Every evening that followed for the remainder of her time in Velrose was equally as plagued by suffering Octavia wished to shed. Each day she spent awake had her looking for Josiah regularly, desperate for reassurance that he was still among the living. It was a pendulum of paranoia and agony that led the blossom to drive her mad. It was torture. Never for a moment did she think she’d welcome a Sunday.
Octavia spoke of the night atop the bell tower with Josiah to absolutely no one--and, to her understanding, neither did he. She looked upon him with fear of a different kind, and she worried it wasn’t subtle. For how he turned away under her gaze every time, she was fairly certain she’d found her answer. It wasn’t so much that she sought to make him feel guilty as much as she dreaded him slipping too far from her sight.
She, too, had once grieved twice over, if not thrice for Priscilla. In three places, her heart had shattered as she’d pieced together a tale of the former Ambassador’s end, and each had been more crushing than the last. In that way, she could more than empathize with him. To grieve anew was a Hell that had brought her mind to the darkest of places, too. She never did take him up on his date offer. She was lucky if she could think straight enough on any given day to process the passage of time.
She tried to ignore the sunrise over Velrose on any given morning, if possible. It was a sight that still spoke to something deeply unsettling in her heart. Regardless, she’d harnessed what little of the morning rays she’d been willing to surrender to for the sake of at last readying for departure. The sooner she was back in Tacell, the sooner she could get to work on pretending that none of this had ever happened.
Even the idea of returning to regular tolls was far preferable to being here at all. It would be a much more desirable distraction, and Octavia had more than her choice of candidates. A handful had even directly expressed their willingness to doff their Maestro status upon returning to Selbright or Tacell respectively, and she’d made mental notes as to where to resume her work first. She owed it to them, anyway, for all they’d done for her here.
Her one and only regret was leaving the Velrose Acolyte behind. Octavia did end up promising to write, although she had nowhere near the mental fortitude to pledge a return visit. She wondered if she could convince someone to do so on her behalf, a little pink passport the only barrier between loneliness and companionship for such a small child. Octavia wished she could earn another smile to take along with her for the ride home, although she knew it to be wishful thinking. She settled for the tiny acolyte’s warmth, instead.
Given how sparse their exit route tended to appear in the first place, her relief was not immediate. There was almost an envy to be found in how many Maestros genuinely seemed to enjoy their last several hours in Velrose. She could still remember a time when she, too, had thought to enjoy the Blessed City. She hardly had the mental energy to enjoy existing, recently.
“It’s not supposed to be here for another two hours, I think,” Viola offered. “We’ve got time, if you want to do anything.”
Octavia shook her head. “Not…really. I just want to get out of here. I’ll wait.”
Viola’s eyes were soft, although Octavia bristled somewhat under the concept of her possible pity. “As long as we plan our walk back to the station pretty carefully, we should be fine. You’ve…got time to rest, then.”
Again, she shook her head, adjusting Stradivaria’s case on her shoulders. “I’ve done enough of that. I can just go back and wait by myself. If you guys wanna look around or get something to eat, you can. Don’t worry about me.”
“I want to worry about you,” Viola said quietly.
“Look, I’m gonna be fine,” Octavia argued. “It’ll pass. All of this will pass. I’ll feel better once we’re out of here. I just want to get back to Tacell. I’m okay right now. I have you, I have Stradivaria, I have everyone. I’m…fine.”
It was a weak lie. It was weak enough that she could catch the disbelief on Viola’s face, and she kicked herself for not making it more believable. Viola never got the chance to press her on it.
“You guys know it’s going to be a little while, right?” Harper reminded, coming to a halt beside them. “The train doesn’t get here for a few hours. You don’t have to be ready just yet.”
Octavia nodded. “I know. I just…wish it would come faster.”
“We’ll be out soon,” he tried to reassure her. It almost worked.
“Do you wanna go somewhere while we wait?” Madrigal asked, more chipper by comparison. “There’s lots of things to see. We were looking at some of the shops yesterday, and the stuff they sell is really pretty! We can get you a souvenir, if you--”
Three Maestros cut her off with simultaneous, desperate, and silent motions of hushing. It wasn’t subtle. Dark or not, it was enough to genuinely leave Octavia stifling a smirk.
She wasn’t the only one. Josiah, for as still as his face was and as empty as his eyes were, still fought the same upturn of his lips--faint and weak. His gaze met hers, and she met his. It was hard to hold onto for long. She gave in first. If nothing else, knowing he was there was enough.
“I’m sorry I…never looked around with you,” Octavia apologized quietly. “I know you offered.”
Josiah shook his head. “Don’t be. I’ll make it up to you in Selbright. For real, this time.”
She did what she could to gift him a smile, shallow and fragile despite her best efforts. For how his face stayed the same, she liked to imagine he appreciated it.
“Did you get to say goodbye to Allison?”
“Yeah. Did you?” Octavia asked in return.
“Yeah.”
She fidgeted somewhat in the midst of their silence. Josiah wasn’t done. “There’s…somewhere I want to go before we leave. I’m not sure if you guys had anything in mind. You don’t have to go with me. I can just meet you at the station.”
Octavia still wasn’t fond of the idea of leaving him alone. She loathed the tiny part of her brain that didn’t trust him. Most of her heart simply missed him in his absence, for as close as they’d been for the last several days. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”
“I…don’t know if you’re gonna get a lot out of it,” Josiah prefaced.
Renato scoffed. “I don’t get a damn thing out of this freakin’ city in general.”
“I’m serious.”
The Maestro bit his tongue. Octavia, too, was uncomfortable. “Where…did you want to--”
“Octavia?”
Of every Maestra who could’ve called out to her in the church itself, her first guess would’ve been the one who claimed the sanctuary as her home. It would not, by comparison, have been her counterpart of the same title long ago. Octavia was floored that she was even still here. She assumed the former acolyte would’ve made for the station as quickly as possible.
Harboring Celestina in the church for a full week had already placed her on the border of disaster, her safety hinging on a secret kept by over thirty people simultaneously. Even now, she marveled at the idea of the former Velpyre Acolyte out in broad daylight amongst every unknowing citizen. Octavia still wondered of the consequences if they knew, collectively.
“Celestina,” she reciprocated, simply and softly.
There was no case she could carry, no robes she could bear, no visual indication that would’ve spoken to her prior life neither as a Maestra nor an acolyte. It was only the clothes on her back and the belongings on her shoulders that spoke to an existence beyond the walls. Octavia was sure she wasn’t the only one counting down the seconds until she was freed of the blossom’s looming shadow. “I…how are you?”
Their conversation was as strained as it was empty, for how little there was to say. “I’m…alright. I’m ready to go, that’s for sure.”
“I agree,” Octavia said weakly.
“I heard you played Seraphim’s Call,” Viola tried. “And that’s…part of why the Dissonance cleared up so quickly. You didn’t have to do that, but you did anyway. Thank you for that.”
“You really helped us out of a tight spot,” Renato agreed. “Weird to think we’ve got the same legacy thing goin’ on. Pretty neat stuff, actually.”
“You two are absolutely nothing alike,” Viola grumbled with a roll of her eyes.
Madrigal beamed. “It sounded really pretty. You’re an amazing Maestra. I bet your partner was really happy to see you again.”
Octavia recoiled inwardly at Madrigal’s words, spoken far too lightly relative to the unknown weight behind them. Still, Celestina didn’t flinch. “I was…happy to see him, as well, I think. It had been far too long.”
“He didn’t forget you.”
At the sound of Josiah’s voice, for how hostilely he’d usually addressed her, she did flinch. Even neutral as they were, his words were still much softer than Octavia had expected. He didn’t need to look at Celestina to speak, and he opted to keep his gaze anywhere but on her. It was perhaps for the best. He slipped his hands into his pockets.
“Valkyria said they…don’t really ever leave you once you’ve made a bond. If both of you are still out there, somewhere, you’ll always have a part of each other. You ran away from being the acolyte, sure, but you…never really ran away from being a Maestra. That’s just how it was.”
Celestina’s eyes widened somewhat. “All of that time?”
Josiah nodded to the steps below. “Yeah. Do with that what you will. Love it, resent it, I really don’t care. Just know that even if you didn’t love him, he still loved you. And…know that both of them didn’t want any of this to happen. It wasn’t their choice.”
Celestina’s gaze glistened out of sight versus his own. “Who could ever want this?” she asked aloud quietly.
“The sickest kind of people the world has to offer.”
She crossed her arms, hugging herself tightly. “I’m…sorry. About everything.”
“Don’t do that.”
Celestina recoiled. Even with his voice low, she didn’t attempt to cut him off before any poison could touch her once more.
“Did Allison tell you where it was?”
Celestina hesitated. “Where she--”
“Yeah.”
She nodded slowly. “Yes.”
Josiah sighed. “Make it up to me there. If you’re serious, you’ll go.”
Again, albeit briefly, she hesitated. At last, Celestina nodded once more. “I will.”
Satisfied, Josiah turned to Octavia instead. “It’s behind the church. Sorry that you’re gonna have to be here a bit longer.”
She tilted her head. “Behind it?”
“Yeah.”
At the very least, he didn’t make her go back inside. It was easy enough to circumnavigate the building, and having an entourage eased her heart somewhat. The apprehension that came with continued proximity to the Velrose Church in general was palpable, regardless. Even now, Octavia wasn’t completely and utterly convinced that routine bells wouldn’t begin to toll with the passage of day. It was a distressing concept that followed every last footstep. She didn’t have the strength to share it, just as she still didn’t have the strength to look up.
The only instance in which she’d circled the back half of Velrose in general had both been mired in disaster and preceded even further suffering. Granted, the plummeting drop to the churning ocean beneath had laid beyond the walls rather than behind the church. The suspense still came with its own discomfort, and it wasn’t until she finally laid eyes on the grassy plot that she could breathe a sigh of relief. Morbid as it was, it made sense. It was a church.
It wasn’t elegant, although no home for the deceased ever really was. It was populated enough, gravestones and markers speckled across the lush greenery with care and precise placement. Their materials were varied, their engravings and words of memory just as so. Some bore flowers of their own, either adjacently planted or laid at stone bases with great caution. Not one tribute to the departed was truly immaculate, weathered by nature and time. Still, each came splendidly close. Octavia was careful to watch her step.
“Is that…”
“Probably.”
Whatever Josiah and Celestina had come to observe came well before Octavia’s own realizations. One gravestone stood closer to a memorial than anything, given its sheer grandeur and abundant offerings. Roses in utter excess, soft pink and blooming as they were, lie freshly scattered in blossoms or by petals alone across the marble. It was gorgeous, at least from afar, and Octavia could even see the stray bits of petals past that a gusty breeze had carried across the cemetery. They were a fixture, raw as they were.
As to what epitaph was engraved upon it, carved at an angle Octavia couldn’t immediately see, it was perhaps long enough to warrant its own separate stone of homage. She was surprised someone’s steady hands had been skilled enough to make the entire inscription fit.
Blessed is our blossom, beloved and blooming beneath the morning sun. Blessed is our hope, that her salvation may be felt in every soul. Blessed is our acolyte, a savior in the darkest of hours. May we receive your grace in our hearts, and may your beauty endure for all time. Sleep peacefully, oh eternal blossom.
Even in death, she wasn’t free of their greed. Octavia couldn’t help but bristle on Sonata’s behalf, should her assumptions be correct. In that way, such an otherwise splendorous homage was lost on her, and the brilliant roses that had been lovingly dispersed at her grave may as well have withered. She didn’t like imagining what the acolyte’s body looked like beyond the grass and sod that sheltered her from the sun. Octavia didn’t dare think about it--even though Sonata had been blessed with a softer landing, between the two of them.
“What’s…going on with that one?” she heard Harper ask quietly.
Octavia followed his gesture towards the far end of the cemetery, almost out of sight versus the memorials that had obscured the view. The barbed wire was exceedingly confusing, and her initial suspicions led to a hazard lodged in a highly unfortunate location. As to what concern would warrant the perfectly-measured barricade, high-rising and firm, she was unsure. It was plain, sharp, and not as weathered as she would’ve expected from exposed metal. As such, the flaking rust that peppered the grass in excess was inexplicable.
Her eyes trailed downwards to yet more wire, crumpled and compromised as it lie helplessly in the sod. It bled a deep orange, and she had her answer. It wasn’t any less baffling. The singular marker within, more of a haphazardly-placed blank rock than a true gravestone, only added to her befuddlement.
Celestina covered her mouth in silence, her eyes watering in the process. Josiah shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s definitely the one. Figures.”
Octavia gave him her attention instead. “What…is that?”
“It’s horrible,” Celestina whispered, her voice nearly cracking. “How cruel.”
Josiah stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’m not surprised. I can’t imagine how many people would try to mess with it after all of that. This was probably the best they could come up with. I’m shocked they bothered to bury her at all, considering what she did to their acolyte. Guess that comes with the title, for whatever it was worth.”
It was Octavia’s turn to freeze, her own eyes widening with horror. “Then, that’s…Selena?”
He nodded. “It could’ve been worse. I honestly wonder if they gave her a coffin.”
Viola’s fingers curled into fists. “Josiah, I’m so sorry,” she murmured.
“That’s…messed up,” Renato added weakly, averting his eyes.
Octavia didn’t want to imagine what rested beneath the same plot, either--perhaps less than Sonata’s own. The mental image alone was enough to put her on the threshold of bells she thought she could get through the day without. The longer she stared at the barren, forbidden grave, the worse her stomach felt. The hypothetical idea of Priscilla buried in such a disrespectful way was mind-numbing. She couldn’t begin to fathom what was going through Josiah’s head.
Celestina’s tears dripped down her cheeks freely. Her best efforts to keep her voice steady were relatively successful, regardless. “Maybe we could…request to have her body moved. For all we’ve done for both Velrose and Velpyre, perhaps Allison could aid in honoring our request.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Where would she even be moved to?” Josiah asked.
Celestina hesitated. “To…she could return below. That city is already a tomb, for all that was found. It would--”
“Absolutely not.”
Celestina paused. “Why?”
Josiah inhaled sharply. “I’m not leaving her alone down there in the dark. She stays up here, no matter what. I don’t care if it has to be like this, if that’s the alternative. I’ll die before I let her go back down there.”
Once more did Celestina hesitate. Eventually, she gave a meek nod. “I understand.”
For a moment, Josiah was content to stare silently at Selena’s caged resting place. Celestina folded her hands in wordless, tearful prayer, closing her eyes as sorrow dripped onto her intertwined fingers. For all of the tears Octavia wished she could cry, she couldn’t find any in her one moment of need. In truth, she was surprised to find Josiah’s eyes just as dry. As to why he was rolling up his sleeves, she was equally as surprised.
“How long did you say we have before we leave, again?” he asked aloud to no one in particular.
“The train doesn’t come for a few more hours,” Madrigal said softly.
Josiah stretched somewhat. “That’s plenty of time.”
Octavia eyed him with confusion. “For what?”
She outright cried out on his behalf when he wrapped one palm around the wire, unflinching and unfazed. Every inch was razor-sharp, every barb jagged and ruthless. Josiah didn’t so much as recoil under any given grip, even as his bare skin snagged on the hostile metal again and again. He didn’t even wince. Most of those present did on his behalf, if not filling in verbally where his lack of painful expressions did not.
“Josiah, what are you doing?” Harper cried.
“You’re gonna get hurt!” Viola scolded.
He was already pretty far along into that, his quiet suffering worsening as he climbed ever higher along the barricade. Every little spear that dug viciously into his palms and forearms breached his delicate skin with minor resistance. Beneath the pressure of his unhindered ascent, blood trickled steadily from his hands in scarlet streams.
His arms were streaked in scrapes and abrasions that steadily oozed, although he was indifferent all the same. Whatever assault the acolyte’s barrier could offer him meant nothing, and his only concern came in finding where to carefully balance every upward step. It wasn’t a particularly long way to the top, although watching him slowly suffer in silence all the way up certainly made it feel far longer.
Josiah fell with much more skill than Octavia would’ve expected, given the height he’d scaled and the damage he’d sustained in the process. He didn’t tumble at all as he vaulted over the top of the wire perimeter, the highest barbs snagging against his clothes slightly in the process. He landed on his feet with only a grunt and a minor stumble to show for his efforts. Josiah smeared his bloodied palms casually against his pants, content to ignore the wounds speckled about his forearms that still throbbed and bled.
From this side of the fence, Octavia could hardly hear him, for whatever words were leaving his mouth. He was most definitely speaking, if the extensive motions of his lips were anything to go by. She could at least see him settle down comfortably before the poor excuse for a gravestone. He was apparently unfazed by the blades of grass that assailed his weeping palms when he leaned backwards comfortably. Of most importance was the fact that he was smiling for the first time in several days, bleeding and punctured or otherwise.
Octavia watched him in utter silence for some time, his indecipherable and one-sided conversations floating vaguely past her ears. Sometimes, he sprinkled them with muted laughter. Sometimes, there were gestures. Sometimes, he brought out his journal, leaning contently against the stone as he either sketched or wrote for quite awhile. At least once, Josiah lifted the pages aloft, angled proudly towards the sun alone. It was the only time Octavia found her tears. She wasn’t the only one. She could’ve watched him for hours. She did.
It was a smile she’d seen tucked safely away, one that didn’t match that which he'd offered herself or those she loved. It was for Selena alone that Josiah glowed so brightly, and Octavia had no doubt that his warmth could challenge even the acolyte’s luminous flame. Where Selena’s mother paid her respects in silence, her most precious person paid his respects in everything she loved most about him. More than any tolls or guidance, the shine in his eyes as he spoke to the acolyte so high above him was the one true victory Octavia could take back with her from Velrose.
----------------------------------------
There was an overpowering urge to completely shut down the moment she set foot in Selbright, and not exclusively due to travel-borne fatigue. Octavia was running on utter fumes as she pushed her way through the tiny handful of tolls she’d agreed to, small in number and yet sizable in effort. She didn’t especially regret resuming her work, for all she’d pleaded to step back into the role several days prior. Granted, fresh perils that were entirely untethered to the blossom or the flame were an excellent cleanser, as grotesque as the thought was for her.
She never in her life thought she’d be grateful for more tolls. So as not to dismiss the suffering of those whose eyes she stole and those whose partners she guided, she opted to take that secret to her grave. She was going to miss Mina, her best efforts to convince the girl to move to Tacell about as fruitless as Francisco’s before her. Octavia knew the exact combination of words, untruthful as they were, to get her to at least visit.
He, uh, I’m sure he’d…be happy to get to know you better, if you asked him. He’s really nice.
You’re not gonna go gettin’ jealous on me, right?
I’m not attracted to him, Mina, she’d deadpanned. Seriously.
He can’t just come here? How the hell am I supposed to make him a loving home-cooked meal in the middle of friggin’ nowhere?
You can borrow our kitchen. Maybe we can…leave you guys alone for that? And you can stay with us for a few days?
How alone?
For dinner.
Whose room am I staying in?
My room, Mina.
It was still a work in progress. She would handle Josiah’s unknowing role in her plan later.
Octavia almost cried the moment she was back in Tacell. It was borderline embarrassing to recognize the degree to which she’d come to call it home. Really, anywhere besides Velrose was a blessing, and yet the familiarity of the settlement she’d come to love brought warmth to her heart. Despite her best efforts to keep her elation subtle, she had suspicions that at least a handful of her companions had recognized her relief. She hadn’t decided how much she cared yet, or if she cared at all.
Her schedule was no longer rigid, her ban on witnessing tolls no longer active. At her leisure, she was technically free once more to act as she pleased. She’d left reluctant Maestro territory, and what came in its stead was that of those who knew what was to come. For the first time since arriving in Tacell, she began to feel guilty.
It wasn’t as though she’d never guided the Muse of a Maestro hesitant to relinquish their role before. Even now, Octavia still regretted the way by which she’d somewhat pressured Domino into surrendering Breileneth--for a good cause or not. She could now add Allison to that list of guilty guidances, too, she supposed.
There was no explicit pushback in Tacell, for the most part. There were those who graciously volunteered, and she was more than thankful to not immediately begin the process of demanding and coercing. Of the Maestros she’d spoken to in passing, most had been understanding, regardless. She hoped it would stay that way. She feared what would happen once it didn’t anymore.
Octavia stopped engaging with the mental math of it all. It was getting stressful to keep up with, and she assumed someone would fill in for her, eventually. She had a vague idea of the most likely candidate. It almost made her feel guilty to put even more weight on Josiah after the past several weeks.
You have returned to your task so quickly.
He, by comparison, was starting to drive her insane--well-intentioned or otherwise.
Octavia had to fight not to roll her eyes. Yeah. I don’t really want to sit around and do nothing. I told you, I just wanted to get back to Tacell, and then I’d…do whatever came after that.
And you are doing wonderfully. If I can be of any assistance, please do not hesitate to request my aid.
She sighed, sprawling out half-heartedly across the bed. You don’t have to keep praising me, you know. I…appreciate it, but I already know that everyone’s happy about going home. Don’t worry about it so much.
I speak as I mean.
You always do.
He was quiet for a moment. Are you distressed?
Octavia smirked at the ceiling. I’m always distressed.
I mean to say, rather, how are you faring emotionally?
She pursed her lips. Stradivaria, I really don’t…feel up to diving into all of that. I’m doing my job. It’s not exactly pleasant. Can you blame me for being a little upset, sometimes? Or, like, really upset?
I do not fault you. Any in your position would surely feel the same. That is why I take such pride in calling you my own, Octavia, for how you strive to succeed in the face of sorrow.
It was getting irritating. There was a time when it was endearing, and that time was no longer now. Look, could you just…lay off the praise a little bit? I know you mean well, but it kind of hurts, at this point. From you, from the other Muses, from everyone. I don’t want any of you to praise me. I don’t want to keep getting put on a pedestal over and over. Please, just…let me do this in peace. I already know you’re thankful. That’s plenty.
The way he hesitated to respond almost made her feel bad. I understand.
She did feel bad, actually. I’ll…be sure to tell you if I ever need anything, just like always. I still want your help. I still need your help. Let’s just do this one step at a time.
I understand, Stradivaria repeated.
Octavia sighed. I love you, she reminded.
And I you.
The silence that followed hurt, somewhat. She hadn’t meant to essentially shut him up. A change of topic felt just as awkward, frankly. The idea of being alone in the room with him, knowing he possibly lie waiting with yet more pressing and prodding to come, was unsettling. Against her better judgment, she sat up with a mild stretch. One of her braids was fraying, and she at least put a moment aside to offer it love and attention.
Are you going somewhere?
Upon rising to her feet, she stretched in full this time. Just a walk.
So late, once more?
Octavia smiled, already slipping her boots on delicately. It's how I clear my head. It’s usually nice out, and it helps me sleep.
You enjoy your solitude, then?
She paused. Does that offend you at all?
It does not. I simply fear for your safety.
Tacell is pretty safe.
The world has not been kind to you.
Octavia scoffed. He wasn’t exactly lying. I’ll be fine, really. There’s tons of Maestros around, anyway. If anything happens, there’s lots of people who can help. I…really am okay.
Return safely. I will await you with patience.
She appreciated that sentiment, at least. Thanks. I’ll be back soon enough.
It was always odd to leave the cottage with only weightlessness on her back to show for it. It was always difficult to descend the stairs in silence, too, given the degree to which the moon had climbed high into the sky of an autumn night. It was true that the breeze was refreshing to her soul and her lungs in equal measure, and it was true that her excursions left her satisfied and less irritable compared to battling insomnia. It was not necessarily true that they cleared her head, for how many mysteries they tended to pack her mind full with. She’d multitask, at least, as much as she knew she shouldn’t be.
----------------------------------------
This time, she remembered not to knock.
Octavia still hadn’t established a solid way to announce her entry into the cottage not her own, given that anything she could come up with was far from subtle--as was necessary, apparently. She had confirmed this time, with 100% certainty, that the door was always unlocked. As to whether or not that was common knowledge in Tacell, she was unsure. She doubted anyone cared, if so, given his lack of routine visitors. Octavia at least made the effort to pull the door shut behind her this time, lest he find her first and trap her like an animal again.
She had one idea, offered not to him. It would be for the Muse alone, and she opted to keep her words silent.
Mixoly?
Octavia got nothing. It wasn’t that surprising.
Mixoly, she pleaded wordlessly again.
When there was still no answer, she cupped her hands around her mouth. She got two syllables deep before remembering her prior discussion, biting her tongue as she quickly swapped aliases. “Miracle?” Octavia called instead, twice over. “Miracle?”
I have told you, Ambassador, that I am no miracle.
Her voice was a relief, even unseen. You’re a miracle to me, remember?
It was the first time Theo had met her without his Harmonial Instrument pressed threateningly to his lips. It didn’t mean the piccolo wasn’t still somewhat of a concern, given the way it remained half-aloft in his hands and poised to trail straight to wherever it was needed. Raising her arms in surrender, at least mildly, was still a reflex. Until he stopped greeting her with mild hostility, Octavia figured it would be.
She really, really wished he’d let a bit of light in every now and again. Octavia had half a mind to wonder if Theo preferred to have an edge over her, sticking to shadows and corners she couldn’t catch. It never failed to startle her, no matter how slowly he actually emerged.
He eyed her up and down, perching on the tips of his toes to peek over her shoulders. She turned in the slightest, offering a peaceful view of her barren back. It was enough to alleviate his primary concern, hopefully. When Theo backed down, she breathed a silent sigh of relief. A bit of trust would be nice, given that she hadn’t gone back on her word since his first threat.
“Do you ever sleep?” she asked aloud. “You’re always awake when I get here.”
Octavia was largely counting on her unseen interpreter. When Theo shook his head, she was grateful for the assistance. He cradled the piccolo in his arms precariously as he signed in return, slow movements accompanying his neutral gaze. Again, Octavia could only wait and hope.
‘I wait for you,’ he says.
She needed to thank Mixoly more often for the help. Still, Theo’s silent words were confusing. “Me? What do you mean?”
He paused. Then, he delivered yet more calm motions to her waiting eyes.
‘In case you come, I wait for you.’
Octavia rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably. “I, uh…I’m sorry for the inconvenience. You don’t have to stay awake all night just for me. I know I haven’t been here that much.”
Theo shook his head. Again, he signed quietly, his face relatively unreadable in a way that was somewhat distressing.
‘I can sleep when you’re gone. No one comes here.’
Octavia frowned. “Can’t I just…come during the day? I’ll still leave Stratos behind. All the other Maestros know that you live here, right? Does it…matter if anyone else knows I’m coming? I mean, River for sure already knows that I met with--”
Who among them is aware that you have returned to this place, Ambassador?
The words were certainly Mixoly’s alone. She eyed the little piccolo. Theo’s gaze followed suit, drifting down into his arms. “No one,” she reassured. “I haven’t told anybody. River’s the only one who knows I ever came here, and just that…one time.”
Of the Muses, as well, are any privy to our meetings?
Octavia shook her head slowly. “I haven’t told any of them. None of them know. Even my friends don’t know.”
It must remain as such.
“I can’t even tell my friends about you? I know they won’t say anything.”
You must not, lest you place yourself in yet more peril. To simply be seen here is a danger, and no longer can you feign ignorance as an excuse.
She sighed. “You’re always so cryptic every time I talk to you. You keep telling me I’m in danger, and you won’t say how. You asked for my help, and I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be giving. I’m not going to pressure you to let me see you, but I just…don’t understand you.”
You must comprehend the risk that such knowledge carries.
“I mean, I want to understand you. I want to be able to send you home, too.”
I, too, could hope for little more. Whether such is possible is determined by your hands alone, oh Ambassador. Have you made your choice?
Octavia tilted her head. “Regarding?”
In whom will you place your trust? Will you delve beneath that surface and believe in my words?
Octavia hesitated. “I--”
Will you strive to go beyond the path that Stratos has shown you?
Her breath hitched in her throat. “Are you…going to make me choose between you and Stratos? He’s my partner. I can’t just--”
I will not force you to choose, Mixoly clarified softly. I will speak to that which he has not spoken. My word and his will not be alike. The truth, then and then alone, will be yours to decide upon, Ambassador.
Even now, Mixoly continued to paint Stratos as a liar, although her cryptic words were just as befuddling as always. As to what he was supposedly lying about, her subtle accusations did little to calm Octavia’s heart. She tensed. Lying to a Muse didn’t feel great. In the worst-case scenario, she wasn’t necessarily required to believe Mixoly. She hoped the Heartful Muse was at least honest about that sentiment.
“I’ll…hear you out,” Octavia said with false confidence. “I’ll listen to what you have to say.”
You will not enjoy it.
She resisted the urge to scoff. She didn’t enjoy much of anything that came with being the Ambassador anymore. “It doesn’t matter. I want to know anyway.”
For a moment, Mixoly was silent. Do you still wish to perceive me?
Octavia blinked, taken aback for a moment. She nodded fervently soon after. “Y-You mean, like, meeting you? Of course, if you’re comfortable with it!”
Theo’s eyes snapped downwards to the instrument sharply. Even wordless, his gaze spoke volumes. He didn’t budge, clutching Miracle Agony tightly in two small, white-knuckled hands. Despite how calmly his shoulders rose and fell, his tension was poisonous. Octavia didn’t like it.
It is alright, she heard Mixoly offer gently. Trust is to be reciprocated.
Theo hesitated to react to her words. It took an extended period of time before he averted his eyes, hiding his gaze from Octavia in turn. Where words were lost, Octavia at least heard the sharp, exasperated exhale that preceded the light.
She was so used to doing it herself. She genuinely forgot who he was, his heart just as radiant.
The small stature of the Heartful boy made the Muse’s emergence all the more ethereal to witness. Soft whites and gentle golds challenged the darkened atmosphere of the cottage, just subtle enough so as to not shame the moonbeams themselves. She wouldn't have been out of place beside the same moon, for how muted and regal her radiance was.
Mixoly came with grace and peace, luminous in a way that seemed nearly meek. It wasn’t so much that her glow was meager, resplendent as it came. Still, it was far from the confident brilliance that Octavia had grown used to seeing upon Stratos’ visage. Even Jasse, in their one fleeting encounter, had been far more luminescent. Where they were brightly-burning stars, Mixoly was a quiet twinkle, instead.
By comparison to Octavia’s own partner, she was small herself. She was nearly smaller than even Orleanna, and just as petite. Still, as could be expected of a Muse, she was certainly larger than both of the Heartful Maestros who bathed in her benevolent glow. Octavia couldn’t believe she’d opted to hide for so long. She was beautiful in every way, just as the Ambassador had suspected. She said as much.
“You’re lovely,” Octavia praised with a gentle smile.
Aloud, her voice was pleasing in a way Octavia had trouble articulating--her timid nature be damned. “I do not deserve such praise.”
Octavia curtseyed out of habit. Even upon realizing her mild error, she followed through. “I’m Octavia, the Ambassador. It’s nice to meet you.”
“I am aware of who you are, though, Ambassador.”
Octavia stifled a chuckle. “It’s just…something I do when I meet a Muse face-to-face for the first time. I feel like it’s polite.”
Mixoly was quiet. “Though you would know my name already, should I return the favor, then?”
“If you want,” Octavia offered. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s just a habit for me.”
Regardless, Mixoly didn’t object. Ever so delicately, Mixoly laid one hand over where her heart would rest, her faceless gaze cast down upon the Ambassador.
“I am Mixoly of the Heartful,” she spoke quietly, “and I have committed a sin that cannot be forgiven.”