Hattie is turning thirteen today.

Olga wants it to be a special day. She wants Hattie to smile, and blush, and share her presents with Olive-and be happy. She wants her little princess to shine. Shine like she's meanrt to, because she's meant to be so much. More than anything, she's meant to be perfect. And she looks perfect, in her little pink dress with all the frills and the bows, and the black bow that rests atop her head of bouncing honey-blonde curls. She looks like a little angel, with her pretty pink lips and her petite frame and Olga just can't wait to see her grow into herself. To see her blossom into a woman, a queen. Olga gave birth to a queen.

And she sees it, looking at her daughter, smiling at her, patting her head affectionately and kissing her cheek. She whispers an I love you, and turns away. She gives her little angel some time to herself, time to look at herself in her vanity mirror, and admire. Admire the beauty, the perfection.

Let her love herself.

After all, she's going to be queen one day.