The hour was irrelevant, the distance less so. The walk back was painful, granted, exaggerated by exhaustion and her own throbbing head. Her arms ached. The violin was heavy, and yet she cradled it all the same. She’d brought more along with her. She still hadn’t figured out the flute.
“Upstairs,” Octavia whispered.
The girl at her back obliged without question, ascending just as softly as herself. Her compliance was almost fascinating, somewhat, given her utter trust in a stranger. Octavia was no better, granted, dragging her icy savior straight into her bedroom with only moonlight as her witness. This wasn’t the time for her eyes to flicker to her sister’s room. It happened anyway.
A simple “thank you” whispered in return was all that pulled Octavia out of her thoughts. She stood beyond the doorway awkwardly, just as Octavia laid the violin to rest accordingly upon her desk. She sighed. She resolved not to stare, and she failed miserably. Replacement clothing was the least she could do.
“I think we’re the same size,” she muttered, rummaging through her closet carefully. It hardly mattered, given how plain any nightgown she could’ve offered was by comparison. The royal blues and delicate satins that draped the girl spoke to something far beyond what she could’ve afforded, cloaked in upturned earth and sod as they were. That had been her own fault, somewhat. She winced at the thought. “I know it’s probably not…what you’re used to.”
The girl waved her hands frantically. “N-No, it’s fine, really! I’m grateful that you’re letting me stay here at all! If anything, I feel bad taking your clothes.”
“Don’t worry,” Octavia reassured, placing a humble nightgown in the girl’s arms. “I don’t mind at all.”
“If…you insist,” the girl responded hesitantly. Octavia hadn’t particularly expected her to undress immediately. She turned her back quickly, well aware of the way her cheeks grew hot against her will.
“I still don’t know your name,” she murmured. “I’m Octavia.”
“Viola,” the girl replied simply. “Also, this fits perfectly, so thank you.”
“You’re more than welcome,” Octavia offered. She, too, was well-relieved of grime and dirt in her own way, comfortable once more in much the same attire as her companion. She settled down onto the bed herself, cross-legged and comfortable. “There’s…room here, if you want.”
Her new stranger obliged, curling up beside her slowly. It was Octavia’s first chance to drink her in, pale and petite as she was. She didn’t match, her refined appearance and general demeanor out of place in such a rural environment. She was cut out of a story and splashed upon the wrong page--although the plain fabrics Octavia had offered her muted that dichotomy, somewhat. Still, her aura was different. She was different.
“Are you...from around here?” she asked tentatively.
Viola shook her head, pulling her knees to her chest. “I’m from Coda, actually.”
Octavia’s eyes widened. “What are you doing all the way out in Silver Ridge? In the…middle of the night?”
Viola raised her head, the deep sea in her eyes meeting Octavia’s own. “I was hoping that’s what we could talk about.”
“About…what happened?” she asked.
That was one way of phrasing it. Even now, every not-so-distant memory was overwhelming. The urge to pelt her newest stranger with questions was aflame once more. The smoke, the screeching, and the violin were all of urgency. The latter, in particular, was burning clear through her heart and out the other side. She flexed her fingers absentmindedly, half-expecting to find a tint of that scathing heat painting her skin once more.
“Yeah. I...don’t really know where to start,” Viola replied with a similar hesitation.
Octavia’s eyes drifted to the violin at rest upon her desk. The flute nestled to the left of her own instrument made her wince. “I’m…sorry if I made you get your flute dirty,” she apologized.
Where Octavia would’ve expected to find an answer--chastising or otherwise--Viola instead met her with action. For a brief moment, the girl left the bed entirely, making for the desk and cradling both instruments in her arms in tandem. It was with surprise that Octavia found the violin in her lap once more, the girl opposite her crawling back onto the covers once more with the same flute in tow. Up close, she had the chance to stare. If it was at a flute, of all things, she didn’t necessarily feel as self-conscious. The engraving at the base was achingly familiar, if nothing else. She flinched.
Octavia flipped the violin over with such speed that she nearly fumbled it entirely. So, too, did she almost slam the wood against the flute. She pointed with urgency accordingly. “They match,” she breathed.
“Yeah, I know. I expected them to,” Viola replied nonchalantly. “That’s the Harmonial Crest.”
Octavia ran her fingertips over the burnt engraving repeatedly, savoring the shifting textures between the smooth mahogany and the curving indents. “What does that…mean, exactly?”
Viola, too, ran her own fingertips along the crest emblazoned upon the flute. “It’s a Harmonial Instrument. It’s…like mine.”
Octavia raised an eyebrow. “A Harmonial...Instrument?”
“They’re…instruments with special powers. For special people,” she added, her eyes flickering to Octavia’s own once more. “Maestros.”
“Maestros,” Octavia repeated experimentally. “And Maestros are...what, exactly?”
“They’re the…ones who can play Harmonial Instruments. They’re the only ones who can. That violin is yours and yours alone.”
Octavia shook her head with a sad smile. “No, this isn’t mine. This was my sister’s violin.”
“Where is your sister?” Viola asked softly.
The lump in her throat was dangerous. “Gone.”
Viola’s cheeks flushed. She reclaimed her gaze instantly, casting it into her lap. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Octavia sighed. “It’s…okay. This was her violin. She disappeared a few years ago. I didn’t expect to find it out there. I’ve been having a dream about a chest out there every night. Tonight, it was a different dream, sort of. It was open, for once. Went out there to check on it, and this violin was just…in there. I never thought I’d see it again.”
Viola stroked the length of the flute absentmindedly. “Harmonial Instruments have strange ways of finding their Maestros.”
“So you think I’m a…Maestro, then. For whatever that’s worth.”
“Maestra, technically. Same with me. And I don’t just think it. I’m sure of it.”
Octavia’s eyes flickered to the bow in her lap. The memory of the scorching warmth in her palm wasn’t fading. “Does being a Maestro make you do...whatever that was?”
Viola nodded. “Maestros can use their Harmonial Instruments to do amazing things.”
“Amazing things,” Octavia repeated once more. “Like what you were doing earlier?”
Once more, her answer came in the form of action. Viola lifted the flute to her lips with far less urgency than Octavia had witnessed thus far, calm and composed in the quiet of her little room. She didn’t get the chance to protest about the sound so late in the evening. It was too lovely to argue with.
Where Octavia had found spearing crystal and lethal ice, every gentle note now carried with it the delicate touch of snow. Flickering snowflakes, born one after another of the quiet melody, were once more brought from nothing into something right before her eyes. They were as beautiful as they were puzzling, drifting aimlessly and gracefully as they came to settle softly onto her bedsheets. She didn’t mind the localized flurries. They were too precious to argue with, even as they melted into the fabric. Octavia couldn’t look away, nor did she want to. Every note was a blessing of yet more, and she could’ve indulged the icy song forever.
“Just like before,” Octavia breathed, mesmerized. “With the ice.”
When Viola lowered the flute once more, her frosted melody stilling at last, it was a tragedy. “And just like the light that you made.”
Octavia raised the hand that had once clasped the bow so tightly, curling and uncurling her fingers experimentally. “I made that?” she asked in quiet disbelief.
“Like a true Maestra,” Viola replied with a gentle smile. “And I’m sure you can do much more than that.”
Once more, her fingers came to settle over the bow itself in her lap. “But…why me? I don’t even know how to play the violin that well. That was my sister. She was the violin prodigy, not me.”
“You don’t need to know how to play,” Viola countered quietly. “We can feel it in our hearts. We can play like we’ve known our Harmonial Instruments for our entire lives.”
“‘Known them’? Are they...alive?” Octavia asked hesitantly. The question was almost embarrassing.
“In a…manner of speaking. This,” Viola responded, raising her flute slightly aloft, “is Silver Brevada. It’s my partner, technically. We’re connected, although I…can’t really describe how.”
Octavia lifted her violin from her lap. “And…mine? What is mine called?”
Viola smiled. “You tell me. What is your Harmonial Instrument’s name?”
“Stradivaria.”
It came out naturally and unwaveringly. Octavia blinked. Viola did the same, albeit with a grin that was just a bit too knowing. Octavia blinked again.
“Stradi…varia?” she repeated hesitantly, testing the familiarity of the syllables on her tongue.
Viola stifled a giggle. “Maestros know their Harmonial Instruments in ways that they can’t really explain. That means you’ve already made a connection with...Stradivaria, was it?”
Octavia stared down the violin intensely, as silly as the motion felt. “It just...it feels right. I can’t explain it. I know that’s its name, somehow.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you and Stradivaria,” Viola offered, beaming. “And I want to thank you for saving my life.”
Truthfully, she’d been so caught up in the splendor of snowflakes and familiar names that the screeching had slipped her mind. “That’s the…other thing I wanted to talk about. What in the world was that...thing? That weird smoke stuff?”
Viola’s smile disappeared. “It’s called Dissonance. It’s humanity’s agony given form--that’s how my grandmother phrased it, at least.”
“I don’t...understand. Agony?”
She sighed. “The pain in people’s hearts. The horrible feelings that come with hatred and suffering. Dissonance is a reflection of that, and it manifests where bad memories are born.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Octavia’s heart skipped a beat uncomfortably. She didn’t particularly want to dissect the idea in context. “Then, at the chest…does that mean there were bad memories there? Were they my bad memories?”
Viola shook her head. “No, not at all. They were someone else’s bad memories, I’m sure. They’d been there for a long time, and the Dissonance that manifested there probably only got stronger as time went on.”
“Were they...my sister’s?” she murmured hesitantly.
Once more, Viola shook her head. “I don’t know. You said that violin used to belong to your sister?”
Octavia nodded. “I don’t know what it was doing out there. Like I said, I never saw it again after she disappeared.”
Viola inhaled deeply. “I think your sister was a Maestra.”
Octavia stared her down uncomfortably. “But I thought you said Maestros were the only ones that could use their special instruments. Why can I suddenly play her violin? Why can I…do all that crazy stuff from before?”
Viola shifted in her seat. “The thing is, Harmonial Instruments can change Maestros if something happens to the one they were bonded to. You said she disappeared, right?”
Octavia nodded once more. “Without a trace, five years ago. Left to play a concert in another city and never came back.”
“Are you sure it was to play a concert?” Viola asked, choosing her words carefully.
“I mean...no, but that’s what she said she--”
“Harmonial Instruments find their Maestros in weird ways,” Viola repeated. “Why would she play a concert without her violin?”
Octavia’s eyes widened. “You think...you think she put it there?”
“I don’t know, but it was in that chest for a reason,” Viola offered quietly. “It waited for you for a reason.”
“Do you think...she’s still alive?” Octavia murmured.
Viola shook her head. “I don’t know, but something doesn’t add up about that. If your sister was a Maestra, and Stradivaria bonded to you after you found it, then something happened to your sister. I know that part. Still, there has to be a reason it chose you.”
Octavia glanced down at Viola’s lap, her eyes coming to rest gently upon the shimmering flute. “Why did...Silver Brevada, right? Why did Silver Brevada choose you?”
Viola sighed heavily, still not devoid of a subtle smile. “Silver Brevada belonged to my grandmother. She taught me all I know about being a Maestra. That’s…why I’m here. She told me I could probably find more Maestros and Maestras outside of the capital.”
She tilted her head. “Is that why you were out so late? In the woods?”
Viola nodded. “I got lost trying to get to Silver Ridge. I was stumbling around in the dark, and then I found you--and the Dissonance. Still, I’m lucky I found you.”
“Why?”
Viola paused. “I want...I want you to come back with me to the capital.”
Octavia flinched. “To Coda? Why all the way out there?”
Viola averted her eyes. “I need to find more Maestros. I need as many as I can. I…want to defeat the Dissonance. All of it.”
Octavia’s eyes widened. “Is that even possible? You just said it was born from people, right?”
“There has to be a way!” Viola cried abruptly, her volume outright startling. She reined it in quickly enough, pained eyes pairing well with her soft tone. “There...has to be a way. It’s too dangerous to let it exist. If we go, we can talk to my grandmother. She’ll tell us what we need to do.”
Octavia hesitated, indulging the silence that had settled onto their shoulders. “If we go to the capital, do you think your grandmother could tell me what happened to my sister?”
Viola raised her head, meeting Octavia’s eyes with startling resolve. “We can find out together.”
Octavia was quiet once more as she rose to her feet. “I…I want to know. I need to know. I’ll talk to my parents tomorrow. If I tell them it’s about my sister, they might listen.”
The violin and the flute side by side upon her desk felt natural, in a way. She somewhat enjoyed the sight. Viola’s hand on Octavia’s shoulder, too, was welcome--somewhat startling as it was. “Then we should get some sleep, somehow. It’s a long way to the capital.”
Octavia exhaled deeply. “I know, I know. You can sleep in my bed. It’s pretty big. I-I mean, I don’t know if that’s weird or not.”
Viola smiled. “It’s okay. It’s like a sleepover.”
It was a comfortable enough excuse, and she met it with a smile. She curled up alongside Viola in bed, content to settle into the true silence of night. Viola’s warmth paled in comparison to that which had stung her palm so prominently before. She tried not to dwell on it, failing somewhat in the process. Exhaustion was a helpful counter to racing thoughts.
It had been four weeks since she’d been freed of the chest in her dreams. It was a welcome reprieve.
----------------------------------------
“This,” Octavia announced with false confidence, “is Viola.”
On cue, Viola leaned out from behind Octavia’s back, waving hesitantly. Her wavering voice betrayed her false composure almost instantly. “Hi, I’m Viola.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Viola,” Octavia’s father replied with genuine kindness. “Guess you two had a sleepover late last night, huh? Didn’t hear you come in when the lights went out.”
“It’s not the first time,” her mother added playfully. “When Octavia was younger, she’d have friends over in the summer all the time. She’d sneak them in through the windows in the dead of night, if she could. It always threw me off guard. I had to make everyone more food the next morning.”
Octavia chuckled nervously. “Sorry about that. Viola is a...new friend. I just met her yesterday, and she needed a place to stay. I hope that was alright.”
“But of course,” Octavia’s father answered with a smile, motioning to a chair at the table. “Come have a seat with us. You’re more than welcome to stay for breakfast.”
Viola anxiously obliged. It was the first time Octavia had seen four places at the table occupied simultaneously in years. It was as comforting as it was deeply unsettling.
“That’s very kind of you, Mr...Ellis, right?”
He beamed. “Yes, ma’am. Where are you from, exactly? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you around Silver Ridge.”
Viola took a deep breath, exchanging a fleeting glance with Octavia. “I’m from...Coda.”
Octavia’s parents exchanged glances of their own, then. “The capital? What are you doing so far from home?”
Viola tensed. “Well, that’s what I was hoping to talk to you and Mrs. Ellis about. I wanted to know if...I could...”
Fidgeting was doing absolutely nothing to alleviate waiting for the girl’s full inquiry. The way by which Viola trailed off repeatedly was painful. Eventually, it was intolerable. Octavia’s mouth was open before she’d even fully realized.
“I need to go with Viola to Coda because I think she can help me find out what happened to sis,” she blurted out with one breath alone.
The ensuing silence was crushing, although not quite so severe that Octavia regretted her words. It left only the soft sizzle of skillets upon the stovetop to fill the void, for how she assumed her racing heartbeat was inaudible. She liked to imagine, at least. Octavia’s father cleared his throat uncomfortably, his eyes flickering to her mother’s with an equal discomfort to match.
“You, uh...you want Octavia to go with you? I mean, it’s summer, and her studies don’t start up again for another few months, granted, but that’s a long journey, you know, and maybe a bit dangerous for two young ladies such as yourselves to make alone, and--”
“Priscilla is dead,” Octavia’s mother murmured. It was enough for every eye to fall upon her instead, willing or otherwise.
Octavia’s stomach lurched. “But what if she’s not?”
“She’s dead, and she’s gone, and she’s not coming back, Octavia!” her mother snapped, her eyes erupting with bitter tears as she sent a spatula hurtling to the floor. “I’m sorry, but it’s the truth! Please, just let her rest! Please!”
The guilt that bit into her heart instantly wasn’t enough to keep Octavia from turning to her father instead. Silent as he was, he didn’t verbally dissent. It was all the agreement Octavia needed to find. It ached horrifically. It was the sight of Viola alone, then, the girl’s own face still flooded with resolve, that kept her going.
“Please,” Octavia pleaded, her voice trembling somewhat. “I need to know. If there’s even the slightest chance that she isn’t, a one in a million possibility, I need to take that. I need to. I won’t be alone.”
“Why can’t you just let this go?” Octavia’s mother sobbed, her shoulders shaking viciously. “I don’t understand!”
“Because I don’t even know what happened!” Octavia snapped, her voice cracking. “None of us do! We don’t even know if she’s actually dead! You guys don’t talk about her, you don’t acknowledge her, and you don’t even let me say anything about her!”
What tears she’d battled to suppress betrayed her in full, hot and burning her cheeks as they flowed freely. “I loved her more than anything, and I know you loved her, too! Both of you! If there’s even the slightest chance that she might be out there somewhere, if there’s even the tiniest chance I might be able to bring her home again, then I’ll go to hell and back to take that chance with everything I’ve got!”
She didn’t care that she was breaking down in front of Viola. It wasn’t of her own volition. “At least let me have that closure,” she sobbed. “At least let me find out. It hurts so, so badly not to know.”
Octavia’s own sobbing had long since outdone her mother’s, continuous as it was. She didn’t fight the embrace that ensnared her on either side, two sets of arms cradling her close in tandem. It didn’t dull the pain any further. It wasn’t entirely unwelcome. For at least a moment, she was content to cry.
“I can’t lose another daughter,” Octavia’s mother sobbed. “You’re all I have left, now.”
“You won’t…lose me. I’ll be safe. I won’t be alone,” Octavia murmured through hiccups.
It took effort to squeeze a glance through the embrace, casting her tearful gaze at Viola instead. Her sorrow was contagious, and Viola’s own eyes swam dangerously with unshed tears of her own. She was offered a smile, soft and sweet. Octavia did what she could to return it, wobbling and compromised as she knew her own to be.
When Octavia was freed at last, it was two gentle hands that she found draped over her shoulders instead. Her mother, too, took a moment to hunt for composure. “Even if I told you no, you’d still find a way to go.”
Octavia laughed, dotting at stray tears with her sleeve. “You raised me like this, you know.”
Octavia’s father ruffled her hair playfully. “I raised some fine young girls,” he murmured, his own voice wavering. “I’m proud of what you two have become.”
Viola didn’t escape them, tender moment or otherwise. “And I trust that you’ll take care of my girl, right?” her father asked with a gentle grin.
Viola stiffened. Still, she found the drive to nod her head fervently. “Y-Yes sir, of course. I-I’m sure she’ll take care of me, too.”
“Then I have no worries,” he continued. “Don’t get into too much trouble, either of you.”
“And be home before your studies start again,” her mother chided. “Make sure you two are together at all times. You know I’d never let you make this trip alone. If I find out you went off on your own, you’re going to be in quite a bit of trouble when you get back. Take your time and stay somewhere safe at night. Don’t go sleeping in the woods. Let me make sure you have enough food and money to--”
“Mom, it’s okay, really!” Octavia interrupted with a laugh. “I promise I’ll be good. Just…give me a little while to get ready. There’s something I need to go get really quick.”
Her mother’s hurried preparations were irrelevant, excessive and unnecessary as they were. There was only so much she could fit into a singular backpack. It was her mother’s issue to tackle, ultimately. Hers, then, rested above, and she saw fit to bring Viola along. It was with urgency that she made for the stairs instead, perhaps faster than she should’ve. She hoped the girl wouldn’t trip.
“Are you going to get Stradivaria?” Viola asked breathlessly. “Do you have a bag or something you can carry it in for now?”
Octavia shook her head. “Something better.”
She’d never actually bothered to show it to Viola, nor had she found the courage to enter herself in far too long. For how often she’d stared, she somewhat wondered if she was subtle in any capacity. She hesitated out of habit, at least briefly. It was the first time in a while that the door alone hadn’t left her riddled with guilt.
Viola’s eyes widened slightly as Octavia reached for the doorknob. “Is…this--”
“My sister’s room,” Octavia finished on her behalf. “Haven’t been in there since...you know.”
It was identical. It was nostalgic and beautiful in every way, frozen in a way she couldn’t quite justify desecrating. Every last memento was where it was needed most. Every speck of dust had rightfully made a home. She didn’t hate it. Whatever pain she’d expected to find, for how she’d come to expect a gorgeous soul and wonderful voice awaiting her within, was strikingly dormant. The case was not, still ajar and awaiting the girl as it had been. It, too, had not been spared of dust, debris of the ages nestling deeply into the rugged material. It didn’t matter. Octavia beamed.
“This is Stradivaria’s,” she clarified gently, cradling the dusty case in her arms accordingly. “As long as I have this, nothing will ever happen to it.”
Octavia’s casual brushing of the excess dust was enough to leave Viola coughing. Still, the girl found her praise in the wake of the debris coating the air. “Your sister took great care of Stradivaria. I’m sure she was a wonderful Maestra.”
Octavia pulled the violin case close to her heart, clinging tightly. “I hope I can live up to her.”
It was with effort that Viola managed to clasp one of Octavia’s hands in her own regardless. “You will. You’ll be a fantastic Maestra, and we’ll figure all of this out together. I promise.”
Where once had been dust--and still continued to be, somewhat--the thick material now met with one stray tear. It was beyond Octavia’s control as she nodded, rolling down her cheek and plopping softly onto the case. She nodded regardless, never releasing Viola’s hand. It was the last time she cast her eyes back at the same room, her heart aflutter for a different reason entirely. It didn’t hurt. It was a first.
“I’ll be back soon, sis,” Octavia whispered softly. “I love you.”