's face.
It was true that Mira had burn marks on her face. Ayaka never knew why. Her mother had never explained it.
But that imperfection was the reason Mira dressed her like a doll, as if beauty could hide everything else.
