Your Regrets Mean Nothing To Me

"Done primping, you useless thing? Get in here and watch your brother!" a female voice spat.
The scene lurched as Lyra jerked Elysia by her hair, balancing a toddler on her other hip. Pain lanced through Elysia's scalp, drawing a sharp gasp.
"Sorry—I'll feed him right now," Elysia whispered, but submission didn't save her.
Lyra's boot caught Elysia square in the back as she turned toward the kitchen. The force sent her sprawling.
Instinct brought her hands up to shield her face, though the rough ground still tore her palms raw. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"Seven years old and already protecting that face?" Lyra's lip curled in disgust. "Born a little whore, weren't you?"
The cruel words brought another shock to the viewers - this wasn't the same five-year-old they'd seen in the mirror. Two years had passed in captivity.
Elysia touched her unmarked cheek. "Can't let my face get scarred," she murmured. "Mom and Dad won't know me."
Her days blurred together—no school, just endless chores. Feeding the toddler, washing mountains of laundry, and tending livestock. Even working
until nightfall never satisfied her captors.
When Lyra returned to find her precious son crying, rage twisted her features. "Worthless brat! Can't even keep him quiet? I'll beat the life from you!"
Elysia's dodge only enraged Lyra further. She grabbed a stick from nearby and wielded it against the girl.
Agony exploded through Elysia's small frame. "Please—I'm sorry!"
That night brought the usual punishment—the cattle pen, no food, not even the meal she'd cooked herself. When she lifted her shirt to examine the
bruises, countless other scars mapped three years of torment across her skin.
[This is straight-up torture! Hey Elysia, aren't you supposed to be the clever schemer? Use that brain and get out of there, quick!]

[Damn, they're stuffing that brat till he's bursting while our Elysia—at seven—looks like a five-year-old! To hell with these traffickers!]
The memories blurred past—beatings, curses, confinement. Back in the studio, even the stoic Torin trembled with fury at her suffering. Only Fenwick
and Caellan remained visibly indifferent, their expressions blank. To them, her suffering meant nothing.
She was no longer family, just an insignificant criminal who deserved their hostility. They had long since stripped her of any right to their sympathy,
regardless of past pain.

*****
The stream moved forward in time. One day came a new arrival—a pretty girl in fine clothes. Elysia instinctively tucked her dirt-stained feet beneath
her.
"Were you kidnapped too?" The newcomer radiated confidence. "I'm Odessa Merri. My dad's loaded—he'll pay whatever they want. When I leave,
you're coming with me!"
The chat exploded with recognition, the name triggering a flood of memories.
[OMG wait—Odessa from Masked Singer? That crazy-talented contestant who vanished before showing her face? I've been wondering about her for
ages.]
[Oh wait, I know this! The photo in her application materials—it's the same girl we're seeing on screen! But why would she use a childhood photo?]
[Didn't Elysia steal her songs? The nerve, after Odessa tried helping her.]
[Remember that home-life reality show episode at the Draytons? When Rowena gave her a chance to showcase her talent? She just mimicked
Odessa's style. Treated us like idiots.]
In the studio, disgust flickered across Fenwick's face. He'd been right—Elysia was rotten to the core. Sharing blood with her shamed him. If only

Rowena were his true sister.
*****
But the scene continued. Instead of joy, Elysia kept her gaze down, voice barely a whisper. "I'm Elysia Drayton."
"We match! I always wanted a sister. Be mine when we escape?" Odessa said happily, pulling Elysia into an excited hug.
"Don't touch me!" Elysia whispered, the pressure aggravating yesterday's bruises.
"It hurts." The second part died unspoken, choked back by bitter experience—crying out only ever brought worse punishment.
The chat was filled with judgment, but vindication came swift.
Through the memory stream, Odessa tugged Elysia's collar. The oversized garment slipped, revealing a nightmare canvas of bruises. Her scream
echoed the viewers' horror. Not an inch remained unmarked—welts from sticks, scars from unknown torments.
[I'd snap, too. Grab a knife and end them all. Better death than this.]

[Show gratitude—they raised her ten years!]
[Want to trade places?]
In the stream, Lyra burst in after hearing the girl's shriek, rod already swinging. "Shut that racket! You woke my precious boy!"
Odessa, sheltered all her life, ducked behind Elysia. The blows fell—over a dozen, some catching Odessa despite Elysia's shield.
Only the toddler's wails drew Lyra away. She hastily dropped her stick and muttered, "Two worthless brats."
"Don't cry, Odessa. It's okay." Despite her own agony, Elysia comforted the other girl first.
The viewers noticed the cattle pen was no longer the filthy space from before—cleaner now, with a wooden platform holding faded bedding.
Seeing this younger, more wounded girl offering comfort humbled Odessa. She dried her tears. "Are you badly hurt?" she asked softly. "Thank you.
Let my dad adopt you. Be my real sister?"
Elysia shook her head. "I can't be your sister. I have parents and two brothers who love me. They are still waiting for me to come back home."
At the word "home," such pure joy transformed Elysia's face that she glowed like an angel in Odessa's tear-filled eyes.
"Then I'll make sure you get back to them!" Odessa declared with fierce resolve.