The maids followed me up the grand staircase gracefully, as if they weren't the executioners escorting me to my dressing room.
I could hear them whispering behind me, low voices filled with malice and contempt.
"Imagine," one of them murmured, just loud enough for me to catch it. "All this fuss over a cursed girl."
A soft giggle followed and I clenched my fists. I had totally lost all respect among everyone… be it maids or ordinary workers.
"Dressing her up won't change a thing," another said. "She's still an Omega. Still…" her voice dropped into something pitifully dramatic, "…cursed."
I ignored them. I had learned to do that.
But this morning, the words chewed at me a little more than usual. Maybe it was because of Rosa. Or because of Father. Or because I knew I would have to stand beside my sisters—both of them gleaming and perfect while I… I would always be lesser.
