Lorali

Three Weeks Later

I feel like I’m forgetting something, whatever, for the past couple of weeks, every single weekday without fail, I’ve made it my goal to watch Sash skate. I never arrive late. In fact, most days I come earlier than her, waiting in my corner like a shadow. This place, and she herself, have become my sanctuary.

I stand where I always do, pressed against the wall, watching her glide across the ice. I’ve memorized most of her routine by now, every spin, every leap, every graceful landing. I know exactly what’s coming, and yet I never grow bored. Each repetition feels new, refreshing and as if her movements cleanse the air around me.

But today, something changes. She stops spinning mid‑routine, breaking the rhythm and confusing me. My heart stutters as she glides toward the half‑wall that circles the rink, her skates slicing the ice with sharp precision.

"You in the corner," she calls, her voice carrying across the cold expanse. "How long do you plan on watching me?"

My blood runs cold. She’s pointing at me. Can she see me? Has she been able to see me all this time?

"If you don’t come out of the shadows, I’ll call security and get you banned from here, little girl." Her tone is firm meaning she’s definitely not joking.

Panic surges through me, and I step forward quickly, my eyes glued to the floor. Goddess, I can’t believe she knew I was watching her all along. This is humiliating.

"Wow, you’re quite the sight," she says, her voice carrying a hint of something unsaid, as if she wanted to add more but stopped herself. I know what she wanted to say though, it wasn’t to compliment my beauty.

I look because I look terrible.

I look like a vampire who hasn’t touched sunlight in a million years. The descending lotion the witch forced on me is to blame for my pale skin, and the bags under my eyes from sleepless nights only make it worse. I know I don’t look my best.

"Tell me, why have you been spying on me? Don’t girls your age have better things to do with their time?" she asks, her gaze sharp.

I gulp, scrambling for words. "I... I like watching you skate. I find it very calming." The words tumble out awkwardly, clumsy and humiliating.

Goddess, I’m making a fool of myself. Please, ground, swallow me whole.

She suddenly laughs, loud and unrestrained, her amusement echoing through the rink. My nerves spike, my face burning.

"You know, figure skating is everything but calming for me on the ice. So it’s laughable to hear someone say it’s calming for them." She laughs so hard she tears up, her joy genuine, though I don’t understand what’s so funny. I laugh awkwardly with her, and instantly regret it. It only makes me feel more uncomfortable.

"You’re an oddball, kid. What’s your name?"

"Lorali. Lorali Alma," I say, my heart racing. Inside, I’m fangirling inside cause my idol just asked for my name. Goddess, I could die right now and be happy.

"Alma? As in that omega school?"

"Yes. I actually went to school there. I was one of the orphan girls without a surname, so the headmistress named me and gave me the school’s name as my own."

She tilts her head, surprised. "I’ve never been in the presence of an Alma omega before. When I was younger, I applied to that school a hundred times. I did every extracurricular I could, tried everything to get accepted. But none of it mattered. I was rejected every single time."

Her words are sad, but her face isn’t. She doesn’t look broken. She says it like a fact, not a wound. I don’t know how to react, so I just nod with an awkward smile.

"Have you ever been on the ice before?" she asks suddenly.

I shake my head quickly.

"Really? One cannot have a complete life if they’ve never once been on the ice."

She glides away from me, toward the door of the rink.

Her skates clash against the hard ground as she steps off the ice. She wears a black long‑sleeve jersey and tights, practical clothes that make her look effortless, curvy and beautiful.

I glance down at myself, at the Alma dress I’ve been wearing every day of the week for three weeks because there’s no way I’d ever be seen in that maid’s uniform in public. Alma always taught us never to look like our problems, but here I am, carrying mine like a second skin so I cannot dress like them too.

"What’s your shoe size?" she shouts from across the room, her voice echoing against the walls.

"Five‑O," I call back, the O standing for omega. Shoe sizes are separated by designation, an Alpha’s five or a Beta’s five isn’t the same as an Omega’s five.

Sash opens the door and struts inside with her skates, disappearing into a brightly lit room.

I follow slowly filled with caution, my heart pounding as I trail her steps. By the time I reach the doorway, she’s already in front of me, dangling a pair of black skates in her hands.

"Found it. You’re lucky, it was the last pair in this size," she says proudly, her lemony scent spiking with excitement.

"Sit. Hurry. We don’t have much time; those hockey idiots will be coming soon." She motions toward the stair seats behind her, and I obey without hesitation, lowering myself onto the hard seat like a child following orders from a teacher.

"How are you acquainted with the Falcons?" I ask before I can stop myself, the question slipping out like a pry I didn’t mean to voice.

"Oh, I’ve known those boys since they were babies," she replies casually, dropping to her knees. Without warning, she takes off my pumps. I flinch, wanting to pull back, but she steadies me firmly and tugs the skate onto my foot. My idol is touching me. I don’t know whether to feel elated or embarrassed.

"My husbands owns the team, and this rink," she adds calmly, as if that isn’t the biggest flex in the world. She’s so effortlessly cool it makes my chest ache.

"Alright, you’re all done." She rises gracefully, and I look down at the black skates now strapped to my feet. I can’t believe it. After so long of wanting them, I’m finally wearing skates. Inside, I’m jumping for joy, screaming silently.

"We have about five minutes. That should be enough for a quick skate. Follow me." She announces it like a command, holding out her hand for me to take.

I grab it instantly. I would never pass up the chance to touch her. Her skin is warm against mine, exactly how an omega’s skin should feel, soft, alive and comforting. Thank you goddess for showing me a normal omega. The two I met are crazy, good to see a normal one exists. Hand in hand, she leads me onto the ice, steadying me, never letting go.

"Okay, when I let you go, don’t try to stand straight or lean back. You’re a rookie, you’ll fall," she warns, her tone firm but kind. I nod nervously, feeling the ice beneath the blades, the slick surface threatening to betray me with one wrong move.

"I’m letting you go now," she says. I gulp, but I don’t stop her. This is my chance. Maybe the only chance I’ll ever have to try the routine I’ve practiced every day in the parking lot on real ice.

I push forward, mimicking her movements. My body remembers the rhythm: the glide, the spin, the lift of my leg, the sweep of my arms. I twirl once, twice, my short hair whipping around me. I leap, landing shakily but upright. My heart races with exhilaration. I’m doing it. I’m actually doing it.

I continue, tracing her routine step by step, each motion clumsy but recognizable. For a moment, I feel free, as if the ice belongs to me. But then comes the final jump, the one Sash always ends with. I push too hard, my balance falters, and I slip.

The world tilts. I crash backward, my head smacking against the ice. Pain explodes, sharp and cold, radiating through my skull. I lie there, staring up at the metal dome above, breathless and stunned.

"I thought you said you never skated before," Sash’s voice cuts through the haze. Her face appears above me, her expression sharp with suspicion, her brown eyes narrowing as if she’s seeing me for the first time.

"I haven’t," I mumble, my head still aching from the fall.

"You did almost my entire routine," Sash says, tilting her head, her eyes narrowing in curiosity. "Though it was definitely sloppy and lacked experience, it would be impossible to do if you had truly never skated before."

"Well, I practiced outside for three weeks straight. I don’t know if that counts," I admit, my voice small.

"So you learned all that just from watching me?" She sounds surprised, her tone rising with disbelief. I hum softly, agreeing.

"Wow. That’s... that’s amazing. You have a born talent for this. You could probably go big with it."

Big? Me? Talent? I literally fell flat on the ice. "By big, do you mean competitions?" I ask, hesitant.

She nods, her excitement bubbling over, as if she’s already planning my entire future.

"Have you ever competed?" I ask, curious, and a glimmer of sadness flickers in her eyes.

"No, I haven’t. You know how omegas like us are looked down upon in every industry be it sports, business or anything else. We’re never taken seriously. So in the eyes of my coaches and parents, I was never good enough to compete."

"That’s insane. You’re amazing and literally a goddess on ice," I say, flabbergasted. I knew omegas were oppressed, but this, this is beyond cruel. To stop someone with such talent from competing? It’s foul.

"Not as amazing as you’re going to be when I’m done with you," she says, the sadness replaced by a spark of joy.

"Huh?" I blink, confused.

"I’m finally going to be a coach, like my husband. I’ll have purpose again, something to stop me from being bored all day." Her voice is filled with excitement.

"I really don’t understand," I admit, lost in her words.

"Oh, sorry. What I’m saying is, let me be your coach." She stretches out her hand toward me.

I take it, using her grip as an anchor to slowly rise to my feet. "I don’t really need a coach. I can’t compete," I say, rubbing my hands together, feeling the cold seep into my skin and wet from the back.

"Why not? You’re amazing. Didn’t you say you love watching me skate, that it’s calming for you? You’ll be calmer on the ice, trust me. It’s the perfect opportunity. I have experience, I know how to get your name out there. You could be an omega symbol in the world of sports, well, if you win a championship. But I know you will."

She keeps going, her words pouring out like a flood, and I nervously, unconsciously begin skating backward.

"Well, I need—" I start, but she cuts me off.

"Oh, yes, how could I forget. You need your Alpha’s permission. That’s a necessity. If your Alpha doesn’t agree, what we’d be doing would be considered illegal."

I nod quickly. "Yes, that’s it. I totally need to get my Alpha’s permission." Even though they’re nonexistent.

"Okay. You can tell me what they said after this weekend. I know they’ll agree. Oh, and it’s almost 13:15, it looks like those boys are late. I’m going to tell on those idiots," she hums, amused.

13:15... thirteen fifteen... thirteen, shoot! I’m going to be late. Walter is going to kill me. I can’t believe I forgot.

Fueled by adrenaline, I skate off the ice with incredible speed, fumbling to take off the skates and shove my pumps back on. "Ma’am, please, there’s a metal tiffin with a strap where I was sitting. Please give it to Augustus when he arrives, okay? Bye, thank you!"

I run out of the rink without waiting for her answer, my heart pounding. I am so dead.