Page 62 of Venom Sweeter than Honey
Lodging.
How am I going to find lodging with no money and no references to get a job?
Even in the poorest part of town...
The taverns are warm and welcoming.
The people strolling are well-dressed and clean.
Even the brothel whores look friendly.
Sacred fuck. How is this place so quaint?
My mind screeches to a stop as my eyes are drawn precisely to the front of the brothel house. The exterior is a clean, cream-colored dollhouse with red shutters and pink velvet drapes. Cautious feet carry me towards it, and the sound of a harp reaches my ears.
The amber glow beyond the pink drapes peeks through to reveal a nude harpist playing before a small audience. I venture nearer.
So near, I’m practically smooshing my face against the glass.
“May I help you with something?”
With a yelp of surprise, I jolt, turning to face...
A syrith.
Surely, this must be a sign?
She has iridescent wings, white horns, dark skin, and a long sheet of white hair that reminds me too much of Thessaly. The expression she wears is one of calm curiosity—as if she didn’t just catch me peeking into her brothel like some creep.
I straighten, trying to muster some semblance of nonchalance even though I’m alone, terrified of what my lonely future holds, and without a home or a cent left to my name.
The moment I try to speak, tears burn my eyes.
“I, ugh…”
I bite my lip to keep it from trembling.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. What do I even say?
Concern pinches the syrith’s features.
“I, um…”
Please, please, please be kind. I can’t take any more heartache.
Heaving a sigh, I quickly swipe away my tears as they begin to fall, despite my efforts. “I’m sorry... I don’t know why I came here.”
Discerning eyes study me in the way only someone who has a shared experience can. “Do you not have anywheresafeto go?”
Shaking my head, the tremor returns to my hands—a sign that my nervous system has endured far too much as of late.
The syrith steps closer. A soft smile curves her lips, and she offers me her hand—an oddly human gesture.
“My name is Syla. Might I have yours?”
My mind scrambles for a name. The image of the note sent to me fromAkash-knows-whereappears.
“Violette.”
