Fate in a circle

My life with the Crimson pack was a symphony of misery, with every note resounding through the dilapidated store they reluctantly allocated as my quarters. The stale smell of neglect covered the room, replacing the once-endearing smell of a clean store with the oppressive smell of bad wood. The space itself was a terrible reflection of my status among the pack, an abandoned area where unused possessions piled like lost memories. The walls, with their flaking wallpaper, appeared to be silently sympathetic to my life. The floor cracked from years of aggressive strides of pack members who hardly ever looked at her. One corner held a single, battered mattress, the fading fabric a sobering reminder of the many restless nights I had to endure. The lightweight and tattered blankets did not offer any protection from the cold air that crept through the broken walls. Stretching out on the mattress, I was not particularly comfortable in the little blanket of mine. My only furniture was an armchair that was missing a leg; it was a cruel joke in a cold room. My few belongings, a faded picture, and a ragged book, were tucked away in a corner, fragments of a once-promising life. The floor was covered in long, dreadful shadows from the evening sun as the pain of the wounds from the countless cruel beatings I had suffered at the hands of my foster family resurfaced heavily. Abigail, my foster sister, entered the store with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. Scared, I tightly gripped my frayed book, hoping to find comfort within its pages, but I was unable to find much solace. Sneering, Abigail walked up to me and grabbed the book roughly out of my shaky hands. "What do you think you're doing, Christie?" Her voice dripping with poison, as she taunted. Tears welled up in my eyes, but firmly held them back. "Please, I was just reading, Abigail”. With trembling voice, I begged, "Give it back." Laughing hysterically, Abigail continued taunting, "Aw, listen to Christie begging like a puppy." Abigail had a menacing twinkle in her eyes as she held the book just out of my grasp. "You really believe you are good for something? You're a worthless, pitiful orphan, that's all you are”, she spits. With a sly smile, Abigail added. “ But, hold on. What are you useful for these days? From the very first day Father brought you here, its been a rollercoaster of ill-luck. You're not welcome here. Our pack is burdened by you." Piercing my heart like multiple daggers, her words broke me as a lump began to form in her throat, but forced myself not to cry. Barely audibly, "I belong here as much as anyone else," she said in self defense. “I may not be your blood or have what it takes to fit into your Pack but the truth remains that I am a Crimson now just like you and Mariam.” I said finitely. Bewildered and with mixed feelings, Abigail laughed sarcastically, shoving the book into her own bag. "Oh, Christie, how you always try to fit in. It's really quite cute. But nobody wants you here, not Father, not us; you're just a charity case." Watching her favorite novel disappear into Abigail’s bag, I felt my eyes burn from unshed tears. I was unable to understand why my foster siblings treated me so badly. A family I had always wanted, a place to call home I had always desired. Abigail turned and left the room after dealing that last blow, leaving me hurt and alone in the dark. As I came to terms with the harsh reality of my existence, tears welled up in my eyes. My foster family seemed committed to ensuring that my suffering persisted, and I was stuck in a world where I would never be loved or accepted. I clenched my hands, resisting the overpowering feeling of hopelessness that was about to overwhelm me and refusing to allow them break me. To me, the feeling of hope was inadequate but, I was going to cling to the inadequate sparkle of hope that maybe one day I would discover a place where I really belonged and could be accepted for who I am. Mariam, Abigail’s younger sister walked in, her voice brimming with ill will. "Christie, you're fortunate that we allowed you to remain here. You ought to be appreciative of everything we do for you and not constantly cause Abigail pain.” Enraged, my voice became stronger than before. "Thankful? Appreciative of what? You act as though I'm unworthy, even though I've done nothing to earn the cruelty you mate on me." Stepping closer, my face and Mariam’s were just inches apart. “Christie, you're right. Nothing you've done has earned it. You will always be worthless because that is who you were from birth,” she said as she stormed out of my room. “What is going on here?” Angry, my foster dad, Mr. Thompson, queried with pain. I withdrew from the parlor and sought solace in my room. I felt a sense of urgency as the evening rays expanded. Picking up my little possessions with shaky hands, I was determined not to let anyone ruin my life. “Christie, come on downstairs, NOW!” Mr. Thompson ordered. Tears welled up in my eyes as I walked into the minimally furnished parlor, with a bleak expression on my face. I could hear Abigail’s ridiculous laughter, cruelly, in the distance. Comfortably seated, Mr. Thompson angrily called as he sighted her, "Christie," in a firm but cold manner. "Walk fast and Come here, immediately." I stepped cautiously into the parlor, my eyes full of fear. "Yes, Dad?" I said, trembling in my voice. Mr. Thompson looked directly into my eyes, his face fixed with a stern yet resolute expression. “You've lived here for a long time now, and despite your weakness as an Omega, we have not ceased to care and support you,” he said. “The burden of caring for you is becoming expensive as you are no longer a child, hence the reason why I have called you.” At every word, my heartbeat raced harder. Would I be beaten again? Or was he going to ask that I start working to earn my keep? “Dad...” “Don't interrupt me.” Mr Thompson said curtly. “I have sold you.” he dropped the bombshell. Bewildered, I stood up as I stared at dad in disbelief. “You’ve been sold to the Lycaon King Damien. He needs an heir, go give him one.” The weight of his words pressed on me so hard, and my heart fell. “Sold? How? Why?" I asked in pain "Because I've thought it necessary, I mean, this is an opportunity to get a parcel of land from the King and more will come if you give him an heir." Mr. Thompson said without emotion. "It is beneficial for our family, isn't it? And I'll have no choice but to disown you, Christie, if you disobey me." With my eyes filled with tears, I knew that the Crimson Pack was the devil she knew and based on what she had heard about the Lycaon King, she preferred the hell at the Crimson’s; a far more lesser hell. The vicious King Damien of the Dunson pack was notorious for his evil deeds. Fierce and an embodiment of evil, he was greatly feared in the whole of Ryanus. The thoughts of mating with him sent cold down my spine. Quietly, I expressed the pain in her heart. "Dad, I beg of you, save me.” My voice was choking with emotion as I begged, "I don't want to go." Mr. Thompson's face did not change. "Is this how you will repay me for the kindness shown? I picked you from the gutters and made you a Crimson and this is how you’d thank me? It's resolved. Tomorrow, you'll leave." he ordered. With her heart heavy of pain, I withdrew from the parlor and sought solace in my room. I felt a sense of urgency as the evening rays expanded. Picking up my little possessions with shaky hands, I was determined not to let anyone ruin her life. I walked stealthily through the back door in disguise, the pathway to the backyard was faintly lighted by the moon. Though fleeting, the hope in my heart surged. I would be free from the enemies of my peace. "Stop right there," a familiar voice echoed in the dark. Frightened, I stood, shaking in dead fear as the security pointed his torch at my scared face. Moving closer and grabbing my arm, he growled at me. “Christie?”