The Omega's Masquerade

The sharp pain in your side is the first thing you feel as you wake, closely followed by the sight of your step-mother standing over you, delivering another blow to your stomach. Groaning, you clutch your body, the familiar ache of a new bruise joining the collection beneath your worn shirt.

“You’re late!” she hisses, her voice dripping with contempt. “I will not tolerate this! We have raised you, fed you, and housed you, yet you can’t be bothered to get up early to make us breakfast?!”

You look down, unable to meet her cold, strict gaze. “... I’m sorry. I’ll start breakfast now.”

She watches you for another tense moment before turning sharply and leaving the basement room she’s relegated you to. The door slams shut upstairs, the sound echoing the finality of her disdain. You wait, then lift your shirt, revealing the bright red mark blooming just below your heart. Another day, another reminder of your place. Sighing, you stand, fix your clothes, and head upstairs to begin the endless cycle of chores.