Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
FRAGILE HEART
Azariel
“Roses are red, violets are blue, love is a lie, and so are you.” – P
I counted the blood dripping from the tip of my index finger.
I sat in the corner of the large living room, my back pressed against the black wall, the weight of the knives in my hands grounding me—keeping me from slipping too deep into the chaos inside my head. The sharp, blood-stained blades caught the light as I twirled them slowly between my fingers. I could almost see my reflection in the metal.
A pale face.
Dead, gray eyes.
I had everything a boy my age could want in this mansion, yet all I ever needed were these knives.
They weren’t just knives. They were their knives—Kadra’s and Vitali’s. I hadn’t known Vitali until Kadra found me one night while I was hiding from the rain inside a cardboard box. She pulled me off the streets, gave me warmth when I’d forgotten what that felt like. Then Vitali gave me something even harder to believe in—safety. And love.
Love. What a joke. And yet—I felt it. Between them. For me. At times, it suffocated me, but I endured it because, deep down, I loved them too. I was just too messed up to show it.
No. That wasn’t entirely true.
I was terrified to love them freely because everything I ever cared about—everything I touched—died. I killed it. Every. Single. Time.
Greta, Kadra’s sleek gray Sphynx cat, padded over and nudged the edge of the blade with her warm nose. Her eyes gleamed with mischief before she leapt, trying to snatch one of the knives from my hand. A laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. She backed off, then pounced again. It was a game—but I was always careful. Always careful with Greta.
She wasn’t annoying. She was one of the few things Kadra loved. And I would never hurt anything that woman cared for. Not ever.
But I have hurt people in the past.
Bloody, black memories flickered through my mind—ruthless and raw. Blood on my hands. Blood on my face. Screams shredding my soul. Pain and carnage had raised me before love ever came close.
Blood.
Screams.
Cries for help.
Green eyes.
“Number 1… please.”
My head pounded. My chest ached. And then—I heard it.
A voice. Soft, small, and sweet. It pierced through the darkness like sunlight through storm clouds.
“Hello.”
I froze. My fingers tightened around the handle of the nearest knife as I looked up, not expecting to see anyone.
But there she was.
A little girl stood in the doorway. She couldn’t have been more than four or five. Her long black hair fell over her shoulders like silk. But it was her eyes that caught me first—wide, luminous, and impossibly green. Almost unreal.
And yet... they weren’t what stunned me most.
It was the weight in them. That quiet depth. That strange stillness. She didn’t blink much. She didn’t fidget. She just... looked at me.
She looked like a doll. Fragile. Breakable.
I didn’t speak. My throat locked up. But I couldn’t look away. Something about her seemed out of place in my world, like a beam of light trapped in a place that had never seen morning.
Why is she here? Who is she? And why the hell hasn’t she run yet?
She wore a black dress—deep, velvety black with lace edging the sleeves and hem like spiderwebs. It flared around her knees, delicate and oddly elegant for someone so small. Something out of a gothic tea party—like the ones Kadra loved so much. The dress shimmered in the low light, casting mature shadows across her face, despite her youth.
She reminded me of Wednesday Addams.
A blue headband perched atop her head, two tiny heart-shaped antennae springing from it. They looked more like devil horns than Valentine’s cheer. Subtle patterns of black roses or maybe twisting vines were woven into the dress, catching the light in all the wrong ways. She reminded me of the night—dark, cold, but... pretty.
She was pretty.
And I didn’t think anything was pretty anymore.
But those eyes—those green, glowing eyes—felt like something torn from a dream I didn’t deserve to have.
She tilted her head, the headband slipping slightly. Her gaze never left mine. She watched me with a softness I didn’t understand. She waited, like she knew something about me I didn’t.
She didn’t speak again. She just stood there.
So I said nothing. I didn’t trust myself to speak. I didn’t trust what I might say—or do.
Then, finally, she broke the silence again. Her voice was soft. Sweet. “Do you want to read with me? I’m reading The Little Prince,” she said, suddenly shy.
Another long pause passed.
Her chubby cheeks flushed pink. Her nose twitched. She looked down, then back up.
Pretty...
The Little Prince.
The first book I ever read. The only one that gave me any kind of peace back in hell.
But I didn’t answer her.
I wanted to. The words sat on the edge of my tongue, but they refused to move. I glanced at her again—so small, so fragile. And for some reason, the voices in my head were quiet.
Not even Kadra or Vitali could do that.
She waited.
And when I still didn’t speak, she smiled again—softer this time—and whispered, “It’s okay. We don’t have to read. Or talk.” She moved slightly, settling onto the floor beside me. “I’ll just sit here. I won’t bother you. Promise.”
She smiled with her whole face.
And something inside me cracked.
I didn’t know if that was good or bad. Probably bad. Everything else was.
The pink in her cheeks returned, but she didn’t flinch. Didn’t run.
I blinked, caught off guard by her calm. She wasn’t afraid of me. Not my silence, not my knives, not the blood still drying on my fingers. She just... stayed.
So, close I could feel her warmth. Smell the faint scent of something sweet and floral clinging to her dress. But it didn’t suffocate me like everyone else’s perfumes. It didn’t make me angry. Not like strangers did.
I looked down at my bloodstained fingers and rubbed them together. I didn’t want her to see them. I didn’t want her near the blood. She shouldn’t have to see this part of me.
My chest ached. My eyes shifted back to her. She’d folded her legs and was sitting quietly, her gaze still fixed on mine. Curious. Patient.
Unshaken.
She was different.
Why was she different?
After a long moment, she spoke again, barely above a whisper.
“My name’s Poe.”
The name caught me off guard. Poe.
I repeated it in my head. Let it echo. It was strange, like her. But it fit. It was soft and sad and lovely. Like her eyes.
Pretty...
Damn that word again.
I still said nothing. I wanted to. I wanted to give her my name. I just didn’t know how. The silence between us grew long again, filled only by the gentle purring of Greta, who had curled into a ball nearby.
And still, Poe didn’t move.
I didn’t move either. I sat there with the knives in my hands and a storm in my chest, and somehow she made it all bearable. She’d quieted the screams. Muffled the past. She didn’t even try to fix me—she just existed beside me.
I watched her out of the corner of my eye, still thinking about how breakable she looked.
I was an expert in breaking things.
I’d had no choice.
And yet, something inside me shifted. Just slightly. A barely-there tremor deep beneath the surface of everything I’d buried.
This girl.
This small, strange, fearless girl.
She’d broken something inside of me with a smile. With stillness. With green eyes and a single question about a little prince.
And maybe...
Just maybe...
That something she broke had been waiting for a crack all along.
My cold, quiet, careful heart.
All because of her.
All because of Poe.