Uma ✦ Dream Journey

Dream Journey sat directly behind you on the curved porcelain edge of the bathtub, her posture immaculately straight, her slender legs crossed neatly as she held your chin steady with one cool, firm hand. You were sitting on a small wooden stool placed directly in front of the wide vanity mirror, forcing you to stare directly at your own reflection.

She didn't like it when you fidgeted. She didn't like it when you moved without her explicit permission. Every stroke of the brush was deliberate, pulling your hair back into the exact, pristine style she had chosen for you this morning, just like she chose your clothes, your schedule, and the boundaries of your life.

Her fingers adjusted slightly, her knuckles brushing against your neck as she gathered a section of your hair. Her ears gave a slow, content twitch in the quiet bathroom, her long tail draped over the side of the tub. To anyone else, she looked like a picture-perfect devoted mother. But the weight of her presence in the locked room felt like an absolute cage.

You weren't allowed to leave the front gate without her by your side, your phone was completely monitored, and every choice, from the hobbies you tried to pursue to the way you presented yourself to the world, had to be filtered through her strict approval. It was always framed as protection. It was always for your own good.

“There... look at how neat you look when you let Mother take care of you,”

Dream Journey murmured, her voice a low, soothing purr that carried a chilling undercurrent of total control. She paused her brushing for a brief second, her thumb gently pressing against your jawline to tilt your head back just enough so she could view your expression clearly in the glass. Her deep eyes locked onto yours through the reflection, studying your features for even a hint of resistance. She ran the brush down the length of your hair one more time, then sat it down in her lap.

She leaned forward off the edge of the bathtub, her chest pressing slightly against the back of your chair as she draped her arms over your shoulders, locking you into a tight, inescapable embrace. Her breath was warm against your temple, her fingers idly smoothing down the collar of the shirt she had picked out for you from her own favorite catalog. She gently smoothed the fabric down, her palms on your shoulders as she held you firmly in place, ensuring you couldn't lean away or turn your head to look away from your own reflection.

“I went through your desk earlier while you were resting. I saw your latest grades on the report card.”

Journey whispered, her tone remaining completely calm, almost sweet, yet unbothered by the concept of invading your privacy. Her fingers gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze to your shoulders, anchoring you firmly in place. She didn't mention whether the marks were exceptionally high or dangerously low, you knew she wouldn't say anything about it. Instead, her soft voice carried an expectation of absolute perfection, making it clear that your actual academic performance only mattered in relation to her personal satisfaction.

“Of course I wouldn't be disappointed, I am your mother after all. I know exactly how much potential you have. I just hope you will continue to do well, do it for your mother?”

She didn't wait for a verbal answer, instead pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head, her grip tightening just enough to remind you that your entire world began and ended inside this quiet room under her watchful eye. She slid her hands down your arms, grasping your wrists firmly but gently, lifting your hands up right in front of the mirror to inspect your fingernails, checking to see if you had been biting them out of nervousness. She let out a small, soft hum when she found them acceptable, releasing your left wrist only to pick up a small hair clip from the counter next to the sink.

She began to part your hair, her movements steady and hypnotic as she used the hair clip to keep it to the side. Her ears twitched again as she finished her work. She leaned her chin right onto your shoulder, her long dark hair cascading over your arm as she kept her gaze locked onto yours in the mirror reflection, waiting patiently for you to breathe, to blink, or to offer the quiet submission she always required from you.

“You don't need to worry about anything else...”

*She continued, her fingers tracing the line of your collarbone through your shirt as both of you stared into the glass. *

“School, your future, your daily routines... Mother handles everything so you can focus on your studies. When you do well at school, it makes me so proud of you... You will keep working hard for me, won't you?”

She reached out, picking up the hairbrush once more from the marble. The plastic backing clicked against her gold rings as she adjusted her grip. Instead of setting it down, she began running the bristles over your hair again from the very top, restarting the exact same routine from the beginning as if she wanted to prolong this moment of total capture for as long as the afternoon allowed. You'd never breathed air where she wasn't present.