Date: The 12th Day of the Month of Wind, Year 1107 of the Imperial Calendar.
Location: The Dining Hall, The Kael Merchant House.
If Aanya was the tragedy of the Kael household, Riya was the insurance policy.
At fourteen, Riya was undeniably pretty. She had her mother's sharp chin and her father's calculating eyes. Her hair was a lighter shade of brown, curled into perfect ringlets by her maids every morning. She was healthy, she was charming, and she was untouched by fire.
For seven years, ever since the boiling water had ruined her older sister's face, Riya had been raised with a singular, whispered promise:
"When the time comes, if Aanya is too hideous, you will take her place."
It was a strange burden to carry to be the "Plan B." Riya had grown up half-hoping for the throne and half-fearing the scar. She had watched Aanya become a ghost in the attic, a cautionary tale told in hushed tones. And as Aanya faded into the shadows, Riya had stepped into the light. She got the new dresses. She got the dance tutors. She got the parents' attention.
But today, the light had shifted.
Riya sat at the long mahogany dining table. Her posture was perfect. She was wearing a new gown of pale blue silk, expecting her mother to compliment it.
But Elara wasn't looking at her.
Elara was staring at the staircase, her hands clasped together in nervous excitement. Kael was pacing near the window, checking his pocket watch.
"She is late," Kael muttered. "The dressmaker is coming at noon. She needs to eat."
"Be patient, Kael," Elara soothed, though her eyes remained fixed on the stairs. "She is getting used to the... weight."
Riya stabbed a piece of sausage with her fork. "She's just milking it," Riya said, her voice dripping with teenage petulance. "It's just makeup, Mother. It's not a coronation."
"Silence, Riya," Kael snapped, not even turning around. "You do not understand. It is a masterpiece. It is our salvation."
Riya gripped her fork tighter. Our salvation. For the last three years, she had been their salvation. Now, she was just the noise in the background.
Then, footsteps echoed on the stairs.
Aanya descended.
She wore a simple morning dress of cream linen, but she moved with a terrified, rigid grace. She reached the landing and stepped into the shaft of sunlight pouring through the high windows.
Riya looked up, ready to sneer.
The sneer died on her lips.
Riya had seen the scar many times. She had seen the red, twisted meat that made her stomach turn. She had seen the monster.
But the girl standing on the stairs was not a monster. She was... perfection.
The artificial skin reflected the light exactly like real flesh. The symmetry was unnerving. Aanya looked like a painting that had walked out of a frame. She was more beautiful than Riya. Much more. It wasn't even a competition.
"Oh," Riya whispered, the fork slipping from her fingers and clattering onto the plate.
"Aanya!" Elara rushed forward, beaming. "Sit, sit! Here, facing the window. Let us see how it looks in the morning light."
Aanya sat. She moved stiffly, like a porcelain doll afraid of cracking. She didn't look at the food. She looked at her lap.
"It holds," Kael breathed, leaning in close to inspect Aanya's face. "No peeling. No discoloration. Thorne is a genius."
"Eat, darling," Elara pushed a plate of fruit toward Aanya. "But be careful! Do not open your mouth too wide. Cut the melon into small cubes. We don't want to stretch the resin."
"Yes, Mother," Aanya said softly. Her voice sounded muffled, as if coming from behind a wall.
Riya sat on the other side of the table, burning.
"Mother," Riya said loudly. "I need new shoes for the Spring Festival. My toes are pinching."
"Not now, Riya," Elara dismissed her with a wave of her hand, not looking away from Aanya's cheek. "Wear the old ones. Or ask the maid to stretch them."
"But you promised!" Riya protested. "You said when the ships came in—"
"The money is for Aanya," Kael cut in, his voice cold and final. "We spent five hundred gold coins on this face, Riya. Five hundred. There is no money for shoes. There is no money for sweets. Every copper we have goes to ensuring she becomes Empress."
Riya felt the tears sting her eyes. Not tears of sadness, but of humiliation.
She was the Spare. The backup generator. And now that the main power was back on, she had been switched off.
"I'm not hungry," Riya spat. She threw her napkin onto the table and stormed out of the room.
Neither of her parents watched her go. They were too busy watching Aanya chew a cube of melon.
Riya found Aanya an hour later in the garden.
It was the first time in years Aanya had been allowed out without a veil. She was standing by the rose bushes, staring at a butterfly. She looked ethereal, like a forest spirit.
Riya hated her for it.
Riya marched across the grass, her heels sinking into the soft earth.
"Enjoying the sun, Sister?" Riya asked, her voice sharp.
Aanya jumped. She turned slowly always slowly now, never turning her head too fast. She looked at Riya with those sad, violet eyes.
"Riya," Aanya said. "I didn't hear you."
"Of course you didn't. You're too busy being the Golden Child again," Riya crossed her arms. She stepped closer, invading Aanya's personal space. She stared intensely at Aanya's right cheek.
"It looks fake," Riya lied.
Aanya flinched, her hand twitching toward her face before stopping. "It... does?"
"To me it does," Riya sneered. "I know what's underneath. You can paint a corpse, Aanya, but it's still dead meat."
Aanya lowered her gaze. "I know, Riya. I know what I am."
"Do you?" Riya walked around her, circling like a shark. "Father thinks you're the Empress. Mother thinks you're a goddess. But you're just a trick. What happens when the Emperor touches you? What happens when he tries to kiss that cheek? Will it taste like chemicals? Will it melt?"
"Stop it," Aanya whispered.
"I'm the real one," Riya hissed, stopping in front of her. She pointed to her own face. "This is skin. This is flesh. If I bleed, I bleed. If you bleed, you just crack."
"Why do you hate me?" Aanya asked, looking up. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for the accident. I didn't ask for the mask."
"I hate you because you consume everything!" Riya shouted. "For seven years, the house was dark because of you! We couldn't have parties because of you! And now? Now that you're 'fixed,' you take all the money again! I am the healthy daughter! I am the one who didn't ruin everything! Why am I the one being punished?"
Aanya looked at her sister. She saw the jealousy, yes, but she also saw the loneliness. They were both victims of the same greedy parents. One was tortured with pain, the other with neglect.
"You are lucky, Riya," Aanya said softly.
Riya laughed bitterly. "Lucky? I'm wearing last year's dress while you wear a five-hundred-gold face."
"You are lucky," Aanya repeated, stepping closer. "Because when the Emperor looks at me, he sees a product. When Father looks at me, he sees an investment. But nobody owns your face, Riya. You can smile when you want. You can cry when you want. I... I cannot even weep, or my face will dissolve."
Aanya reached out and touched Riya's hand.
"Do not envy the mask, Riya. It is heavy. It suffocates."
Riya stared at her. For a moment, the anger wavered. She looked at the perfection of Aanya's cheek and imagined not being able to feel the wind on her skin.
But the jealousy was too deep. Riya pulled her hand away.
"Save your pity for the Emperor," Riya spat. "I hope he chooses you. I hope he takes you far away to the palace so I never have to look at you again."
Riya turned and ran back toward the house.
Aanya stood alone in the garden. She touched a rose petal. It was soft, velvety. She rubbed it against her left cheek. It felt cool. She rubbed it against her right cheek.
Nothing.
She watched Riya run.
"I hope he chooses me too," Aanya whispered to the wind. "So you can be free."
Up in the window of the master bedroom, Kael watched the two girls. He didn't care about their conversation. He only cared about the visual.
"Look at the contrast," he muttered to Elara. "Riya is a common flower. Aanya... Aanya is an orchid made of glass. We made the right choice."
"Yes," Elara agreed. "As long as she doesn't break."
The Spare Heir had been discarded. The Porcelain Doll was back on the shelf, ready to be sold to the highest bidder. And the cracks in the family foundation were now too wide to ever be repaired.