T R I C I A
Ever since I found out my secret wasn't actually a secret, I've been restless. As much as I wanted to get my hands on something valuable, I knew the risks.
My mother, the cold hearted woman she was, had the sharpest eyes for her valuables. She would notice if even a single piece of jewelry was missing. I had to be patient. To wait for the perfect opportunity.
I followed her around the house, a shadow in my own home. I watched her routines, her habits, the way she moved through the house like she owned it, which, in a way, she did. She had always been meticulous, a creature of habit, and that was my only advantage.
It was so funny how I had every single trait of hers, our uncanny resemblance? Our hair, our facial features. Then when it came to personality traits, as much as
