Page 41 of Crowned In Venom
41
ANYA
T he pain never comes.
I brace for the impact—for my bones to break, for the darkness to take me, for death to claim me in this wretched place.
But instead?—
A wretched, guttural sound rips through the dungeon.
I open my eyes.
The monster does not touch me.
Its massive, decayed arm is lodged into the stone wall, the impact shaking the entire room, making dust and debris rain down from the ceiling.
And then?—
It shudders.
A sound bubbles up from its chest, low and ragged, broken.
At first, I think it is growling again.
Until I hear it?—
A sob.
The monster is crying.
I stare, my breath stolen from my throat, my body trembling not with fear but with something else.
The mournful wails shake the very air, the sorrow so deep, so raw, that I feel it in my bones.
I have seen suffering before.
I have heard men scream as their bodies were ripped apart.
I have watched women weep as their children were taken from them.
But this?—
This hurts.
Like something hacking into my soul.
The thing clutches its ruined face, hunched over, body wracked with its own grief.
It weeps.
And I cry with it.
Not just tears—but sobs.
Heart-wrenching, soul-crushing sobs that shake my entire body.
I do not know why.
I do not know what this thing is, what it was before, why its pain cuts so deep into me.
But in this moment, we are the same.
Two broken things, grieving in the dark.
I do not know how long we stay like this, drowning in each other's sorrow.
But then?—
The monster's breath steadies.
And it speaks.
"Does he love you?"
My throat tightens.
I know who it means.
Varkos.
I should not answer.
I should not even consider it.
But I do.
"Yes."
The word slips out before I can stop it.
It is not a lie.
He has not said it.
But his actions speak louder than any words could.
"He has not told me," I whisper. "But I know."
The monster makes a sound—a soft, weary exhale.
"Good," it murmurs.
A silence lingers.
Then, softer, more fragile than before?—
"I miss the sunlight."
The words take me off guard.
"I miss the warmth," it continues.
"The feeling of clean water against my skin."
The voice is breaking, cracking apart like something long buried, forced to speak again.
Then—
"I miss my son."
The words slam into me.
I freeze.
What?
The air leaves my lungs.
I stare at the creature, my mind racing, my pulse hammering.
Son?
Slowly, my gaze drifts upward, to its eyes.
Bulging, monstrous—but the color…
Fading.
Worn.
Too familiar.
The realization hits me like a blade to the gut.
The words do not come from me.
They come from him.
"I am Varkos' father."
I do not breathe.
I do not move.
It cannot be.
It cannot.
"No." The whisper leaves my lips, shaking.
I do not believe it—I do not want to believe it?—
But I do.
I see it now.
In the way he spoke his name, in the way he asked about him, in the way he grieved.
This thing.
This monstrous creation of the Matriarch’s cruelty.
This is his father.
My lips part, my body shaking.
"What happened to you?" I breathe.
The monster does not answer.
Instead—
It stands.
For the first time, it does not cower in the corner.
For the first time, it does not scream in agony.
It rises, straightens its ruined back, its massive form towering over me.
"I should have done this long ago," it murmurs.
And then?—
The dungeon trembles.
The very air shifts.
The magical barriers around the cage flicker.
Crackle.
Fizz.
And then—they collapse.
The iron bars crumble, reduced to dust.
I stare at the gaping hole in the dungeon.
I can escape.
I can run.
But I do not move.
Not yet.
Because all I can do is stare at the monster before me.
At Varkos' father.
And wonder?—
Why did she do this to him?
Why did she turn him into this?
And now that he is free?—
What will he do?