The ivory halls of the manor keeps being decorated with the painting of my reflection, Mother tells me everyday that I should be blessed to be named after her. Father doesn’t speak of her, or rather— my name out loud. I think the family have been hiding things from me, or maybe I’m just delusional. But lately, I have been hearing that same tune when I’m alone.

But, either way, I’m Mireille Ilona. I think.