Page 32 of Sweet Venom

There was something in those eyes that did something to my chest, something that tugged. Something I hadn’t felt before.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

I looked down and noticed her small hands were clasped around a book, its well-worn cover barely visible beneath her tiny fingers. A book I recognized.

The Little Prince.

The irony hit me in a strange way, but I didn’t let it show.

She looked so small, so fragile looking in that faded blue dress, and those tiny black boots that didn’t seem to fit her at all. But it was her socks that caught my eye—Hulk socks. It was almost funny, in a way that made me feel less cold. My chest ached, but this time, it was different. It wasn’t painful. Not exactly. It felt closer to warmth. A flicker of something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

She stepped forward hesitantly, and I heard her whisper my name. “Azariel.”

I froze. My name. She knew my name. Not a number… but my name.

I blinked, caught off guard by the sweetness in her voice. It was soft, almost tender. I wondered why it made my chest tighten in a way that nothing else ever had. I wondered how she knew my name, but the thought was fleeting—her parents must’ve told her. They were close to Mom, after all.

She didn’t come any closer, though. She just stood there, looking up at me like she wasn’t sure whether I’d bite or shun her.

“I—” she started, her voice soft, barely more than a breath. “Can I sit next to you?”

I was caught off guard, but I didn’t say anything at first. I just studied her, watched her approach with careful steps, holding something in her hands. A book. The cover was worn, its edges curling with age, but I knew what it was. The Little Prince.

I didn’t know why, but something twisted in my chest when I saw it. Maybe it was the irony, or maybe it was just the way she held it, so small and fragile, like the book meant something more than just words to her.

I let the silence stretch, wondering why I didn’t feel like pushing her away. Maybe because when she was around, the voices in my head were quiet. Or maybe because, for some reason, I didn’t want her to leave.

She slowly sat next to me, but not too close. There was a careful distance between us, one that somehow felt more intimate than if she had leaned in. And for some strange reason, I was grateful for that.

She flipped open the book in her hands, and I watched her for a moment. She was so small, so young, and yet there she was holding The Little Prince.

I was struck by the absurdity of it. So much so that I did what I didn’t do with anyone else… I took an interest.

“How do you read that? It’s... a literary classic,” I asked before I could stop myself.

She looked up at me, her eyes wide with something I couldn’t quite read, and for a moment, I thought she might not answer. But then she blushed, a delicate flush creeping across her cheeks, and it was the sweetest thing I had ever seen.

She looked down, fingers brushing against the pages nervously. “My father read to me. To me and my twin... since we were in Mommy’s belly,” she said softly.

I felt the words settle around me, like a quiet weight.

I couldn’t explain why but hearing that made my chest ache in a way I didn’t expect. Something in her voice, so innocent, so full of love, made the walls around my heart crack just a little. I had never let anyone close—not even close enough to care—but here she was, this little girl with the rare eyes, and I… cared.

I wondered what it was about her that made it so easy. What was it about her that made it easy to just exist?

It didn’t make sense. She was a child, and I was... Well, I was everything I hated about the world. But in that quiet space between the roses, I felt something shift. Something warm, like sunlight breaking through a relentless storm.

I didn’t say anything more, and neither did she. For a long while, we sat in silence, the book between us. But it wasn’t uncomfortable, not the way silence usually was. It was just... quiet.

I glanced at her again, my eyes lingering on her delicate frame, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to not hide in the shadows, to not be the dark, jagged thing that I was. But that wasn’t who I was, was it?

Still, I wondered, as she flipped a page in the book and read aloud a sentence softly to herself, how such a little thing—such a small, innocent girl—could make my world feel just a little less cold and violent.

A strange tug pulled at my chest, something urgent and raw. It was like I couldn’t breathe without hearing her voice again, that soft whisper that made something shift inside me. I didn’t know what it was, but I couldn’t stop the feeling, so I pushed it away with an order. My voice came out rougher than I intended, sharp, like it had been waiting too long to be heard.

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