I am prey.
This is not pity talking, this is an acknowledgment of a fact. I am small and weak; I am an Omega. I am a prize that men war over.
For a year I have hidden in the distant corner of the Empire. But I am running out of food, and I am running out of options.
That I must leave soon is not a decision for today, though, but a decision for tomorrow. Only tomorrow’s choices never come.
For tonight brings strangers who remind me that I am prey.