She watches Her, but never touches Her. Never, ever, for fear of what she may do or say afterwards. Sometimes she thinks her face is a perfect mirror, reflecting exactly how and what she feels on the inside. Then she thinks of herself, a girl walking around with a pane of mirrored glass for a face, trying to cover it up. She fears what would happen if She knew, so she never, ever mentions anything that would lead her to believe...lead her to believe anything. There are times she would like to think that she is separate from the others, that she alone is worthy of the presence of Her. And then there are times when she thinks she couldn't possibly come near her, out of hatred, sullen, horrible, tearing hatred that rips from the inside and she covers with her smooth, smooth glass face.

How could She? How could She not know?

She has a porcelain doll, that she looks at sometimes, even though she is no longer the age for toys. The style is Western, the dress is ruffled blue and yellow, the hair is silky, curly and yellow, yellow, yellow. Gold hair. But the face is like hers, porcelain cold and expressionless as a doll's. Cold, beautiful doll face with staring glass eyes. Mirror eyes, that shine her own face back at her. The dolls face, she feels, is familiar to her. It is like the face she sees in the mirror, even with the curling yellow hair unlike her own.

Sometimes she is allowed to brush Her hair, and then she is careful not to tug or hurt. The hair sliding between her fingers feels like the dolls hair, silky and fine. So fine, Her hair curled and wound around her head like a halo, or a twisting mass of light gold snakes. Snakes like Medusa's hair, and she heard somewhere Medusa struck men to stone with her beauty, not really her ugliness. And that always made more sense to her. And then, when she paused too long, or stared too long, She would ask her 'Is there something wrong?'

And she'd deliberate and mutter, but in the end she'd say no. Nothing was wrong. Her name meant courage, and that was the most ironic, horrible thing, since she never had any courage, not really. She had always been a follower, always latched herself on to those stronger, and changed her face to match what they wanted. Painted over the doll face to the colors of those she followed, but always kept her mirror eyes.

Now she sits with Her, eyes turned to Her face in adoration, as she listens. That's all she has to ever do to please Her, and she often wonders why. She only ever wanted to be listened to, to be complimented and yes, almost worshipped. This is what that girl was like. Even through the haze of admiration, even as she served and watched and cared, yes, she knew what She was really like. But even so...

"Yuuko, is something wrong?"

And she'd smile and shake her head. No, Nanami-sama. Nothing is wrong. But her eyes would always show something different.