Mom screamed. She swayed, and her knees gave way. With a thud, she fell to the floor. After some time, she returned to her senses.

She pointed at the body in disbelief. "W-What's her name?"

Someone answered, "I think she's called Xenia Hudson. What a nice name."

Another asked, "What's wrong?"

Like a puppet, Mom stood up stiffly. Her eyelashes trembled, and she seemed devastated. Reaching out, she tried to caress my face.

But alas, what she touched was a chunk of loose meat that would fall apart at the slightest touch.

After that, everyone else watched in confusion as Mom vomited a mouthful of blood. Her eyes were bloodshot.

In great pain, she mumbled to herself, almost inaudible. I could only hear parts of it. She was asking me to open my eyes.

I watched coldly as she wept on my shoulders and fainted in my blood.

I felt slightly pleased. Mom, I didn't know you'd cry for me.

…

It was the third day since Mom locked herself in the house. Endless feelings of remorse drifted into my spirit like starlight. I tried to move and was able to bring up a slight breeze.

The police called many times. They wanted my family to claim what I had with me before I died.

However, Mom seemed oblivious. She kept repeating, "My daughter isn't dead! She isn't dead. She hasn't seen the doll I bought for her. She hasn't heard my apology…"

She covered her face as sobs escaped the gaps between her fingers.

Just like that, she lay on my bed. She hugged my blanket and covered herself with my clothes. She kept sniffing them.

When the police arrived with my belongings, she no longer had the strength to stand. Her hair was a mess, and she appeared lifeless.

"These are Xenia Hudson's belongings in her bag when she died. Condolences."

At their words, Mom dropped to the floor from the bed. Struggling, she inched forward and picked up the item.

It was a bottle of specially formulated foundation. Mom usually used it when applying makeup for bodies.

I searched the entire city for it, but no one was selling it.

I was young and wasn't good with my words. When I asked about makeup for bodies, the shopkeepers would chase me out with a broom.

"How unlucky," they would say.

However, I remembered Mom lamenting how difficult it was to get the foundation. If so, why not I please her for once?

I searched long and hard. I didn't mind it at all when the shopkeepers splashed me with water. After much effort, I managed to buy a bottle of foundation, yet when I crossed the junction…

Mom must've recalled what she said. When she looked at the bottle again, her eyes were void of life.

Then, she cradled the bottle in her arms, tightening her embrace around it. "Xenia…"

When she heard of my death, Mrs. Turner visited with some candles. Mom had calmed down by then. She could open the curtains and greet Mrs. Turner emotionlessly.

"Xenia… We can't bring the dead back to life. You should also look after yourself. Otherwise, Xenia will feel sad if she sees you in this state."

She patted Mom's shoulder in comfort.

"No, she won't… I've been terrible to her…" Mom said, cradling the doll.

Tiffany looked out from behind Mrs. Turner. She was wearing a princess-style dress.

As she wrapped her arms around Mom's neck, she sweetly said, "Maria, don't be upset! You still have me."

Before Mrs. Turner could stop her, Mom grabbed Tiffany's fair arms so hard that she left a red mark on them.

She stared at the gold bracelet on Tiffany's wrist.

With all her might, she grabbed it and started to yank it off Tiffany. "This bracelet belongs to Xenia! Give it back to me! Give it back!"

Tiffany cried out in pain. Her hand turned a bluish-green as the bracelet got stuck on her wrist.