Fifth day of September, in the year 2556, in one of the homes of the Domiel lineage.

My life had never been the most beautiful, nor the most enviable. I had imagined myself in the place of others so many times, yet now, when I opened my eyes, all I felt was relief. Pure, intense, visceral relief—because when my eyelids lifted, they no longer revealed that ceiling coated in verdant paint and silver stars. What did it matter, now, what I saw, as long as it was no longer that? The beige ceiling, streaked with thick wooden beams, constantly reminded me that I was within the household that had seen me grow.

I did not feel particularly at home there, nor even safe, but I was undeniably better off here. No place within this Society was capable of protecting me from the dangers of itself. Proof of that lay before me: eight years after hell, I was being sent back into the claws of a predator, powerless to resist. No one in this household had spared me that future torment, and I had not been given the privilege of refusing. The fine words and promises others had made to me dissolved, along with the fragile peace I had reclaimed over eight years.

The Patriarch Domiel was there, beside me, seated in the armchair that had welcomed me more than once for my readings. His pale blue gaze, struck by sunlight, was fixed on me. I straightened, pulling the cushion up so my back could rest against it. It was obvious that I had finally lost consciousness during our last conversation. I remembered the announcement, my pleas, and I could feel how strained my throat had been by them.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like someone about to fall back into hell."

My voice was weak, like a distant memory, and I made no effort to speak louder. In that moment, I did not care what might happen to me, nor what he might think of my behavior. Anything—absolutely anything—would be more bearable than leaving this household a second time. A nervous laugh swelled in my chest, and I failed to contain it. I shook my head and turned resolutely toward the window. Nothing compelled me to keep looking at my Patriarch any longer.

I regretted, today as much as eight years ago, having placed him so high in my esteem. His words were ultimately no different from those of the devil who had chained me to his cruelty: so sweet one might mistake them for honey, yet they forced you to swallow the deadliest poison. I had told myself this, repeated it to myself so often… Even the sweetest honey could be the worst poison. And yet, once again, I had been deceived by beautiful promises.

"When you were a child, before you knew proper conduct, whenever you saw me, you were the first to run to me, to greet me and climb onto my knees. You never left my side."

I could hear deep tenderness in his voice—but how could I believe it still?

"I felt a love for you that never left me. At times, it was even stronger than what I feel for my own fruits. When I learned what had happened to you, what you had done, I knew—before hearing even the faintest echo of the events—that you had been driven to it."

I pressed my lips together, my palms damp.

"You are right, my boy. I promised you I would never let anything like that happen again after failing to spare you those scars. I told you I believed you—and I still do."

Honey. The sweetest honey could be the worst poison.

"Abel."

The sweetest honey could be the worst poison.

"Abel, look at me."

The sweetest honey could be the worst poison. The sweetest honey could be the worst poison. The sweetest honey could be the worst poison. The sweetest—

The bed sank beneath his weight, and his broad hand slipped beneath my chin. It was nothing more than a silent request that waited without moving, and, resigned, I looked at him. His face betrayed a sorrowful emotion, but if he was truly so sad, why force this upon me? How could I believe him when his words and actions contradicted each other so cruelly?

"I will keep my promise. You will be placed under Seriel’s temporary guardianship, but he will have no right to touch you. You are not his. Enoch is," he assured me.

His fingers brushed along my cheek as he caressed my skin, drawing his forehead closer to mine. I could feel his warmth—so warm and welcoming… Poison.

"I will attend every event of The Haulieux Season. And during those times, I will come to see how you are. If there is the slightest issue, the faintest scratch upon your body or your heart, I will take you out of there, my boy."

I shook my head. Honey. Honey. Honey. It was poison.

"And after that?" I murmured. "If everything goes well… you will force me to serve another seeder."

“Goes well”—I did not believe in it for a second.

"It will be your choice. I will introduce you to seeders, even to Patriarchs—good friends of mine—who will be incapable of hurting you or going against my will."

"Then why didn’t you do that the first time? You were supposed to protect me. You are my Patriarch. That was your role."

"And I failed," he admitted. "That is why I will not make the same mistake twice. Forgive me—it took this for me to correct myself."

I remained silent. I did not know what to answer, nor how to look at him again. We said nothing more for a long while. His forehead rested against mine before he drew me into his embrace, his hand cradling the back of my head. He rocked me, the way one would soothe a child, and despite myself—despite the honey and the poison—I closed my eyes. Whether I believed him or not no longer mattered. I had no choice. I had to go. And if… if it were to happen again… this time… I would rather die.

When the time came for my Patriarch Domiel to leave, he tenderly kissed my cheeks and wished me a good departure… for tomorrow. It was so soon. Outside, the sun was low, and from the ground floor I could already smell the afternoon snacks. It took me several minutes to rise and make my way to the sitting room. I still felt feverish and fragile after the past few hours, but I hoped that eating—or at least nibbling at something—might help me feel better.

In the small sitting room, I found Simon and Caiaphas seated at the table, sharing the tart I had carefully prepared earlier. So it was still the same day. Several slices were already missing. I assumed that Patriarch Seriel and Enoch were enjoying a piece somewhere, and that Saul, as usual, was in his study. I took a seat beside Simon and Caiaphas, the latter smiling broadly as he slid a slice of tart toward me.

I stared at it for long seconds without reacting, because in that moment, I realized that I would no longer see him. Him—my small anchor. I would no longer be allowed to see him, to surface again thanks to him. I could have cried then and there, collapsed in front of him, but Simon seemed to understand the emotion threatening to overwhelm me and asked Caiaphas to go play elsewhere. My younger brother complied, not without pressing a kiss to my cheek.

"You’re going to miss him terribly."

"You knew?" I asked softly. "That I would be leaving the household. Since when?"

"Patriarch Seriel mentioned it after Saul dismissed you during the meal. We didn’t really have a choice."

So it came from that serpent. His perfidy truly had no depths. We were both well aware of the look he cast upon me.

"You won’t only be missed by Caiaphas."

I lifted my head toward Simon and met his tear-filled eyes, even as a tender smile curved his lips. I remembered the words he had spoken to Patriarch Seriel about what had happened eight years ago. And in this house, if there was another anchor besides Caiaphas, it was Simon. I took his hand in mine and squeezed it as tightly as I could, grief tightening my throat. Then, in a whisper, I allowed myself to answer him.

"I’ll miss you too. I don’t know how to survive if I’m not here."

"Don’t say that. You are so brave, so beautiful, so strong. My fruit, you were born to be admired, to shine. You will have it too—that warm, comforting destiny every bearer dreams of."

His words were worthy of a bearer—full of tenderness and hope, sensitivity and softness—but how could I tell him that I longed for something else? For him, he spoke of a household, of fruits and a seeder to shape him; of settling for the bare minimum by accepting to be treated as lesser than the other castes; of accepting and remaining silent for one’s own safety. I wanted more. I wanted to be heard, to be spoken to as an equal, to be accepted, to exchange. I wanted more than the minimum.

"Thank you for being there, Simon, even when I pushed you away. Even in the darkest hours, I heard your words."