Page 47 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

She bites her bottom lip hard enough that the metal ring there must hurt, using physical pain to hold back something darker. The gesture is familiar – another survivor's trick for keeping control when memories threaten to overwhelm.

"My skin is only this shade because as a baby, my mom would use skin-lightening chemicals on me."

The admission hits like a physical blow.

I feel my jaw drop, while Azurite's usual composed expression fractures into a frown of shock and horror. Luna tilts her head, her unseeing eyes somehow conveying more compassion than any sighted person's could.

"Why would such creams exist to change the color of flesh that is surely beautiful to admire?" Luna's question carries genuine bewilderment as if the very concept is beyond her understanding.

Riot's laugh is a broken thing, sharp edges cutting the air between us.

"That's what happens when you're born into a world that self-hates." Her voice drops lower, each word weighted with history and hurt. "My father wasn't around…not because he couldn't be a good father, but because he was an Alpha and truthfully, my mother was simply a fling that had Omega potential."

I could understand that.

How many stories of abandoned omegas have we witnessed? How many tales of potential happiness are destroyed by circumstance and society's cruel rules?

"She could have had a pack," Riot continues, her voice taking on a distant quality. "Could have gained her happily ever after, but do narcissists ever achieve such?" Her laugh this time is hollow, empty of even bitter humor. "In the end, she always wanted to have a pack and live a life filled with friends and loved ones, but now she's alone, all because of her own destruction."

Her hands clench and unclench, the movement drawing attention to scars I hadn't noticed before – thin white lines that speak of defensive wounds, of fighting back, of surviving.

"She pushed everyone away, all by her own actions, but to grasp accountability? Never." The words come faster now, like poison finally being drawn from an old wound. "She'd never admit she's wrong unless it benefited her. Unless shecould manipulate that apology so she can eat better food, or be financially secured by someone else's finances. Anything to benefit her."

The heavy sigh that follows seems to deflate her, stripping away layers of carefully constructed defiance to reveal something raw and vulnerable beneath.

"I vowed to never become her, but how do you do that when you're isolated in a space where all you see is her behaviors? Fucking anything that moves for money. Grabbing any job that would give her enough so she can invest in things she cherishes."

Her voice cracks on the next words, showing the depth of the wound beneath.

"I wasn't one of those priorities. I was just the cargo she could benefit from gaslighting and grooming to become her slave."

The silence that follows her words feels sacred somehow, like a confessional where sins are laid bare not for absolution but for understanding.

In our little circle of broken things, her honesty creates a new kind of bond. Not the false unity of shared captivity, but something deeper – the recognition that our wounds, though different, have shaped us in similar ways.

Made us harder, sharper, more determined to define ourselves beyond the labels others try to force upon us.

Her piercings and tattoos take on new meaning – not rebellion for its own sake, but reclamation.

Taking control of a body others tried to modify without consent, making it definitively her own through conscious choice rather than another's manipulation.

"Time's a bitch," Riot continues, her voice taking on a hollow quality that makes the shadows twist uneasily. "Mother started running out of opportunities in the sex department. Turns out even desperate alphas have standards, and wrinkles don't sellas well as youth." Her laugh carries no humor, just bitter acknowledgment. "The sagging skin didn't help either."

She runs a hand through her multi-colored hair, the strands catching dim light like oil on water.

"But it wasn't just the physical changes. The whole damn world shifted. People got smarter, more aware. Started recognizing toxic behavior and manipulation for what it was. This new era came in where being selfish wasn't a dirty word anymore – it meant taking care of yourself, setting boundaries."

The shadows whisper in my head in understanding as she speaks. They know about boundaries, about the necessity of walls between self and other.

About survival.

"People started seeing through my mother's little games. Her cons didn't work anymore. Those alphas who used to support her? They started drifting away, looking for real connections. They wanted actual omegas, wanted packs built on love and trust instead of manipulation and greed." Riot's fingers trace one of her lip rings absently. "They wanted something genuine, not just a quick fix that came with emotional baggage and financial drain."

Her eyes grow distant, remembering.

"When reality finally caught up with her, guess who became the backup plan? Suddenly I had to be the good little slave. Work endless hours, hand over every penny. Do everything she ever asked except the one thing I refused – I wouldn't sell my body."

The conviction in her voice draws the shadows closer, recognizing the strength it takes to hold such a line. "If I had to stay a virgin for eternity, fine. Better that than becoming her clone, popping out kids just to abandon them." Her voice cracks slightly. "I have siblings out there somewhere, probably all male. But I'll never know them. She made sure of that. Cut off anychance of family support before my omega status could even become an issue."

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