A/N: I do not own the characters or elements in this story that are canonically "Repo!Verse". Credit for Amber, the other Largos, GeneCo and a zillion other wonderful things go to the creators.


Most days, Carmela is her mother's shadow. It's not a bad thing to be. She's learned to count to one hundred in her mother's shadow, watching each rhythmic "swoosh" of the brush as Bianca Largo tends to her raven curls. She's learned that "eau de toilet" is the French word for "perfume" and that Pavi's silly for thinking it means something bad. She's learned all the words to a song called "Smile" that Mama sings like a mantra to her.

Which even five year old Carmela thinks is odd.

Because Mama doesn't smile often. Not at home, anyways. She smiles when the men in funny hats take pictures and when they go outside for big, boring parties. But not at the dinner table, not anywhere at home, except in front of her mirror.

She doesn't even smile at Daddy.

Carmela sits on a pouf beside her mother and finally, when curiosity has made her fit to burst, she asks, "Why do you smile at the mirror, but not at anybody else?"

Mama frowns and Carmela instantly regrets her question. It's the first time she's known regret. But Mama is so beautiful and so good that seeing her sad just about breaks Carmela's heart. She bites her quivering lip.

That's when Mama scoops her up and places her on her lap.

"Look into that mirror," says Mama.

"Is it magic?" Carmela asks.

"Maybe it is." Mama points to the reflections. "What do you see?"

"I see you," Carmela says. "And me."

She touches the cool glass with pudgy fingers. She traces over her mother's perfect, heart-shaped face.

"It's important to always love what you see in the mirror, Carmela," Mama says, talking into Carmela's wiry shoulder. "Don't you ever forget that."

"I'll always love you, Mama," Carmela promises solemnly. She takes everything her mother says to heart. But Mama shakes her head.

"I'm not talking about me," she says. "Who else is in that mirror?"

"Me," Carmela says, puffing up when her mother nods in affirmation.

"You've gotta always love you, Carmela," she instructs. "Whatever it takes and no matter what anybody tells you."

Carmela frowns. "What will people tell me?"

"All sorts of nasty things," Mama says. "They'll call you names."

"Like stupid?" Carmela asks. Luigi called her stupid at breakfast. "Or like Carmie?"

Pavi speaks funny, so everybody calls her "Carmie" to make it easier on him. But Mama shakes her head.

"People will say you're ugly," she says. "That you're worthless."

"Ugly" Carmela understands. Like the Ugly Stepsisters in Cinderella, who are forced to slice off their toes and their heels for a dance with the Prince. Or the Ugly Duckling, who blossoms into a swan. "Worthless", though, is a new concept. She frowns.

"Don't buy into that kind of talk, Carmela," says Mama. "That's what people want you to do."

"Why?"

"Because they're jealous," Mama tells her. "You're worth more than they are. And you always will be."

"Even if I am ugly?" Carmela asks. Her little lips twist. Again that word "worth". She doesn't know what it means, but she's scared to look stupid to her mother. Her mother is a smart woman. The smartest, according to Daddy.

"If you think you're ugly, my sweet," says Mama. She picks up her hairbrush and begins to brush Carmela's hair. She can feel the strokes slide through. "Just remember. You are in charge of your self-worth. You decide whether or not you're beautiful. Do you understand?"

Carmela thinks she does and she nods. And in the mirror, Mama smiles.