Page 96 of Sweet Venom

And they were all blue.

Blue. The same color as his car. His roses. Now these statues. The same shade of blue as my hair.

As though something was pulling me forward, I stepped closer to one of the statues, my fingers brushing lightly against its cool surface. It was a depiction of me as a fairy, the wings stretched wide, the form both graceful and fierce. It looked as if I was about to soar into the night sky. But my heart skipped a beat as I saw my features carved into the stone. My face was serene, my eyes closed, and a dimpled smile played on my lips.

I was stunned, my breath uneven as I slowly circled the garden, taking everything in. These weren’t just statues—they were something more. They were reflections of me, spanning times and lives that I haven’t lived. It was me in every form and skin.

Was this his way of showing me how he saw me? No one has ever seen me this way. I don’t even see me like those statues. What do you see in me, my dark prince? My hands shook as I touched another statue, this one with a black dress, holding a book, her face serene yet pained. The statue has a melancholic air to it.

I felt an overwhelming sense of connection to each piece. Each one was a piece of me, a part of my soul.Me.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I couldn’t stop them from falling as I moved from one sculpture to the next, unable to tear my gaze away.

The realization hit me hard, so sharp and overwhelming I nearly dropped to my knees. Words. When words failed him, actions spoke louder.

Azariel had created all of this. Every piece, every statue, every tribute to me. These weren’t just sculptures. They were how he saw me. They were versions of me he loved. All the iterations of my being, captured in stone and memory forever.

Obsessions.

My father once told my brothers and me that they were dangerous, yet everyone has them. Azariel had always been mine. And now, as I stand in his garden surrounded by statues of myself, I realize—he, too, is consumed by an obsession.Me.

I closed my eyes, taking in a breath that shook me to my core, and when I opened them again, I saw something shimmering from the center of the garden—a stone pedestal, and resting on it, a final statue of me.

But this one… this one was different. It was new. It wasn’t like the others. It felt like a secret, carefully kept just for him.

This one was real and raw. It was a sculpture of me, standing tall and strong, a fierce expression on my face as if I were ready to fight the world. It was a piece of me I didn’t fully recognize but felt deep in my soul. It felt like looking into a mirror. It was the version of me who had come into herself, who was not controlled by fears and anxiety.

There was no doubt that this was more than just art. This garden was love. His love for me— shown in every detail, in every curve of the stone. A love that has been built from a thousand versions of me, across time, across worlds, but all leading to this moment.

Aunt Kadra was right. I found my answers. Azariel’s heart is here— in this garden surrounded by me.

It all pulled at my heart and I was finding it difficult to find my next breath. And then, as if taken out of a fairytale, the garden revealed another secret.

A shimmering glow flickered in the distance, like fireflies dancing in the dark. I turned toward the light, my breath catching in my throat as it twinkled and flickered in the night. It was almost like the lights were beckoning me, like a path that had opened just for me.

As I stepped forward, the softest, most haunting melody began to play. It was delicate and ethereal. A melody that reminded me of the gentle tune that plays from a jewelry box when its lid is opened. It was a sound that seemed to hold secrets, promises, and love. It wove through the cold air like a thread, tugging at my heartstrings as it whispered through the garden.

The lightning kept coming hard and the glow intensified, illuminating a space ahead of me. Then I saw it.

A carousel.

At first, it seemed like a dream, something I could only imagine in the depths of my mind. But no, it was real—a massive, hauntingly beautiful carousel, its intricate, dark beauty standing proudly in the center of the garden. It looked as though it had materialized from the pages of an old fairytale, the kind told in whispered tones at midnight, the kind that dances between the realms of dreams and nightmares. It felt like both a dream and a beautiful nightmare.

One I never wanted to wake up from.

The carousel was another gothic masterpiece. Its frame was wrought black iron, twisting and curving in elegant arches, each curve like a dark petal of a rose. The horses, carved from ebony wood, were unlike any I had ever seen. Their forms were sleek and majestic, with elongated, elegant necks and haunting eyes that gleamed with an otherworldly green light. Their manes were wild and flowing intricate patterns, as if frozen in mid-motion, caught between life and the fantasy of their existence. Each horse seemed to carry a different expression—some fierce and untamed, others serene and joyful. They were also all blue.

The music, though soft and delicate, seemed to grow louder now, swirling around me like a haunting lullaby, wrapping around my heart and filling the night air with a sense of bittersweet nostalgia. The music gave me the same feeling that my Aunt Kadra playing her cello did.

The twinkling lights above the carousel flickered and danced, casting long shadows that stretched and twisted across the garden, making the entire scene feel like a dream.

For a moment I wished I’d brought my phone with me so I could capture this perfect world he created for… me.

I could feel a strange pull, an irresistible urge to step closer. But I remained where I was, unable to move, my feet rooted to the damp earth beneath me as I saved every detail in my memory.

And then, without warning, the carousel began to turn.

I sucked in a startled breath. Some had to turn it on. Was it him? Azariel? I looked around but I didn’t see him anywhere.

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