Her presence has always been known to Noriko; an ambiguous, fuzzy-grey presence that could only ever be ignored, or else addressed in a very awkward fashion by those around her.
Sometimes it was a good presence: a reminder that there was another member of the family out there somewhere, even if she was a mysterious one to the young princess. Noriko often imagined their first meeting to be a happy one. Maybe this woman was as kindhearted as her father, and would treat her with goodies and a hug, and a ‘look how big you’ve gotten!’ That’s what family did, after all.
But as Noriko grew older; grew out of her nickname; grew too attentive to turn a deaf ear to her parents’ conversation, she didn’t want to meet the estranged woman after all.
Her father would say the name with a note of pity to his voice, recall an old story that pained him, and would then change the subject as the anecdote became too heavy for those listening to bear.
And yet, through the years, Noriko was never afraid of the woman who had been lead astray. She was fearful for her, and perhaps even more fearful for herself. Because here was another elephant koi in the room:
The young princess looked just like her.
Naturally, she was aware of how often people said 'the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’. or even 'you are your grandmother’s spitting image!’ But it was when she had a fire in her eye, a glint of anger waiting to consume her (and never truly succeeding in it), they would take one look, and for a second, look away. And the presence was back, this time written on her forehead and in every feature she possessed.
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