In a far-off town, there once lived a woman of unmatched beauty. Her smile was her greatest treasure—it was so bright and gorgeous that it could make a stranger's heart tremble. Everyone looked upon her with affection, and many desired to claim her as their own.
One day, a wealthy and comely merchant arrived in the town. They fell in love at first sight and were soon wed, living together under a grand roof.
As time passed, the merchant told her they were to attend the funeral of one of his relatives. "You must act overcome with sadness," he commanded. "You must weep loudly to preserve our prestige." Because she loved him, she agreed. At the funeral, she wailed and showed a deep, biting grief, though she did not know the person in the coffin or their connection to her husband.
Later, the merchant asked her to act joyful because his sister had given birth to her first child. She did not know the sister, nor the name of the child, but fearing she would damage his reputation, she agreed again. At the gathering, she forced herself to laugh and radiate joy. She looked at the infant and offered hollow wishes for a bright future, feeling nothing but the effort of the lie.
Another time, the husband received a gift. "I find this gift insulting," he told her. "You must scold the one who gave it to me." Though she secretly loved the gift, she decided that if her husband hated it, she must hate it too. She acted enraged, scolding the giver and demanding they never bring such a thing into their home again.
The years flowed by, and the merchant continued to dictate her heart. He told her when to be angry, when to be sad, and when to be glad. She was never permitted to express a single feeling of her own. What she desired and what she spoke were entirely determined by him. Slowly, she began to forget who she was; she relied on her husband to decide the very shape of her soul.
One morning, she woke up and went to her mirror. She gasped, but no sound came out.
Her face was empty.
There were no eyes, no nose, and no mouth. It was a blank, hollow surface. She could not remember what she used to look like, nor could she remember how a real smile felt. She stood there, a person without a presence.
Then, her husband entered the room. He did not seem to notice her blank face. "We are to meet an important guest today," he said casually. "Remember to smile the whole time."
At his command, a mouth reappeared on her empty face. It stretched reluctantly, pulling at the skin to form what was supposed to be a smile.
"Yes," she said, her voice echoing from the void. "Of course."