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It shouldn’t have surprised her, logically, that her very first flash entailed some of the most horrific screaming Octavia had ever heard in her entire life.

Of all the shrieks of pain and agony she’d witnessed, to hear such shrill wails of terror and hurt from the mouth of a child would haunt her forever. Her vision blurred, her perspective shifted wildly, and her borrowed hands were so, so small. Octavia could never move them regardless--not of her own accord, at least. Her stranger couldn’t, either, to be fair, bound as they were in grasps so much larger and stronger.

Already, so young as she was, her night-black locks were long and vivid, flowing freely over her shoulders as she gazed at the floor. No amount of flailing--nor sobbing, nor begging, nor promising--was successful in freeing her little body of restrictions. It took several people to hold her in place, for how viciously she fought back. Even out of context, Octavia wanted to cheer her on.

Is it done?

I don’t believe it’s deep enough to stay.

Give it to me. Take my place.

Here?

Yes.

She heard the sizzle that came with the desperate screams and cries once more. Octavia got her context. Every misplaced apology that fell from the tiny acolyte’s mouth was broken, unrefined, unpolished. Her sentence construction was poor. She was far, far too young. Knowing what she knew now, she couldn’t help but wonder exactly how much of this truly was Seraphe’s choice.

You are to play thrice nightly. There is a schedule to be upheld.

What is it?

This is Seraphim’s Call. It is the guardian of Velpyre. You, little acolyte, are the flame that shares its warmth with us all. You must carry such an honor with pride and grace.

But I don’t know how to play.

It will guide you.

I can’t reach.

We will aid you.

Do I have to?

You must.

They gave her no reprieve. There was no window between the moment she donned the colorful robes, too big for her tiny body, and the moment Octavia began to memorize each and every one of their faces respectively.

What if I don’t want to?

It is not your choice.

Octavia fought with all of her might to overhear even the slightest indication of Selena’s age. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know, in truth. To her credit, size be damned, Selena really did try--at first. It was a thankless job, with zero motivation or reward besides the weakest of praises and the most convoluted of sentiments. There was surely no way for a child so young to understand. Even Octavia could hardly understand.

She made it a month. Threats worked for a while. Threats held no water if not delivered on. Octavia was left wondering how low a person had to fall to break the leg of a child who could hardly speak in full sentences. By the end of this toll, she wondered how many of Selena’s different screams she would’ve collected, balanced carefully atop a shelf she wished she could smash to pieces.

How a child was to grow without food was beyond her. How a child was to play with broken fingers was beyond her. How a child was supposed to sleep well during the reprieve of day peppered in burns and bruises was beyond her. She was a pendulum between compliance and rebellion. It was either submission to an unending task too taxing for her little body, or suffering in place of a song. There was no alternative. Even in times where Octavia prayed with all of her heart for the tiny acolyte to accept her fate in peace, it was the strength in her blood that surely led her to struggle time and time again.

They wouldn’t kill her. She wondered if Selena knew, even young as she was. She still couldn’t read. Weak as she was, walking was laborious. There was no drive for enjoyment, no zest for life. She saved tears, largely shed in private between whispers for those who weren't there to coddle her. It wasn’t as though Octavia had found them anywhere in this toll to begin with. She knew they would never come. For all the kindness she’d offered to Celestina, she understood Josiah’s wrath just the slightest bit more with every flash.

The beauty of Seraphe’s melody in Selena’s little hands was irrelevant, given its cost. Either it sang, or she suffered. Sometimes, she received both outcomes, for how strained the mere act of playing could leave her. It made sense--she was small. The instrument was large. The stretching and fumbling that came with it, even guided by the hands of a Muse, was undoubtedly beyond what she could be expected to handle. For how often she heard of that which would’ve made her just as small, so high above, it might’ve been twice as insulting.

How humiliating that a flame cannot warm the blossom it is meant to nurture.

But I’m trying!

Do not lie.

I’m really, really trying!

Do you know how they speak of you above? Do you know the venomous words they say about the Velpyre Acolyte? She is of no merit, they say. She is a worthless flame, they say. Tell me, child, what kind of acolyte would put up such resistance to a responsibility so sacred? There are those who would be humbled to stand where you do! To be blessed with what it is you possess, it is an envy shared by so many! Still, you would squander it? And for what?

I didn’t do anything wrong!

Where is the grace we would come to expect from the blossom? How could we claim that for ourselves in this place? What have we done to deserve such a fate? The Velrose Acolyte is to be revered! So, too, should the Velpyre Acolyte, should she not? Would you disagree?

Please let me go!

Would you disagree, Lady Acolyte?

Please!

Where Sonata hadn't learned of Velpyre until long into adolescence, Selena learned of Sonata’s home before she was old enough to write. It wasn't a lesson relayed with kindness. It came with welts, instead.

And even in the moments where Selena was granted reprieve, even in the times between her thrice-nightly torment where she was forced to choose between submission and punishment, she found little. She wandered. She slept. She gazed vacantly, most often. Where a child should have been engrossed in play, Selena was instead prodding at bruises that had yet to heal, or perhaps watching raindrops pool outside with only muted interest. She hardly ate, provided her compliance was deemed passable enough to warrant a full meal. She largely spoke when spoken to.

Can I go outside?

Why?

I…want fresh air.

Remain within sight of the church. Go no further than the steps. Should you vanish from sight, you will be found and punished. Do you understand?

Yes.

It was the closest she ever got to asking for anything personal. That, in itself, was exceedingly upsetting to witness. Even when she found the energy to make it to the front steps, she had no drive to do more than simply sit and drink in the darkened city. It was no safer outside for a child in such a hellish environment than it was within the walls of the church. Octavia wondered, for Selena, which was truly the worse option. Sometimes, her tears painted the steps. Sometimes, only her exasperated breaths, little as they were, filled the stuffy atmosphere.

There were those amongst the clergy who treated her with somewhat more kindness than others, fanatics of the flame as they were. Never once did they even remotely reach the level of true coddling for the acolyte. Octavia, too, committed them to memory them one by one. Softer eyes were notable, softer words just as such. Where some had turned to violence, some at least attempted to lead her more calmly down a path of compliance. Little by little, Selena singled them out.

She separated them. Some hit harder than others. Some were quicker to anger than others. Some were more likely to let her off with a warning than others. There was no fair reason in the world that a child should’ve been strategizing a path to safety in the wake of rebellion. Octavia already knew, even from the most minimal insight into Selena’s short life, that the world was far from fair to the Velpyre Acolyte.

She strategized in a way that more than befit her legacy, strength flooding her veins well before Selena could conceptualize its definition.

She played.

She played.

She didn’t.

She played.

She didn’t.

She suffered.

She suffered.

She played.

She didn’t.

She suffered.

She played.

She suffered anyway.

Perhaps it was symbolic, or perhaps she truly still believed it to be a plausible counterattack to a role that had strangled her. It was futile to Octavia, and horrifying to watch again and again. For Selena, in eyes that she borrowed and couldn’t witness herself, she might’ve found hope. Octavia hated to imagine how long it would take for the same hope to burn out, much like the flame herself. She had scars now. They were visible, when the Ambassador bothered to look. The amount of them that had accumulated over the course of only several short years was also horrifying.

In her moments of reprieve, she still constantly debated between resistance and compliance. It was hardly a reprieve in the most literal sense. She was spite itself, a tiny flame burning only with a spirit Octavia couldn’t fathom. If she could reach out through the toll and wrap her hands around that little flame, nurturing it with the true kindness it deserved, she would’ve. It wouldn’t have been a question.

Someone beat her to it.

I…like your clothes.

What?

They’re kinda weird. Why do they look like that?

I…

I’m sorry. Was that mean?

I’m…

Are they heavy? Do they get uncomfortable?

U-Um…

As long as you like them, that’s okay.

I-I…don’t like them.

Why not?

I just…don’t.

Can you wear something else?

I’m…not allowed.

Why not?

I’m just not.

That’s not fair.

He was just as tiny as she was.

Are you lonely? You’re all by yourself.

Yes.

Can I sit by you?

Why?

I want to.

Why would you want that?

I just do.

And he was every bit as vulnerable to the cruelties of the world.

Do you want to come play with me somewhere else? It’s kinda hard to do anything here.

I’m not allowed to leave.

What? Why?

I just can't.

Says who?

Everyone.

What if you…don’t tell them?

I’ll get in trouble.

Even if we’re really careful?

If I get caught, I’ll get hurt. I don’t want to.

They hurt you?

A lot.

That’s not very nice.

Yeah.

And even so, he was every bit as kind as a child as Octavia knew him to be now.

Why are you…here? There’s nothing in this place.

There’s a song that gets played here a lot that I like. I can hear it from my house. I wanted to come hear it from up close, but I think I’m too early. Maybe I can wait here for it to happen.

You…like it?

Yeah. It’s pretty.

The smile he gave Selena was different. It was one Octavia had never seen before.

You like my song?

That’s yours? You play that?

Yeah. I play it a lot.

That’s awesome! You’re really good at it!

I-I…thank you.

Can I listen to you play it next time?

I can ask.

If not, I can just listen from out here. I’m sure I can hear it really well from this close.

Will you come back if I play?

I can come back anyway.

And Octavia couldn’t see her own borrowed smile, but she wondered if one was there.

What’s your name?

I’m Josiah. What’s your name?

I’m…Selena.

She had her motivation. It wasn’t spite. It wasn’t unnoticed.

It wasn’t as though the quality of her playing had changed, necessarily. Regardless, even Octavia could hear just the slightest difference in Selena’s song--Maestra experience or otherwise. Her demeanor was more of note, her compliance more visible to those who'd sought to hunt down her breaking point time after time. She hadn’t given up in full by any means, although an outside view may have painted a different picture. Of the little Octavia had gathered of the Velpyre Acolyte, she at least knew her better than that.

A handful of black and blue mementos gave way to more natural coloration, granted reprieve in a way Selena hadn’t been offered in quite some time. Those that would take their place were far fewer in number. She didn’t smile. It was a start, and Octavia knew from experience that she’d find one in there someday.

They still spoke poorly of her, regardless. True to her own words, there was little to be done to truly placate the greed of those who sought the flame’s warmth. It was more infrequent. Their poison stung her heart on occasions fewer and more far between. It had taken submission she’d fought to avoid gifting them so desperately. Even then, that much wasn't permanent. It was surreal to expect such a young child to feel ashamed or humiliated in the face of self-made defeat. When Octavia found no emotion of the sort, then, it was a relief.

Did you…get to hear it?

Yeah. I could hear it yesterday, too.

Did you like it?

I liked it a lot.

And you’ll keep coming back if I play, right? Promise?

His little laugh was far too sweet for such a bitter place. I told you, I’ll come back anyway. I like seeing you.

Me?

You live here, right? I live that way. It’s a little bit of a walk, but it’s worth it, if you’re here.

Why are you being nice to me?

Because I want to.

If you spend too much time with me, you might get hurt.

Why?

They don’t like it when I’m happy.

I’m not afraid.

Her routine picked up a new stop, each and every day. Her wandering wasn’t aimless. Selena ate. She slept. She still resisted, somewhat, granted, but not to the same degree. They wondered aloud, and in her fear, she hesitated. Octavia would’ve done the same.

You’ve been different as of late, little flame.

I…I don’t know what you mean.

You are not so unrefined. You do not burn so uncontrollably. Follow this path, and you may very well grow to warm the blossom properly.

Um…okay.

What has changed you in this way?

What?

Your rebellious spirit is not to be dismissed, despite all who would seek to tame it. You aren’t one to give in so easily. What has changed your mind, then, Lady Acolyte?

N-Nothing.

You will not be punished for the truth.

I don’t believe you!

I give my word.

Even on the outskirts of explicit uprising, Selena didn't cease her self-preserving strategizing for a moment. It was strange to be privy to her thought process, careful as she was about her softer confidants. In that way, for how she, too, had learned of their faces, Octavia was her partner in crime from afar. By Selena’s caution alone, it was perhaps one of the few times in her life that such trust was rewarded.

Wow, it’s so big!

This is Seraphim’s Call. It makes the song you hear every night, the one that I play.

And you play this all by yourself?

Yeah.

That’s so cool! Can I watch from in here the next time you do it?

I-In here?

Yeah! Is it okay if I see it up close?

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

I-I…I don’t know. What if I mess up?

I don’t know how to play it, so I wouldn’t even know if you did. Whatever you do, it’ll be great. I know it.

Her life was small. It was caged, a tragedy behind four grandiose walls and sealed under the guise of false faith. It was largely empty, hallmarked only by a single song and one prerogative alone. Selena had so little to share, even to a boy raised under an empty sky. Still, what she did have became his. What she could show met his eyes. What she could offer, he admired with grace and awe.

It was a tiny world in which Octavia’s eyes had only found sorrow and suffering, and he was so, so out of place. Like a puzzle piece dropped onto a foreign board, the way by which Josiah fit himself into Selena’s life was as unnatural as it was wonderful. It didn’t take long for the clergy to spot the discrepancy in much the same puzzle, more intrigued than offended.

Whatever clicked, clicked. There was no pushback. Even if she wasn't broken, even if she wasn't the submissive flame they hoped to handle, Selena was tolerable enough. She played enough. She met the threshold of freedom, for what the word could afford the Velpyre Acolyte specifically. It was enough to keep her skin unblemished, at least mostly. It was enough to keep her conversations unimpeded. It was enough to keep them away from her and close to him, whether inside her holy Hell or out.

I don’t actually want to do this.

Do what?

Any of this.

What, the acolyte stuff?

Yeah.

I don’t…really blame you. I don’t think I’d want to do it, either. They won’t let you leave, right?

And they hurt me.

I don’t get why they’re hurting you.

Because I don’t play whenever they want me to.

You have a schedule, right?

Three times a night. If I don’t stick to that, they’ll punish me.

Then…why don’t you just do it?

I have to do the same thing constantly for the rest of my life, and that’s still not enough for them. All I ever hear about is how bad of a flame I am, or whatever. Why should I? Why should I give them what they want?

Because it keeps you safe.

Maybe it’s worth risking.

I don’t want you to get hurt.

It might be worth it.

It didn’t matter how they grew. It didn’t matter how he teased her about her height, or how she found it easier to tie her hair back rather than battle its length. Where her flame kindled their warmth, so, too, did her spite grow in tandem. Selena carried it with her everywhere, a memento of a grudge against her little world. Octavia couldn’t blame her, not for how many times she still incurred their wrath. Every laceration was a battle scar. Every bruise was a war wound. Every last blow that rained down unto her head was a testament to her resolve. It was a fight Selena picked of her own accord again and again rather than surrender what was the birthright of Velpyre itself.

It surely hurt, nonetheless. Octavia came to learn exactly which of her prior scars from youth were not to heal as she aged. By eleven, there was little of Selena’s body that hadn't yet succumbed to unfathomable agony at one time or another. Even if Josiah couldn’t comprehend her motives, he could at least catch her burning spirit as it crashed to the earth every time.

God, it hurts! Stop it!

I can’t just leave it like that!

Please don’t touch it!

I don’t have a choice! Stay still for a minute, okay? If I don’t, it’s gonna get infected, and you’re gonna get sick.

What even is that?

It’s first aid stuff. One of us ought to learn, at this point.

Why?

I can think of a few reasons.

Wait, stop, stop! That hurts!

Just deal with it for a second. It’ll go away.

That really, really hurts! Stop it!

Like I said, you aren’t exactly leaving me with a lot of options! Could you please just…pick your battles, for once?

You know why I can’t! God, this sucks! It hurts too much, I can’t do it! Please!

You wouldn’t have to deal with this if you’d just do what they tell you! Just listen to them for once, Sel!

It wasn’t all painful, at least. By now, even without a mirror, Octavia could hear her own stolen smile. She could sense it in every laugh and observe it in every joke. She was aware of its existence when he drew near, and even caught the way it lingered in his wake once or twice. Josiah was as much of a fixture as Seraphim’s Call was in her life. When her hands weren't on Seraphim’s Call, Selena was at his side, instead.

I can’t feel anything.

Because you’re not even slightly near the right place.

Are you sure you’re not just, like, I don’t know…dead?

Did you want me to be?

Not particularly.

Look, move your fingers to the left a little bit. Only use these two. Otherwise, you’re just gonna feel your own pulse.

Is it supposed to be obvious?

It’ll be noticeable.

Wait, I think I feel it! You’re not dead!

Debatable.

Do mine again!

I just did yours. Are we checking to see if you’re dead? Did you die in the last ten seconds?

Maybe. You can’t be sure until you check.

You’re so stupid. Give me your hand.

It was far, far from the only time.

Which ankle was it?

The left one.

Do you…want me to--

It’s not bleeding. It just hurts. I don’t think anything’s broken. They got me pretty good, though.

It…sucks to see you do this to yourself over and over, you know.

You think I want this?

I don’t. I know for a fact that you know what I mean.

I can’t let them have their way. I’m sorry. No one else will stand up to them. There’s nothing worth--there’s so little in this freakin’ city worth protecting.

Are you ever scared?

Every single time. It doesn’t get any easier. I’m used to some of it, but it’s…hard knowing exactly what’s waiting for you the minute you refuse. I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense out loud.

I…kinda get it.

What are you doing?

If it’s too much, just…do this. And I’ll…do this, so you know I’m here.

If…what’s too much?

Anything. Everything. Here, practice with me.

Right now?

Yeah.

It was the first of many.

Selena was a pendulum of agony and happiness, a candle burning at both ends. She was unstable, unpredictable, still just barely manageable beneath the care of those who fought to mold her. Octavia had long since lost count of how many times Selena’s name had shared a sentence with that of the acolyte above, and never in a positive context. To know that the same correlation would leave her own lips someday soon stung her heart with regret. It didn’t matter if she hadn’t known. She knew now. That was enough for it to ache.

Every flash found Octavia flipping a coin between Seraphim’s Call and Josiah. It was endless, a repeating cycle of the only two notable fixtures of the acolyte’s existence. Pain was sprinkled between his companionship, granted, and yet it didn’t take up quite so many fragments of Selena's memory as Octavia would’ve expected. When her hands didn't grace her partner’s keys with reluctance and boiling spite, they were wrapped so tenderly around Josiah’s own. He squeezed. She squeezed back.

What are you doing here?

I…got into a fight with my parents.

So you ran to the church to beg for forgiveness? Let your perfect and amazing and spectacular flame absolve you of sin. And beautiful, I forgot beautiful.

I can’t tell if you’re gonna be happy or angry about this.

About…what? What’s wrong?

My family’s moving to Selbright. I told them I didn’t want to go, and we got into one hell of an argument. I’ve been talking with the clergy for the past hour. They said that as long as you were okay with it, I could…stay here. Permanently.

You…this is your chance to get out of Velpyre.

I don’t care.

Why?

The look on Josiah’s face wasn't for Octavia, her own eyes long since left by the wayside. It was a brilliance she still clung to on Selena’s behalf. Because you’re here, idiot.

And the tears that clouded Selena’s eyes, in turn, only compromised his glow momentarily. She was upon him, emotional and joyful in equal measure. Whatever scolding left her mouth was empty and tainted with laughter. Even if Octavia couldn’t feel warmth through the arms of another, she could sense it in Josiah’s embrace and witness it in his smile. Her heart, too, was warmed by Selena’s generous flame, spreading her elation to a soul she’d never again meet.

Octavia knew, logically, that Selena continued to resist. She knew, from Josiah’s recounting, that the girl’s suffering hadn't ceased as she aged. The abrasions and injuries that still peppered her arms and legs in every flash made that abundantly clear. Josiah, too, was not immune to suffering after he’d sunk deeper into the cracks of Selena’s life. Whatever pain he claimed for himself, physical rather than collateral and emotional, always came on the heels of Selena’s defense. More than once, they bled together. Sometimes, it was laughable--at least, for them. Sometimes, their humor was a bit too dark. Sometimes, that was what it took to get by.

Have you ever thought about dying before?

You know literally everyone has, right? That’s normal.

Isn’t your job, like, to prevent that?

You know I don’t even know if that’s what I want to do yet, right? But yes, I’ve thought about dying. Like I said, it’s normal.

Have you…thought about dying any time soon?

Have you?

How long do you think we’re gonna live for?

I mean, you’re an angel, so you’re gonna live forever.

Oh, stop it. You’re making me blush.

Acolytes and angels are the same thing.

We live in Hell.

Tell me something I don’t know.

I don’t exactly think I’m the acolyte they’d consider an angel. They want the other one. It’d be funny as hell to switch places with her for a day. She wouldn’t last a second in my shoes.

To hell with whatever they ‘consider’ you. You’re perfect the way you are.

If…I die, you realize they’d have nothing left, right?

The clergy?

The city.

In terms of?

Maestras. Seraphim would just…be there. They could worship the freakin’ thing day in and day out, if they wanted to, but they’d never hear it again. There’s no Maestras left after me. I’m not having kids. At least, not in this place.

Did you want to have children one day?

Selena sighed. Octavia’s vision shifted somewhat as she flung herself onto the bed. I mean, it’d be nice. I’ve…thought about getting married and raising a little family. I think everybody has, at some point. I sure as hell can’t do it here. If I have kids in this place, I’m condemning them to the exact same fate.

Josiah smirked. I seriously hope that’s not why they let me move in.

Selena blushed brightly, for the red Octavia caught splattered in her peripheral vision. Josiah snickered. When he ended up with a faceful of pillow, he only laughed harder.

Shut up, idiot! I’m serious! This whole bloodline dies with me! It’s…so crazy to think about. I have that power over them, and they can’t do anything about it. They’re desperate. I’m all they have left. It almost feels good to know I can…take everything away from them. Whenever I want.

Where are you…going with that?

What would you do if I died?

Josiah paused. Keep all of your organs as a memento. Put them in a little jar on a shelf. Admire them daily.

What would you…actually do if I died? I’m serious.

He squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

I think part of me would die, too. What…would you do if I died?

Kill myself.

Josiah recoiled. God, Sel, could we go down any other road, please?

I’d have nothing left. That’s the truth. And I’ll tell you what, it would feel so, so good to drag this place to Hell. Real Hell. Do you know how tempting it is to just…let the damn Dissonance do its thing?

Would you at least try to find something to live for?

Nope.

Seriously? There’s nothing?

I…don’t want to be alone again. I can’t. I’m sorry. You can be mad at me about it, if you want.

I’m not mad. I just…don’t really like imagining that. Like I said, angels can’t die. You’re…gonna live forever.

It was a thought Octavia wanted to cling to just as badly as Josiah did. Every syllable burned. There was nothing left for her to regret that she hadn’t regretted already. Here, at least, she could beg for him to savor every last moment he had with the acolyte. Their hands were inseparable. Their presences were just the same.

Selena’s pendulum was lopsided, perhaps by far too much. Octavia knew of the injuries. She could no longer see them happening. Instead, all she got were his jokes. All she found was his smile. All she heard was his laugh, and all she imagined feeling was his hand wrapped around her borrowed fingers time after time. It was the happiest she’d ever seen him. It was the happiest she’d ever seen Selena, just the same.

So long ago, Selena had found only pain. Now, even as Octavia sifted through every last fragment and flash of the acolyte’s memories, she found only Josiah, instead.

That’s stupid.

They were words to no one, offered alone in the dead of night.

No, that’s stupid, too.

Accompanied only by utter darkness and a pillow clutched tightly, every word fell solely upon the air.

What if…no, that’s worse. God, that’s so much worse. Ugh!

Octavia was glad she didn’t need to breathe, given exactly how long Selena saw fit to suffocate herself. The muffled groaning was almost comical, the vibrations of the bed as she flailed in aggravation perhaps equally so.

How do I even do this? the acolyte muttered, exasperated. I…I…damn it!

Octavia didn't envy the pillow, for the amount of torture Selena was putting it through.

I mean, like, what’s the worst he could freakin’ say? Besides, like--oh God. Nevermind. Damn it, damn it, damn it!

She’d heard Selena distressed many, many times over. She’d heard her pain in a myriad of different ways she’d surely never forget, no matter how badly she wanted to. This was a different flavor. It was a different tone. The way her fingers grasped at the pillowcase loosely did little to hide the tiniest of trembles.

He’s gonna think I’m joking.

For a moment, Octavia heard nothing. She could see faint movement, the way by which Selena’s shoulders still rose and fell. She couldn’t see her own lips, nor could she feel words leaving her mouth. She couldn’t bear witness to the motions that came with silently breathing syllables instead, emulating speech not meant to grace her ears. Selena only clung ever tighter to the pillow, tapping her forehead weakly against the fluff.

Once, and only once, it was a whisper, pressed deep into the fabric and hidden far from the vulnerable night. In her compromised sanctuary, it was the safest place she could put it. Octavia had to strain, private as it was.

I love you.

They were words not hers to hear.

Nor were they his.

For every skillful drawing he showed her with pride, for every wound he tended to with care, for every laugh he brought bubbling up from the depths of her shattered heart, they were never his to hear.

For every time she squeezed, and every time he squeezed back, and every flash and snippet that besieged Octavia’s eyes so rapidly, still, too, could Selena only smile.

For every act of rebellion, for every moment in which she raged against a cruel fate that burned her alive, Selena kept in the dark that which she never permitted to glow.

Octavia tried to focus. Her best efforts to cling to words she knew too well were in vain in the face of those she’d so carelessly stolen instead.

Shut up. You’re so stupid. You’re not my knight.

I could become one, if you’d let me.

I thought they said six.

You’re sure it wasn’t five?

I mean, I really thought they said six.

By comparison, they held so much less weight.

There is no helping this place!

I bet she would’ve said all this to you directly.

She wouldn’t have said a word to my face. That’s the kind of coward she is.

She’s not a coward.

Then you know nothing about her. And you know nothing about me.

By comparison, they held so much less warmth.

You say that like the church will kill you.

They wouldn’t dare. They’re running out of Maestras.

There was a tremble in Selena’s fingertips as her hair fell in waves along her arms. Octavia had never noticed it before. She wondered for how long she'd stared at the scar, back then. Beneath her own eyes, foreign at this distance, she felt vulnerable.

Thank you for everything.

She wasn’t the one to thank.

You’re the acolyte, correct? I don’t believe we’ve met.

You know nothing of suffering.

Know your place, you worthless flame!

It was surreal, to have seen the tale from three angles now. Octavia struggled to cling to the warmth of Selena’s silent confession, to block her ears out from what pain and suffering erupted from her throat instead.

Get off of her!

Josiah!

Sonata, please!

I’ll kill you!

They were cries she’d heard before. It was the first time she’d heard such a flavor of agony in Selena’s voice, heartbroken as it was. For the first time, just the same, Octavia was left to question its origin. Freedom no longer served as her sole suspicion.

Where is he?

It does not concern you.

Where is he?

You will not see him again.

What? Let go of me! Stop it!

Leniency was a mistake. Complacency was a mistake. How shameful, that it took the acolyte above to put our own flame in her place. You are a disgrace.

Shut up! Shut up! I don’t care! Where’s Josiah?

Should you disobey again, he will be killed.

Even beaten and bloodied as she was, she went limp. What?

Should you flee again, he will be killed.

Her shoulders heaved. Her breaths were ragged. Her body shook in excess, physical pain notwithstanding.

Should you attempt to see him again, he will be killed. Know this to be true.

It wasn’t just the escape plan.

Things will change. Together, Lady Acolyte, we will redeem this city. You must play your part. It is not an option.

Octavia had never been so Dissonant in a toll before.

There is yet time to live up to the grace of the blossom. There is yet honor that may be restored to the flame.

It was exceedingly rare that the Ambassador was cursed with horrifically-donned veils of violet in the dark. It did happen, and it was sickening every time. Still, in one thousand ways, Selena had always been unique. Selena’s eyes, blessed--rather, cursed--with the same sight as herself, offered a striking perspective of newborn agony in bloom. It was the only blossom Velpyre would ever have.

And where Octavia would’ve searched for the truth of the Dissonance that had annihilated a city and besieged yet another, there was so little to see out of a gaze clouded with nothing but violet and hatred. She could hear it with ease, vicious as every last screech was. If Selena knew Josiah was still down here, she wondered if it would’ve changed anything. She loved him, after all.

It wasn't a miracle, then, that her broken eyes on his at the foot of the steps were without rage. Octavia, too, had been spared of her wrath. She wondered, to this day, if it was by proxy. Selena loved him, after all.

And the ire and spite Selena had so carefully cultivated for years upon years spilled in full onto the blossom she loathed. It followed her hands as they grasped and tore. It followed her feet as they raced towards the acolyte. It followed every ounce of her hatred, muddied by hazy agony as it was and still every bit as memorable.

There is no worth to a flame that does not warm!

I am not worthless!

I am not worthless!

I am not worthless!

Even as Octavia’s light burrowed futilely down into the depths of Selena’s heart, her rage was relentless. Octavia had fallen prey to her own light once before in a toll, although under far more intentional circumstances. There had been a certain kind of Hell in the way Sonata had pleaded for her life. There had been an equal kind of Hell in the way Selena had simply struggled.

Octavia had wondered if it hurt, for how far gone Selena had been. River had mentioned the “point of no return” not so long ago, and she now thought to wonder if Selena had crossed that threshold of her own accord. It did nothing to absolve her of guilt, in passing or otherwise.

Still, Selena was perhaps numb in a different way. Josiah was here, even now, in snippets Octavia had never expected to find. They weren’t distorted. They weren’t compromised. They were clear as crystal, every shining memory of his voice and his smile and his laugh just as such. They were abundant. They were flashing, and flashing, and flashing. It wasn't a flash for the Ambassador’s eyes alone. She loved him, after all.

And even well after she’d lunged, even well after the blossom had decided upon the death of the flame, Selena brought his visage with her all the way down. Not once did she scream, even with Sonata’s own shrieks of horror plaguing her ears. Upon Selena’s eyes, mired in suffering incarnate as they were, Octavia drank in the acolyte's first and last sunrise as she plummeted. So, too, did Selena imagine squeezing his hand as she crashed into the world below.

Perhaps he would’ve squeezed back. She loved him, after all.

◆ ◆ ◆

Octavia’s tears had beaten her to lucidity. She didn’t sob or scream. She barely even registered her return from the dark in the first place, her closed eyes flickering open slowly. The sun that assailed her pupils only made them water further, although she surely would’ve let every tear drip onto the warm bronze anyway. Her breath hitched in her throat, the lump behind it suffocating her in turn. She fumbled for her words. Where she found none, she was offered a lifeline.

“Octavia?” she heard. “Are you…alright?”

Josiah’s voice was enough to make her bite her lip, quivering as it was. It had nothing to do with not breaking down in front of an Apex. It had everything to do with not breaking down at all. Octavia couldn’t so much as shake her head. Her shoulders did enough shaking for the rest of her.

“A-Allison,” she just barely murmured, her voice wavering, “if you’re…gonna say goodbye, do it now.”

The little acolyte didn’t question her. The Muse that gazed down upon her without judgment, too, reserved his words. Whatever sentiments they had to offer one another were their own business. She couldn’t process them. She could hardly process anything. Her breath rattled on every exhale, and her best attempts to choke back her sobs were rapidly failing. The hand that settled onto her shoulder didn’t help one bit.

“Hey, are you okay?” Josiah murmured, far too close for her comfort.

She didn’t dare look at him. She threw her eyes at the floor of the bell tower, her tears following the same path downwards. Octavia knew he would pry. She owed it to him, somewhat. It was still too much. It was all too much.

He offered his hand. For once, she didn’t have the heart to take it.

“Please talk to me,” Josiah implored gently. “I know it…probably wasn’t pleasant. You’re not alone, okay? I’m here for you.”

Octavia couldn’t bring herself to look up. She raised her voice instead, viciously shaking as it was. “V-Valkyria,” she tried. “A-Are you…ready?”

Whatever moment he’d been granted with Allison had sufficed. She, too, didn’t object, and it was his voice that she heard over the acolyte’s. “At your ready, Ambassador. I will not offer my gratitude twice. I will, however, offer my blessings.”

“Y-You, too,” she struggled to reciprocate. Even raising her hand was a task, and not at all secondary to the bandages that still bound her fingertips. Every muscle had pooled with lead, weak and heavy from sorrow she couldn’t escape. It was miserable.

It took effort to rest her palm upon the bell once more, even large as it was. Octavia laid her forehead against it in turn, biting back her sobs ever more. It was a trial to speak the words without her voice cracking. When she tried, they still weren't immune to the fierce wobble that threatened their sanctity.

“I have borne witness to your pain,” Octavia said shakily, “and my light guides your passage from the depths of my heart.”

She could feel the bell giving way, even without raising her head. She could feel the way her palm met with less resistance, her forehead greeting much the same. It still took effort for her to straighten up. The spectacle of an entire bell disappearing before her eyes was equally as resplendent as the departure of the angel above her.

For all intents and purposes, both displays of dissipating divinity, shimmering beneath the open sky, should’ve touched her soul. Octavia had no soul left to touch. She couldn’t look directly at Valkyria, who left for Above with no further parting words. She couldn’t look directly at Allison, yet another acolyte she’d pained atop the tower in her own, miniscule way.

“Octavia.”

She didn’t want to look at him. She didn’t have a choice, for how close he was to her. Still, he battled for her hand. Still, too, she couldn’t bring herself to surrender to his kindness.

Josiah pleaded as much with his eyes as with his words. “Please talk to me. Please. It doesn’t have to be about that. I just want to know that you’re alright. We can…deal with all of that later. It’s not important right now. Are you…okay?”

Octavia was bound to the bell, for how long it would take to dissipate in full. It left her stuck, rooted in place by his gaze just as firmly. There were no words she could offer him, affirmative or negative. The highlights he'd begged for were all she’d brought along. They were all that rose to her tongue, and they were all she could curse him with.

“She loved you.”

For a moment, Josiah stared her down, and she could only do the same back. Whatever sobs she’d been restraining only fought harder to escape, and she couldn’t stop a handful from slipping out of her throat. The light in his eyes died.

The hand that had cupped her shoulder so gently slipped from her dress, and the fingers that had been offered to her curled inwards as he recoiled. The steps Josiah took backwards, poisonous as the gift of the Ambassador truly was, were surely reflexive. Octavia didn’t blame him one bit. The glass that blighted his gaze was predictable, and it didn’t hurt any less to see. To know that there was nothing she could do to ease his pain, let alone nothing she could do to stop him, was agonizing. She wondered whose agony was truly greater.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t sob. He didn’t scream, shout, argue, or berate her. Octavia wished he would’ve. Instead, Josiah turned sharply on his heel and abandoned her atop the bell tower, disappearing deep into the stairwell quicker than she could think to call his name. Octavia couldn’t find it on her tongue, regardless, for how dry her throat felt. All she could do was choke out the sobs he hadn’t cried of his own accord.

It was an eternity before she felt nothing against her palm, a cool breeze replacing warm metal that had risen to meet her skin. It was the second time she’d caused such pain to another in this exact place. The bell was wholly unnecessary, never to toll again. Where it had stood was now only an uncanny expanse of emptiness, a vast grave for what she wished she could erase just as easily. It was here that Octavia, in the false sanctuary that was the blossom above rather than the flame below, fell to her knees once more.