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Katarina is six, and her mom doesn't smile much.
That's been true for as long as Katarina can remember. She blames the servants. They're always withdrawn, scurrying away as soon as they can manage. Not one of them cares about her, and if she let them go they'd stop trying to please her at all! She knows what love is, adoration shone from down on high, but she only has the respect inherent to her authority from them.
She doubts they treat her mother any better. Hmph. -- Katarina is dressing down Anne, the only maid who's stuck around long enough for her name to linger, because her sheets weren't turned down the way she likes. She almost trusted her, but she should have known better than that.
"Daughter..." a voice says, lethargic, and Katarina turns.
"Mother!" Katarina says, and drifts towards her. Mom isn't as easy with her love as dad is, but it's always there.
"What's wrong?" mom asks.
"My maid has been neglectful of her duties," Katarina says brightly, and the maid flinches.
Mom turns towards Anne, but the sharpness of her glare peters out when she sees Anne's face. "Honey, she isn't in charge of your room this week, owing to an illness."
She doesn't tell her daughter to apologize, and Katarina doesn't offer. Instead, it occurs to Katarina that mom knows the servant's assignments.
"Mom, why don't you get better attendants for yourself, since they're upsetting you?" Katarina asks insistently, tugging at her sleeve.
"What? No, I have no problem with the household servants," she tells Katarina, leaning down.
Katarina stares her down. She hasn't really brightened, but Katarina can't see a lie in her words either.
Katarina doesn't know why her mom hasn't demanded happiness, but she breaks propriety to lock her arms around her mom's waist. Mom cradles her delicately, fingers tracing Katarina's scalp. Katarina's eyes close in bliss. She decides not to worry about it.
Katarina is eight, and since Keith was adopted into the family, mom has gotten even gloomier.
She's angry he's here for her own sake, because now dad smiles at him at dinner, and the little brother she sometimes wanted isn't here. Instead it's some stranger who barely talks and barely does anything at all.
He pretends to respect her, but he doesn't actually care about her. She knows the type.
"Mom, I don't want to call him my brother. He's not!" Her hands are on her hips, glaring sternly up, but mom just sighs.
"He's your half-brother, Katarina."
"But he's younger than me," Katarina complains, and when mom just stares down at her glumly things start clicking into place.
Mom isn't even properly angry now, but anger is familiar to Katarina, especially when there's wrong in the world.
He's a person who has no right to exist, not when mom was dad's wife!
She hopes that mom will remember that she's right to be angry, but whether or not she does, Katarina will do it for her.