Freya
When his beta whispered in his ear, I knew something was wrong.
That familiar scent wafted through my nostrils, jogging my memories. Even my muscle memories seem to snap into action.
An old image of a memory slammed into my vision briefly. Murky water has swallowed my entire head, giving me only slime and mud to breathe in. A firm grip held my neck and arms behind me.
My feet kicked against the dirt, but it was always useless. There was always no escape. No escape from the torture of making a better daughter out of me.
"It's okay, my little ladybug," my stepfather’s singsong whispers always crawl under my skin. He’d watch silently while his beta tortured me. ‘Just let it out. Let it out and this will stop.’
I gripped the edge of the table with both hands, making the plates
