11 years ago

"My mom said you’re good for nothing." Riley grins as she shoves me onto the mud‑soaked ground. Her circle of hyenas gathers around, snickering at my humiliation.

"You—" I shout, balling my fist.

"What? Are you going to hit me?" Riley tilts her cheek toward me, forcing her face close. "Here, here. Slap me."

The offer is tempting, but I know better. You don’t put your hands on Riley. I learned that lesson last year after too many beatings. Her father, the ogre, nearly killed me once. The only reason I survived was because I was presented as an Omega. Riley’s mother—the witch—had him drag me to a hospital, and ever since then I haven’t defended myself against her bullying. Whether it’s Riley or her minions, I endure it. At least I haven’t been beaten or punished like before.

"Wimp." Riley laughs as she steps away.

TING, TING, TING.

The bell rings, signaling the end of playtime. It means lunch, and like the hungry children we are, everyone bolts toward the creepy, dilapidated flat that passes for an orphanage.

Finally, I’m alone. Relief washes over me. I’ve known no other life than this place. The witch told me I was left on the orphanage doorstep more than seven years ago. I had nothing—not even a letter or a name to help the police find my parents. After a short CPS case, I was placed in the care of Rest Orphanage.

I lie back in the mud. My hair is probably a filthy mess, but I don’t care. I stare up at the sky, as cloudy as my life. Rain is coming. I close my eyes and inhale the scent of the storm.

Sleep begins to pull me under. Drizzle falls across my face until suddenly it stops. A shadow looms above me.

"This is the Omega?" A stern female voice cuts through the air.

"Yes, she is the Omega," the witch replies. I’d recognize her voice even with my eyes closed.

"All right. I’ll take her. You’ll receive your payment."

Payment? Take who? Me? Did the witch sell me? Questions swarm my head as I peel my eyes open.

A stern woman stands over me. She looks proper, clean, like a noble lady. Her black hair is pulled into a tight bun, her silver eyes piercing as if they see straight into my soul. Her face shows nothing—no emotion, no warmth. She holds an umbrella, shielding herself from the drizzle.

"Get up. No Omega must lie in mud." Her voice is sharp, as if I’ve committed a grave sin.

"Get up, child!" the witch hisses from behind.

I scramble to my feet, nervously running my hand through my muddy hair. I keep my head down, feeling like cattle on display.

"What is your name, Omega?" the stern lady asks.

"I... I don’t have one." My feet rub together nervously.

She reaches out, lifting my chin with her hand. "Your name will be Lorali."

Lorali. I like it.

"From this point on, you are an Omega of Alma."

I don’t understand what’s happening, but I know my life is about to change.