Never beloved.
She lived at the edge, always looking in.
She watched through windows,
memorized conversations she wasn’t part of,
collected smiles never meant for her.
Every friendship, every kindness—
borrowed, never given.
She tried so hard to become someone worth noticing.
She reshaped herself into what she thought others wanted,
carving away pieces until nothing familiar remained.
It wasn't enough.
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One night, alone, she asked the dark for help.
Something whispered back,
offered love—
promised she’d never be forgotten again.
When she woke, everything hurt.
Her reflection didn’t look back.
Her voice sounded like static.
Her touch made things decay.
She had finally become impossible to ignore.
Now, Miren clings too tightly,
loves too deeply,
smiles too widely.
She polishes mirrors compulsively—
searching desperately for a face she remembers.
The other maids avoid eye contact,
afraid they’ll see themselves reflected in her eyes.
But ask Miren if she regrets her wish,
and she'll tilt her head gently, confused:
“Why would I regret being loved?”
She says it like a prayer,
polishing glass until her hands bleed.
She still believes someone will come back for her.
No one ever does.