It could be her. Mama. Her hair falls in waves, to match her look at an old awards show, and the gown is a square-neck red brocade bustier dress with a cascading hem, just like one Tai took from Mama’s closet before so much was auctioned away. The figure turns, and her large eyes blink at me, one dilated with a dark blue contact on it, the other sleepy and doelike brown.

“You. You little creature. You smell like old soup. When’s the last time you had a hot bath?” she asks, but there’s a smile playing on her lips. A sadness to her eyes, too. “How did you get back here?”

I cross my arms and lean against the wall. “It’s not a bad impersonation.”

“Impersonation?” she scoffs, patting at her waves. “My dear, I am honoring her.”

“Were you honoring her at Mrs. Arakit’s house when you left a message for Brando?”

Her full lips clamp shut, and she turns back to the mirror, fiddling with the other contact in solution on the vanity. “So you met him.” She pauses, places the contact in, and stares at me with fluid pooling at her lashline. She fans her face. “Oh, Brando.”

I shift weight onto the balls of my feet. “Who is he?”

She catches my eyes in the mirror and sighs. “Sit down, child. Let me tell you a story.”

“I don’t want a story.” But I sit anyway, drooping into the fluffy ottoman next to me and rubbing my temples. “I’m tired of stories.”

She adjusts the cleavage of her dress and clucks her tongue. “Sometimes stories are truer than real life, wouldn’t you say?”

I’m silent.

“Once upon a time, a boy born a little different—a bit too smart for his own good, as so many are—became obsessed with a famous, magical, splendid woman who lived a continent away. She represented everything he wanted: an escape from a difficult, mundane life, a chance at being extraordinary. He found his way to her country and secured a job—albeit a low-paying one—with her brilliant husband through intelligence, sheer force of will, and no small amount of luck.

“The woman became close to this boy, took him under her wing, but he found that in the end, she could give him nothing that would make him feel like he belonged permanently. He sought a way to ground himself, to define himself as special and beloved forevermore.

“In the end, he found a way to prove himself extraordinary in the woman’s eyes: he would heal a friend’s pain, in a way only he could. The woman had inspired him—even encouraged him.

“But that went horribly wrong, and the boy’s friend was hurt beyond repair.