On the bright side, there was nothing left to hide. It was the absolute one and only bright side her faint little light could find.
Stratos didn’t speak to her. Faith didn’t hunt her down, whether in her cottage or outside. Octavia spent at least half a day in her own head, speaking largely when spoken to and just barely making her way through the physical motions of tolls. It was enough to land every conceivable set of eyes on her not-so-subtly, eyebrows raised and words of worry settling delicately upon her.
Even without the game of deception she was forced to engage in back and forth with Stratos--and Jasse, by apparent proxy--there were still more than enough Maestros who absolutely did not need to know the exact danger she was about to put them in. It would’ve ignited an entirely different firestorm, by which an entirely different danger would’ve come down on her shoulders. It didn’t matter if the Muses couldn’t touch her physically. There were six legacies that could, more than available at the fingertips of Maestros still numbering in the double digits. It was a sickening thought.
Of all things Ramulus could lie to her about, untruthful as the Muses were, she couldn’t shake the weight he’d placed upon every word. What she’d seen of Mixoly’s toll, what Mixoly herself had disclosed, and what she’d once heard from Ethel were more than enough to supplement Ramulus’ accusations as to the dire consequences of the Witnessing. It wasn’t as thought the task itself was going to be any easier, even if she’d been making progress prior to Faith’s sudden intrusion.
If she were gambling with her own life alone, it would be terrifying enough--and it had been, thus far, to be fair. Were the risk of a second round with a ruined world to be believed, she would be gambling with far, far more than was fair to place in the hands of the Ambassador. The idea of such devastation occurring at the hands of one Muse was still unfathomable even now, accidental or otherwise. So long after learning of her error, Octavia still couldn’t overlay timid, gentle Mixoly with She Who Brought the World to Ruin.
Octavia racked her brain for any Muse she could confide in, any possible option to help her brainstorm a solution to lead Mixoly across the boundary. Save for Ethel, long gone, she couldn’t think of a single potential confidant. Stratos was well out of the question, and possibly her least likely candidate of them all. It was incredibly frustrating.
She, too, still entertained the burning idea of bouncing those concerns off of the mortal confidants she trusted with her life. This far in, and so exposed, she wondered if there’d be an issue at all with sharing the truth. Even with Viola still painfully absent, it left four options who would possibly have welcomed her dilemma with open arms. For how they’d accompanied her into Hell itself for Seraphe’s sake without question, she liked to imagine this would’ve been no different. If their very lives were on the line, let alone everything they’d ever loved, Octavia couldn’t help but wonder if their trust would hold as true.
She was on her own. The pressure of a promise was utterly crushing.
Octavia spent far, far longer than usual contemplating whether to engage in a Mixoly night, if it was even safe to do so anymore. Stratos knew of her intentions--that much was true. Still, tethered to his vessel as he was, he was powerless outside of her own hands. If Ramulus had planned to kill her himself, he would’ve done so by now--although whether or not he was awaiting her next move remained to be seen.
Jasse was unpredictable, her apparently-compliant Maestra even more so. It wasn’t so much that Faith could get away with hurting the Ambassador, given exactly where she lived and the exact company she kept. If harm fell to Octavia, she could almost garner a chuckle over the Hell that would crash down fivefold onto Faith’s head--to say nothing of those the Ambassador had met more recently. There was a greater danger that came with not knowing if the Heartful girl cared.
The Muses had no reason to hurt Theo, nor could they. He was innocent. He was natural to the world, and untouchable by their hands as a result. Once more, it didn’t spare him from mortal hands, armed with Harmonial Instruments or otherwise. To know that such a young child was possibly in peril made Octavia’s blood boil.
It was with careful subtlety that she’d been sure to witness the tolls of the one extraneous Heartful Maestro remaining in Tacell days prior, unrelated to the situation as they were. It minimized a risk she’d only just begun to fully come to terms with. Now, only a singular heart of light posed a threat. It was comical, somewhat, to think that Francisco had once been her biggest concern. Octavia’s sole saving grace was the way by which Faith was, clearly, not privy to the details of the situation. Where Mixoly would pick apart the spider web thread by thread for Octavia, Jasse would surely not do the same for her partner. If Faith was blindly following orders rather than truly defending what she believed in, Octavia had the advantage.
Her other advantage was unpredictability. Her schedule was a weapon.
“I’m going out for a bit.”
She never thought she’d admit to it, especially so early in the evening. The sun had hardly sunk in full into the depths of the horizon, and the first stars had just barely begun to tease a still-darkening sky. It was a risk. It wasn’t entirely optional.
“Where?”
Octavia knew that was coming, ultimately. “I just want some fresh air.”
She'd accounted for every single one of them, coagulated as they were. It was grueling. She outright couldn’t look at one of them to begin with--although a desire for fresh air wasn’t exactly a lie.
Madrigal beamed. “Do you want someone to go with you?”
It was almost a reflex to shoot her down instantly. Octavia struggled to make it natural, feigning a smile to the best of her ability. “It’s okay. No offense, but sometimes, I like to be alone.”
She took it well, maintaining the same smile that replaced the fallen sun. “That’s okay! I understand.”
“Don’t stay out too late, alright?” Harper added.
Octavia smirked. It came more naturally than she’d expected, and her response was recycled. “You’re not my mom.”
Harper rolled his eyes playfully. In retrospect, it raised another issue. It was another risk she’d have to take. Octavia didn't quite have an excuse to match, and yet she tried her best all the same.
“I’m…gonna be gone for a while, probably. I don’t know what time I’ll be back. Don’t get worried, okay?”
He raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t the only one. When the question hit, Octavia was eternally grateful that it didn’t come from Harper.
“Wait, why?”
At least she could look at Josiah when she spoke, false as her scrambled explanation was. It didn’t mean he was any less skilled at picking apart her lies. Octavia still did what she could. “There’s parts of Tacell I’ve never really gone to at night. I wanna get the chance to explore them before it gets too cold.”
Renato crossed his arms. “This place is literally just grass. You’re gonna spend hours exploring grass?”
She deflected.
“Are you…going to be up for a while?”
He tilted his head. “I mean, I don’t know. Why?”
It was a contingency plan. She built it with soft eyes she knew he’d take as something more. It wasn’t exactly manipulative, and it wasn’t exactly a lie.
“Can we…talk later? Like, when I get back?” Octavia asked gently.
It took effort to balance her tone carefully, formulating just the right amount of semi-false vulnerability. When she found eyes as fragile as her own, she knew he’d fallen for it.
Renato nodded. “Yeah. I’ll wait for you.”
He didn’t need to leave. She just needed him awake and alert. From there, she would simply have to last long enough for him to intervene. In a perfect world, it absolutely wouldn't come to that. There was a mild shame that came with exploiting Renato’s gift. It was his fault for being her soldier, Octavia rationalized.
“I’ll be back.”
She prayed it was enough for them. For how they continued to eye her warily, Octavia wasn’t entirely sure any of it had sufficed. Still, she only needed to make it out and back in exactly once without question. Hopefully, this was enough.
“Have fun!” Madrigal offered with a wave.
Octavia smiled, returning her nonverbal farewell. Smiling was the most she could do at all, given what she was about to attempt. Even now, she battled the second thoughts that ate away at her heart every time she looked at their faces. If they'd known of what ruin might've awaited beyond, she wondered if they would’ve seen her off so peacefully.
“You’re not gonna bring Stradivaria?”
She froze. She didn’t dare turn around. She could hear the blood rushing through her ears. It was a question she hadn’t accounted for in any capacity.
In the absolute slightest, Octavia was just barely honest.
“We got into a fight. I need some space from him for a bit.”
Even staring at the closed door alone, her fingers clenched around the knob, their silence spoke to enough confusion that she still wasn’t free. Octavia feigned a sigh.
“There’s still a decent amount of Maestros left. Plus, it’s Tacell. I’ll be okay, I promise. I just…really don’t want to talk to him right now,” she murmured.
That was, thankfully, enough for Josiah. “I get it. Be careful, then.”
“If you…wanna talk about it, we’re here,” Harper offered.
There were a million and one things she wanted to talk about. A sizable amount of them did involve Stratos. She couldn’t speak of a single one, and it burned.
“I appreciate it,” Octavia said quietly.
She refused to give them anything else to work with. Octavia needed every second she could cling to. The moment she was outside, the moment the door had shut in full behind her, she gave herself exactly ten seconds to scan. She gave herself ten seconds more to leave the view of the doorway, should someone change their mind and open it again. Beneath the peeking moonlight that had just begun to bless the budding evening, twenty seconds was more than enough wasted. With a different route than usual, she practically flew, every sprinting step rustling the grass below viciously.
Octavia wouldn’t give Faith the chance, let alone anyone else who could be roped into stopping her. This ended tonight, no matter what it took. She could only hope nothing else ended along with it.
----------------------------------------
Mixoly.
It was the one and only warning she gave before she nearly broke the door down. It wasn’t as though Theo would’ve been startled by the bang she brought with her. He was startled enough by her presence alone, so premature as it was. In the early evening, there was little misplaced moonlight to steal through the silky curtains. As such, the cottage was even darker, and she had to fumble for any semblance of confident footing. He’d adapted well enough, particularly if he could greet her with Miracle Agony readied upon his lips. Octavia didn’t blame him, for once.
Only when she met his eyes did he relax, his own wide and confused as he lowered the piccolo slowly. The click behind her as she locked the door nearly echoed. The motion, for him, was clearly equally as baffling. He signed something indiscernible, slow and hesitant movements that spoke more to befuddlement than anything else.
What are you doing?
Mixoly repeated the question Octavia suspected the boy had floated. It was all that preceded her presence, ever more striking in the absence of abundant moonlight. For how lovely her silky glow truly was, Octavia made a mental note to drink it in while she still could.
“You said we’re running out of time, right? I’m making the most of what we have,” Octavia answered plainly.
“Is this not reckless, Ambassador?”
Octavia shook her head. “I was careful. We just need to be fast. I need to be fast. I…won’t stop until I get it.”
“You will be exposed,” Mixoly warned.
The truth was dangerous. Still, more than anyone, Mixoly deserved it. “I already have been.”
Mixoly recoiled. Slightly less so, Theo did the same. The Muse didn’t press. Octavia filled in of her own accord.
“I was careful in every way I could be, but Stratos figured it out. I think he told Ramulus, and I think that has something to do with why Faith was here. I…met Ramulus again.”
Mixoly outright flinched. “You have met with Lord Ramulus?” she spoke with utter horror. It was a tone Octavia hated to hear in her delicate voice.
Still, she nodded as she settled down onto the floor. “He called for me. He told me not to witness your toll. He told me not to guide you. Stratos said the same thing.”
Mixoly wasn’t nearly as hesitant as Octavia had expected she’d be. If anything, her cool anger far outdid her typical timid nature. “I am not the least bit surprised. They would not see me return to--”
“Mixoly,” Octavia began slowly, “Ramulus said he…doesn’t think you can cross the boundary.”
Mixoly instantly fell silent. Theo’s eyes went wide with distress of his own. Octavia weighed every word that followed carefully, morbid as they were.
“I…think what you said was right,” she murmured. “I think there…might be a problem with you going back.”
Mixoly hugged herself tightly. Octavia could’ve sworn she was shaking, ethereal and false as her form was. For a world she hated so severely, there was an irony in how she acted more like a human than a Muse at this point.
“Listen,” Octavia said, “I still want to try. I still want to do everything I can to at least attempt. Maybe we can figure something out.”
“It would not…suffice, then?” Mixoly practically whispered.
“Let me try,” Octavia implored once more. “We won’t know it doesn’t work until we at least give it a shot.”
“Ambassador--”
Octavia raised her eyes to the Muse, narrow and piercing. “If I try, I need you to promise me something.”
“What…is it?” Mixoly murmured.
Octavia inhaled sharply. “If I can’t get you back to Above, you can’t give in to despair again.”
She already knew that Mixoly wouldn’t offer her anything to work with. The terror that slowly settled into Theo’s eyes was enough to keep Octavia going, and she held onto the edge in her own for as long as she could.
“Everyone says the world came to ruin because you hated it,” Octavia said with all of the confidence she could muster. “Everyone…thinks you’re going to do it again. I told them you wouldn’t. I put everything on the line to prove that you wouldn’t do it twice. I’m betting on you, Mixoly.”
“I cannot stay,” Mixoly begged. “Please.”
“Mixoly, this is my world, too!” she cried. “This is Theo’s world! There’s people we love and things we cherish here! If you hate it, that’s one thing, but it’s important to us! At least try to give it a chance!”
“I have tried, Ambassador!” she argued. “I really and truly have!”
“Then try again! I told you, the world is always changing! If you have nothing to love, then find something!”
“Ambassador!”
Octavia bit her tongue solely on behalf of the pain on Theo’s face. When he shook his head ever so slowly, she wondered if she was crossing a line. It was still inevitable and necessary. For that, she pitied that he was caught in the crossfire.
“If I do this--when I do this, I’m going to see everything that happened. I’m going to see what you did and what made you hurt so badly. I’m going to be the only human alive who’ll know exactly what you went through. I know the world wronged you somehow. I know you were Dissonant. Most of all, I know that whatever memories got you to that point are still in there. You…can’t let them win again. You’re stronger than that.”
She couldn’t justify so much as approaching Miracle Agony until she had at least a sliver of assurance that disaster wasn’t imminent. Instead, it was all she could do to offer what desperate words of comfort she could cobble together in the face of Mixoly’s silence.
“Mixoly, I trust you. Please. Please…prove me right,” she pleaded.
She was aware of Mixoly’s gaze on her as she stared down Miracle Agony, gripped tightly in two small, fearful hands. Theo was trembling in the slightest, subtle as the motion was. His wide eyes and shaky breaths betrayed his stillness, and he nearly jumped when Octavia cupped her fingers beneath his. She couldn’t smile. Instead, she squeezed softly.
“I promise I’ll get through your toll, too,” she reassured.
Even in her despair, Mixoly still gave her what she needed. Theo nodded slowly, peeling his hands away from hers. Every movement was slow and hesitant.
“‘Please save her.’”
Octavia tensed. “I’ll do everything I can, even if I don’t know if--”
He cut her off with a shake of his head. Again, he repeated the exact same signs, some more emphasized than others this time. His eyes stung hers. She hardly needed Mixoly’s help. “‘Please save her.’”
When he cradled Miracle Agony delicately once more, he did so with his eyes cast high above to the silent Muse who watched on. They were sharper than anything Octavia had ever seen the boy fix his partner with. Even Mixoly flinched.
I-I cannot.
He stared her down.
Please.
He stared her down harder.
Mixoly shook her head. You do not understand, my child.
His gaze was relentless.
It was not supposed to be this way!
And when it was Theo who shook his head, what followed was one finger flicking back and forth between himself and the Ambassador.
I…
He nodded.
Theo, please.
It was the first time Octavia had ever heard his name in the Muse's voice. It was gentle, warm, and loved.
Theo moved closer to Octavia, their knees nearly touching on the rug as he guarded Miracle Agony in his palms just inches away. So close was Theo that she could feel his body heat. When he met her eyes, he wouldn’t let go. Narrow and sharp as they were, his gaze was anything but hostile. His determination was poisonous. Age be damned, Octavia stole every ounce of it she could.
Once more did he emulate the same gesture he’d given to Mixoly, flicking one finger slowly back and forth between himself and Octavia. Never once did he break eye contact. She nodded, doing everything in her power to meet his resolve with body language alone.
There was no use reassuring Mixoly any further. For all of her concerns about finding a confidant, let alone about finding kinship in the company of another Heartful, Octavia had somewhat forsaken the one who she’d seen nearly nightly for weeks--small as he was. With Miracle Agony offered to her, the heart that surely beat in time with her own gave her light in a room where she'd found nearly none. It wasn’t the Harmonial Instrument that she gave her attention to as she plunged into the dark, but rather the boy who’d once greeted her with hostility alone. If it was for the sake of the same Muse, left behind and mired in despair, Octavia couldn’t ask for a closer ally.
◆ ◆ ◆
She had her work cut out for her.
What are you?
I am one who destroys what is precious.
It was Lucian first.
It was the same toll, top to bottom, right as she’d left it and up until the same point. It was with patience that Octavia let her pounding heart guide her through every word she’d already absorbed, every sight she’d already memorized, and every stolen smile of her own that could give her hope. She was lucky. It wasn’t cracking, even blurred and somewhat distorted as the world before her was. It was intact, and that was enough.
My name’s Lucian.
Mixoly.
She rode it all the way through for a second time over. She awaited the flip of the coin, should it come, by which the Muse who so timidly greeted him would offer up her strained flashes and fragments in turn. Where Octavia pleaded for consistency, she half-doubted she’d receive it. Mixoly was anything but consistent, even in the depths of her most haunting memories.
And she was correct.
Octavia's ears were ringing. She had her screeching. She had the hues she loathed, and what light typically pierced the violet was nowhere to be seen. When she awaited the cracks, she was left in suspense. When she patiently anticipated the glass that would shatter before her eyes, leaving her pupils flooded with overwhelming radiance and color, she was still spared. He wasn’t.
What is this? she heard Lucian cry.
I apologize. It is an…effect I cannot undo.
It hurts, though!
I am so sorry, my child.
Why is this happening?
I am broken. I do not mean to curse you with such suffering.
You’re doing this to me?
The hands the Ambassador stole rubbed futilely at her eyes, for what hazy and swimming violet plagued the world like a veil. The hands she stole clamped futilely over her ears, for what agony screamed deep and battered his eardrums remorselessly. Octavia would’ve done the same. She wished she could’ve. It changed nothing. Ultimately, as it would turn out, her experience with the sensations that had blighted her stopping point had been exactly half-unique.
Could you please…make it stop? Lucian begged softly, far below the threshold of the sounds that blotted out the world.
I cannot.
It can’t just go on forever, right?
Only once we part will it cease.
I have to leave you, then?
We are bonded. That, too, cannot be undone.
The hands that so desperately clutched at every part of his body, aching for relief from the Hell she bestowed upon him, trembled fiercely. So I’m just stuck like this for good? he cried with terror.
Find the Ambassador.
What?
Find the Ambassador, and our bond may be severed.
The Am…bassador?
They who would free my heart.
Your…heart. From in there?
Yes.
Even in the throes of his agony, he was kind. He was the very icon of his legacy.
You’re lonely, right?
I have been alone.
I want to help you.
And I you, that you would not be cursed with my burden.
I chose to pick you up. I chose to answer your calls for help.
You did not know.
That’s okay. I’m…gonna help you, somehow. I’ll keep you safe.
Where her senses were overwhelmed by pain incarnate, the reprieve that came with the blinding flash to follow was just as jarring. Octavia lost her eyes again, doffed in favor of a whirlwind of color she’d surrendered to once before. It was splendid and radiant, heavenly and near-perfect save for its overpowering luminescence. She was freed of screeching, absolved of suffering. Where Lucian had been plunged into Hell, Octavia was thrust upwards into Heaven. It came with sound alone, desperation of a different flavor.
What are you doing?
I…
You cannot.
I will return.
It is a world not ours to interfere with. You know this.
Have you no desire, truly, even in the slightest, to know of its splendor? Have you no adoration for what has been made with such love?
My adoration reaches from here alone, as should your own. You would risk disrupting what has been balanced so cautiously.
I will be careful.
It is not that simple.
Octavia knew their voices well. To hear them in tandem a second time over, for how far they’d grown apart, was every bit as startling now as it had been the first time around.
The boundary is not to be crossed.
Yet still it exists.
Mixoly.
I will return. You have my word.
You know not if you may!
He will surely understand.
It is not of Lord Ramulus that I speak, Mixoly, and yet that as well! If you go, I cannot guarantee your safety!
It is a risk I am more than willing to take!
All Octavia had heard from Stratos as of late were pleas. Even in the depths of memories that weren't hers to pick apart, she only found more of the same. It was pitiful, in a way.
You will regret your choice.
I will not.
Please, do not do this.
Await me, Stratos, for I will return soon.
Mixoly.
Octavia hardly got a warning this time. She already had her colors, her light, her splendor. Somehow, she’d managed to untangle the screeching. It was a start. She shattered. The stained glass upon her eyes cracked and crumbled, and Heaven fell to pieces.
◆̷̡̞͔̥̜̠̰̯̭͍̀̆̈̈̊̇͗̿̕͘ ̷̩̮̙͖̘͌̍◆̴͍̳̦͕̥̳̞̖͒̈̑͋̂̒̂̿ ̸̨̡̜̲͕̜̎̑͗̀͗̇̌̏́◆̴̫̮̅̅͆̊
Octavia came up with a gasp. She met Theo’s eyes, as curious as they were determined even now. He tilted his head in the slightest, never once pulling away from their close positioning. Even now, their knees nearly touched and their warmth glowed in tandem. He waited.
“I’m fine,” she said futilely. She nodded for good measure, opting to assume Mixoly wouldn’t immediately come to her linguistic aid. For the way Theo nodded back, eyes aflame as before, she assumed the message was loud and clear.
She didn’t dare stop. Like a Heartful hammer, she would beat away at it until it caved. Octavia didn’t hesitate to lower her fingers down onto the piccolo once more.
◆ ◆ ◆
Lucian and Mixoly didn’t alternate, necessarily. Of the memories she’d already seen of both, past the point of entanglement she’d come to observe, they weren't sequential. Octavia gathered them like stones, and they flowed like water once she held them in her hands. The eyes she wore during both instances were anything but normal. She could tell them apart effortlessly. The gaze she stole from Lucian was blighted by violet, hazy and marred in a way no amount of blinking or pleading would undo. The screeching and screaming served as a secondary tell-tale indicator of a tragic Heartful memory.
By comparison, thus far, Mixoly brought her nothing. What visuals Octavia searched for in the Muse’s memories came only in the form of brilliant colors and hues that almost warmed her soul to witness. As to what Mixoly saw, it was all but imperceivable. If the Muse herself was more cooperative in the world of the lucid, perhaps Octavia would shower her with questions. As it stood, she’d be lucky if she could get Mixoly to accept a fate that teetered on inevitable.
It hurts, though!
Every cycle was another experience with his pain. Octavia loathed his suffering. To see it again and again was torture, an endless loop of hurt for one boy and one boy alone. In flashes she could sometimes uncover from the depths of muddied darkness, Octavia was burdened with yet more. In the daytime, he would tremble and sweat, try as he might to feign smiles and force his way through what labor he could come across.
Lucian survived and persisted, and it was unfathomably admirable. Octavia could hear the waver in his words when he spoke. She could watch the way he’d occasionally stumble when he walked, whether relative to overstimulation or disorientation. Still, he fought and struggled for the sake of a small boy who knew little of his plight. It mattered not that Mixoly never met his lips, for how he kept her close to his heart through concealing clothing alone. Rarely did they part. When they did, his curse was eternal as ever. He wasn't free.
At night, he suffered much the same. In the company of one so young and ignorant to his plight, the brave face Lucian battled to don was betrayed by shivers and ragged breaths. There was mild reprieve to be found in the dark, the fog that lived in his eyes blunted by that which stole light from his room regardless. Octavia understood Theo’s prior point in the worst way, and she was forced to hold her heart together over the idea of him enduring the same. It didn’t spare Lucian from the sounds that tore him to shreds all hours of the evening, and no amount of covering his ears offered any semblance of relief. It was difficult to be subtle about it.
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So often would Theo sign to him gently, gazing upon the suffering boy with worry as he tossed and turned in agony. Each and every time, what soft signs answered and what false affirmations pleaded for his fears to fade were as weak as they were desperate. The degree to which Lucian prioritized the boy’s comfort would’ve been endearing, had he not been in Hell himself. Even as the Ambassador, simply bearing witness to such brief snippets and fragments was driving Octavia insane. She'd been correct in her belief that she'd someday find a toll that hurt. It wasn’t exactly in the way she’d expected.
And for as smart as Theo was, the needs of Lucian’s heart were certainly unmistakable. Where he initially indulged in Lucian’s dismissals and affirmations of well-being, Lucian eventually found more than distress and despair in his bed each night he accepted fitful rest. Octavia prayed it had sufficed to ease his soul in the slightest. She hoped it was warm. For how tightly he clung to the child, shaking and struggling to breathe, it was surely needed.
Upon the flash that followed, blinding white and unhindered by murky agony, the clarity of her vision first led Octavia to believe that she still clung to Lucian’s eyes--cleansed and freed of pain, somehow. She found no suffering in sound, similarly, and the fact that she found sights at all in place of color alone was deeply jarring. Logically, she knew what didn’t belong to Lucian surely belonged to Mixoly in the depths. It didn’t make any more sense.
It was beautiful. It was impossible, really.
Where Lucian’s toll had taken her to a land she’d never seen, pristine and resplendent as the bounty of far-off nature was, the crystal-clear vision she was now afforded spoke to scenes Octavia couldn’t wrap her head around. They were amalgamations of concepts she could piece together in dreams and fantasies, and yet more than what she could hope to understand with her gaze alone. It was sweeping, overwhelming, a view of a world so grand in scale that mortal eyes couldn't possibly have taken it all in at once.
It was vast cities she’d never seen, kingdoms and countries she’d never heard of, cultures and people she’d never meet. It was inventions and contraptions she couldn’t begin to fathom, lifestyles and fashions she’d never imagined, an entire dream in and of itself that surely couldn’t have been more than a grandiose hallucination. She refused to believe it was true, for how marvelously it thrived in such a different manner. It had its downsides. Everything did. It had more than what Octavia was used to.
What are you?
For what Mixoly was, for who Mixoly was, she wasn’t subtle. She didn’t flee, nor did she hide her presence from gazes below. As to what form she took, it was utterly impossible for Octavia to tell from inside. As to how they saw her at all, that, too, Octavia couldn’t understand.
I am one who seeks to grow what is beautiful.
Her name, if nothing else, was precious.
Are you a god?
I am not.
And yet, she didn’t shirk their worship.
We need you.
In what manner, my child?
They all were. She was benevolent, in that way.
This world is filth.
It cannot be so. It was crafted with such care.
It is impure and unclean. It needs your touch. It needs a miracle.
A miracle?
There is so much that brings suffering.
They weren’t wrong.
Of what would I give?
Anything.
What is broken?
Everything.
She wasn’t helpless. After all, it wasn’t the same spider web.
For what hand she’d had in filling it with love, Mixoly could do so from within, much the same. It wasn’t to a phenomenal degree, for what Octavia knew of the concepts of conflict and need. It wasn’t surprising that they viewed her as a god. She, too, could weave the threads of the spider web.
It was remarkable. It was terrifying. Such a world was malleable. Whether it was beneath her hands alone that adjustments were possible was a mystery. Octavia shuddered under the fleeting concept that Ramulus wasn’t the only one who could affect the second spider web she called a home. She prayed that, at least, had been accounted for the second time around.
This is a blessing.
Is it pure?
The world will never be, on its own. We need you.
I will persist.
Mixoly indulged them.
Why does the world continue to suffer?
This is all that I can do.
We believe in you.
I am…trying. How did it become this way?
Mankind is impure.
It should not be so, by design. This is…not what was meant to be.
It is the very nature of the world.
But how?
She doubted them.
What will it take to achieve perfection? What will it take to bring peace?
That is for you to deliver. We pray for a miracle, even now. We need you.
I am trying! This is not how it was supposed to be!
We need a savior! Please, help us! Give us your mercy!
How can I salvage what you continue to destroy?
Mixoly begged. She struggled. Octavia wondered if Muses could cry, for how much sorrow surely lay dormant in their hearts. All she found instead upon her stolen eyes was glass. This time, when it cracked, at least the light that burst in its wake on the way out was natural. Even from a sun shining onto a world in which she’d never set foot, it was better than nothing.
◆̶̨̙͋̓̓͜͠ ̸̟̮̔͌̎̏͊◆̶̧̙͕͈̳̄͒̀ ̵̧̡̛̯̥͍͚͋̔̇̀̒͊͝◆̵͈̤̫̫͓̫̎͐̀̾
Octavia was sweating. She only realized it when her clammy hands recoiled from Miracle Agony, trembling and twitching. No amount of gasping for air was compensating for the inconceivable sights she still fought to process. Each time she tried to fathom the first spider web, draping it delicately across her mind, it fizzled and faded out of self-preservation alone. It was torture.
Theo once more eyed her with concern. Octavia shook her head wordlessly, gritting her teeth. He nodded, and the fire in his eyes as they locked with hers once more was enough to keep her going. Shaky breaths notwithstanding, she dove back into the darkness again.
◆ ◆ ◆
Lucian did end up indulging the Muse with his Heartful touch exactly once. It was hardly for himself alone.
There was no true merit in gifting her song, necessarily. Rather, he gave the singular blessing her legacy could offer. Mixoly’s radiant melodies were infinitely more lovely when they weren’t attempting to severely injure Octavia, and she could appreciate the love Lucian handed even to the Muse who’d cursed him with such unbearable agony. Of the light he breathed into the air, it was, unsurprisingly, with the one he treasured most that he shared his birthright. It didn’t matter if Theo’s smile escaped Octavia’s stolen eyes even now. The wonder and awe that graced his face was more than enough to compensate.
Enraptured by shrill, crystalline notes yet unheard, it was the Maestro-to-be’s first true encounter with his future partner. If he’d known what was to come, Octavia wondered if Theo would’ve found so much delight in her existence. Mixoly’s song was just barely louder than the screeching that lived forever in Lucian’s head. Octavia had half a mind to wonder why he didn’t seek her companionship more often, in that case. Even now, his fingers trembled atop every shimmering key. It was a reflex. It was involuntary.
Sometimes, Lucian cried. It was soft. It was in the dead of night, usually, long after the one comfort at his side had surrendered to peaceful sleep he’d never claim for himself. Theo wasn’t always immune, for the sobbing and shaking it regularly became. Where the sounds of his sorrow were lost, the aching in his heart was palpable enough to warrant whatever comfort could be given. Once, their hands had rarely parted for Theo’s sake. Now, it was Theo who so often tended to him in return.
Some days, Lucian didn’t eat. Some days, he didn’t sleep at all. Some days, he didn’t leave the house, and some days, he didn’t so much as leave his bed. It grew louder. It grew hazier. It was unbearable.
Where am I supposed to find the Ambassador? he once struggled to ask between gasping breaths, racked by chills that couldn't be stemmed.
I…do not know.
You have to know! You have to know how to make this stop!
My child, I wish with all of my heart that I knew. I, too, wish that you did not suffer so.
Lucian no longer cried. Now, he sobbed in earnest. Where once he’d attempted to stifle his distress in front of Theo, it was no longer an option. It was no longer controllable in the first place. For each day the screeching grew worse, for each day his vision swam and grew tinted ever more disgustingly violet in every way, his agitation reached new heights.
To his credit, it was perhaps the softness of his legacy alone that turned his anger inwards, blunted by desperation and agonizing distress rather than rage. He scratched his skin until it bled. He hit his head until he could hardly walk. He begged, pleaded, growled, and sometimes screamed until his throat was red and raw. It was through exhaustion alone that he would sleep, some nights, burned out solely by resistance to the plague upon his senses.
Theo watched every moment he suffered, a once-brilliant star fizzling and fading. Where Lucian’s light should’ve shined down onto him with all of the love in his radiant heart, pain had long since dulled his sparkle. No amount of comfort, physical or otherwise, was enough to stem Lucian’s tears. Octavia couldn’t blame either of them. Simply bearing the weight of his curse by proxy was growing absolutely impossible. She couldn’t stand it.
Why are you doing this to me?
My child, I assure you, it is not intentional. I have said as much, and will say so one thousand times over. I cannot apologize enough.
Please, make it stop! I don’t care how, just stop it already! I can’t live like this, Mixoly!
This is not what I wanted for you.
Mixoly, please! Please, I’m begging you, I’ll do anything!
All that is to be done is to find the Ambassador alone. They are the only--
Then help me! I can’t do this anymore! I hate this!
Do you hate me?
I don’t want to!
Lucian, she heard the Muse offer softly. It was the first time. Her sorrow was more than audible upon every syllable.
Please!
With a flash so vivid and quick that she could’ve very well blinked, Octavia was practically in the clouds by comparison. She was free of pain. It was a peace Lucian couldn’t be granted, and she felt guilty each and every time she found the reprieve he couldn’t cling to. Her suffering, at least, was temporary.
Mixoly’s was not.
Do you hear my voice?
It was Mixoly’s alone that Octavia found.
Can you…hear me?
And again, the same.
Please. Are you there?
The world was beneath her, literally and figuratively. Again was Octavia struggling to process what impossible sights the Muse had granted to her, both colorful and not all at once. It was as imperceivable as it was sensible, radiant and tangible as she practically straddled existence itself. Once more, she couldn’t wrap her head around it. It was all she could do to surrender to the idea of a dream once again. It was the closest she could come to making light of what eyes she didn’t deserve were gifting to her.
I…do not understand.
As to what process was taking place with each fizzling flicker, every flash that briefly sparked in Octavia’s stolen gaze, she was just as unsure.
What is this?
Mixoly’s words were for no one. What desperate masses she’d left so far below were voiceless in a floating fragment, isolated solely to the Muse and an interloping Ambassador. Again and again she struggled and sparked, flashing and flashing with such fervor that Octavia initially believed herself to be cycling through broken memories once more.
I do not understand!
It was endless.
Do you hear my voice? Please!
It was desperate.
My Lord?
It was raw.
My Lord!
It was panicked.
Stratos!
It was inconsolable.
Stratos, please!
They were words, time and time again, rapid as they were, that Octavia had heard tumble from Mixoly’s lips in excess.
Please, it cannot be this way! I beg of you, help me! Help me! Help me! Please!
The violet was the catalyst for every crack that splintered her glass.
Do not leave me here!
Octavia never made it far enough to see what followed.
◆̶̦͍͚̮̻̇͜͝ͅ ̶̧̱̠̥͉̦̯̼̭͖͂̿̌͑͐̒̈́̚̕◆̷͚̩̫̥͛ ̶̡̺̳̆̆͌͂̏͗◆̵̟̫̼̟̰͖̮̅̓̃̓̿̍̈́̓̕͝
Mixoly’s plight was difficult enough, for what Octavia continuously fought to understand with eyes not hers to utilize. It was Lucian’s suffering, though, that blighted her the most. She was outright nauseous. Dizziness had settled onto her in tandem with a headache that had just begun to throb. She was panting. She hated it. She hated it knowing it was obvious even more.
Theo still watched her every move and expression, unwavering. When she hesitated, briefly battling the way the world spun and her ears rang, one warm hand came to rest over her own. He squeezed tightly. It was enough to keep her grounded, his free hand offering up Miracle Agony once more. Octavia intertwined her trembling fingers with his, forgoing the nod of confidence she wished she could offer him in turn. Only now did she wonder if he’d known exactly what was in there.
It was all she could do to honor Lucian’s pain, in that way. She accepted what she could with her heart and submitted to more with her touch.
◆ ◆ ◆
And yet, it was Mixoly who ultimately barred her path. In truth, it wasn’t surprising.
Help me!
Every plea practically echoed.
Save me!
For one who’d offered up such salvation to a broken world, she found none of her own.
Please!
That was the boundary, Octavia supposed, intangible and inconceivable as it was.
I beg of you, save me!
Given what she’d been forced to witness, touch, repair, and tolerate, Mixoly was surely more than impure. Hers was a heart blemished by mortal malice. Octavia pitied her as much as she did empathize.
Save me!
Where the violet she’d grown to utterly loathe was so slow to foster in others, it was an explosive birth from the shattered heart and memories of a Muse. It was a supernova.
Help me!
From an outside perspective, Octavia wondered what it must’ve looked like. Whether to rest peacefully Above, safe and pure behind the protection of the boundary, or whether to go about aimlessly below, treading the broken spider web, the experience was impossible to imagine. It wasn’t as though human eyes would know better. Perhaps it was instant--or at least Octavia liked to hope so. Perhaps they didn’t suffer. Of the Muses, Octavia knew better. Of the boundary, for what she knew had occurred, it was frustrating that she couldn’t quite see.
Please!
Mixoly was an endless fountain of pleas, much the same as she was an endless fountain of agony. Octavia could rank those mired in suffering in a hierarchy, if she tried. Ivy and Vincent served as her baseline for what could be considered a fountain. Selena was a tidal wave, an ocean unleashing chaos where desired and without remorse. Mixoly, by comparison to all, was a black hole. She was, perhaps, maybe more so by one thousand times over. For every ounce of light stolen from her own heart, the explosive misery that filled the gap colored the world--and Octavia’s borrowed eyes--an equally-miserable violet.
It was too much to bear. The glass shattered long before she could see it spread, cracking and crumbling beneath the weight of Mixoly’s agony.
◆̸̧͖̫̖͙͂͆̐̓̐͒̒͌̏̆̈̕̚ ̵̪̘̺͕̝̈́̈́̈́͌◆̵̮͉̜̤̟̰͔͎̞̳̝̂̏͋̒̚ ̶͖̰̯̣̺͂̇̐̈̈́̑͆◆̵̛̞̄́
Octavia was gasping. She was well aware of her distress, her head actively throbbing. Again did her ears ring relentlessly. She couldn’t fight the dizziness that grew ever more potent with each and every dive into the darkness, and simply sitting up was a struggle. Her vision blurred.
Theo was blurry, too. With what she could find of him, she could at least salvage determination and drive that didn’t belong to her. For how close he was, Octavia liked to imagine it was hers to take. He gripped her hand tighter. It was something to hold her down, and she clung to him with everything she had.
She gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, and plunged into the depths again.
◆ ◆ ◆
Please!
Please!
Please!
Help me!
Help me!
Help me!
It burned.
It burned each and every time she got to it. For how many times Octavia had to brave Lucian’s curse again and again to make it there, she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. The world was violet. Her vision was violet. The sky Mixoly had once adored was deep, remorseless violet, screeching and screaming in every way.
Help me!
Sometimes, they even blurred into one another, inseparable. It wasn’t as though Octavia could make out words. Ultimately, a screech was a screech, wordless and incomprehensible. From the Dissonance, it was doubly so. It didn’t curdle her blood any less.
Save me!
It never withstood, no matter how many of Mixoly’s pleas she could gather in her heart. Each time, it was most definitely more. It was endless, the Muse's black hole all-consuming and burdened by grief. Time and time again, the glass Octavia could no longer preserve beneath the pressure of infinite agony gave way. She was a victim of two Heartful tragedies forever.
◆̵̨̨̹͈̼̝̦̖̪͔͘ ̶̢̧̫͔̯̖͔̤̩͗͐◆̵̧̨̯̹̰͖̜̲͙̼͇̰̥̌̽̊̔̇̀̀ ̵̢̼̹̝̰͚̖̘͇̼͎̐́͋̏́̀̕̚◆̸̛͍̙̠̞̹̜̪̪͇͓̓̂́́͋̏ͅ
It was their close proximity that saved her from collapsing. Where disorientation and pain had begun to severely wear her down, Theo’s arm around her shoulders and his forehead pressed firmly against hers were the anchors she so desperately needed. His size was irrelevant, his age even more so. His heart was hers, and he spoke with his resilient gaze alone. His touch was enough. Octavia was aware that her pain wasn't silent. Part of her hoped Mixoly heard it every time she went down. If the Muse was watching, even now, she hoped it meant something.
◆̴̛͍̭̗̰̬͔̗̩̈́̈̈́͑͘ ̷͇͍̈́̎◆̶̢̟̫̜̮̩̄͐ ̷̺̘͔̿̋̀̀͠◆̸̥̺̤͓̯̪̯́͂
Help me!
◆̸̼̣̟̬̏̔͊̑͐̂ ̵̝͇̰̙̮̿͆̋͝◆̷̙̱̟͐͊̆̄̌͠ ̴̜̥̈́̒̌́̇◆̶̫̩̥̘̉͜
It had to.
◆̸̧͖̫̖͙͂͆̐̓̐͒̒͌̏̆̈̕̚ ̵̪̘̺͕̝̈́̈́̈́͌◆̵̮͉̜̤̟̰͔͎̞̳̝̂̏͋̒̚ ̶͖̰̯̣̺͂̇̐̈̈́̑͆◆̵̛̞̄́
Help me, please!
◆̵̨̨̹͈̼̝̦̖̪͔͘ ̶̢̧̫͔̯̖͔̤̩͗͐◆̵̧̨̯̹̰͖̜̲͙̼͇̰̥̌̽̊̔̇̀̀ ̵̢̼̹̝̰͚̖̘͇̼͎̐́͋̏́̀̕̚◆̸̛͍̙̠̞̹̜̪̪͇͓̓̂́́͋̏ͅ
There was no alternative.
◆̵̗̩̟͔̺̲̌̽̕ ̶̛͙͉̼̭́̾̒̋͊̈́͊◆̶̧̞͓͉̤̯͙̱̈́͋̉̊̆̋ ̴̳̖̹̠͇̯̆̽ͅ◆̸̢̢̮͕̣̠̗̭̎͑̽́̈́̚͠
Save me!
◆̵͉̤̞̻̣͓̱͆̑̈̈̋̾̕ͅ ̶̨̛͓̦̻̤͍̞̱̅́̎̀̄̓̿́̀̕͝͠◆̶͙̙̦͓̖͈̰̐͂̈̔̈́̔͐̍͘͘̚͠ͅ ̶̘̀́͐͛̑̀́̓̆̅͝͝◆̷̼̞̔̑̓̀͂̅̇̏
For as badly as she wanted to succeed on Mixoly’s behalf, it wasn’t her heart alone that hung in the balance.
◆̴̛͍̭̗̰̬͔̗̩̈́̈̈́͑͘ ̷͇͍̈́̎◆̶̢̟̫̜̮̩̄͐ ̷̺̘͔̿̋̀̀͠◆̸̥̺̤͓̯̪̯́͂
Please!
◆̵̗̩̟͔̺̲̌̽̕ ̶̛͙͉̼̭́̾̒̋͊̈́͊◆̶̧̞͓͉̤̯͙̱̈́͋̉̊̆̋ ̴̳̖̹̠͇̯̆̽ͅ◆̸̢̢̮͕̣̠̗̭̎͑̽́̈́̚͠
“Don’t fight me on this, Mixoly!” Octavia growled, spilling what little resolve she could spare into her voice.
“Ambassador--”
“I’m not giving up on you!” she cried.
◆̵̨̨̹͈̼̝̦̖̪͔͘ ̶̢̧̫͔̯̖͔̤̩͗͐◆̵̧̨̯̹̰͖̜̲͙̼͇̰̥̌̽̊̔̇̀̀ ̵̢̼̹̝̰͚̖̘͇̼͎̐́͋̏́̀̕̚◆̸̛͍̙̠̞̹̜̪̪͇͓̓̂́́͋̏ͅ
Help me!
◆̶͖̲̼͖̳͙̘͓͐̒̉͛̓͗͑̌͜͠ ̶̨̰̪̠̲̮̤͔̜͂͌◆̴̡̦̭̣̤͚̮͎̖̺͉͕͛́̿͐́̅̈́̉ ̸͚̝͇͗͐͂̂̅◆̵̩̤͛̃̀̔̈́́̏͆̀̚͝͠
Octavia could hardly breathe. What few words she could spare snuck between ragged breaths, and even that took everything she had. Were it not for Theo’s support, she surely would’ve collapsed long ago.
“And you better not give up on me, either!” she demanded of the Muse who watched her still.
◆̵̗̩̟͔̺̲̌̽̕ ̶̛͙͉̼̭́̾̒̋͊̈́͊◆̶̧̞͓͉̤̯͙̱̈́͋̉̊̆̋ ̴̳̖̹̠͇̯̆̽ͅ◆̸̢̢̮͕̣̠̗̭̎͑̽́̈́̚͠
Save me, please!
◆̶̬̗̀̃̑͊̂̄̽͆̇̍̑̂̽̓ ̵̻̘͑̓͋◆̴̥̤̘͐̚ ̸̧̠̭̫̤̺̪̥̤̔͗̋̍◆̶̨̙̰͇̼̳͓̱̝̟̫̠̖̃̈̈́̈́̽̀̒̆́̕̕͝͝
“Damn it, Mixoly!” she shouted through her pain. “You better give this world a fighting chance after all this!”
“Ambassador, you do not need to go this far!” Mixoly begged.
Octavia shook her head, bringing Theo’s own along with her slightly. He clung to her harder. “I already told you! I’m your Ambassador, too!”
“Please,” Mixoly pleaded softly. As to what she pleaded for, Octavia was unsure.
Theo didn’t waver. For how he was forced to attend to her upon every attempt, Octavia knew he was contributing in his own way. His heart was contagious, and his love burned. What he offered her with his glow, as brilliant as it was quiet, was a miracle of its own.
She was his Ambassador, too. If not for Mixoly, then Octavia could try for a different heart.
◆̶̛̞͈̮̫͈̲̲̯̠͎͍̫̳̖̋̓̆͐̈̈̚͘͜͝͝ ̶̩̾̅̓̿̈́̕◆̵̝̩̤̥̲̝͎̦͇͉̳͓̈́̔͜ ̸͎͓̺̜̈́̓̇͜͝͝ͅ◆̴̼͔͇̖͉͈̝͉̾͒͐͒̉̑̇̄̊͋̿̚͠
Of the three sources who’d told her how the world had come to ruin, none had truly given her an explanation of the full process. She’d never learned how long it took. She’d never learned exactly what it had taken to dispel such agony, after its initial onslaught. She’d never learned exactly what had happened on the opposite side of the boundary that day, when a world so high above came to ruin of its own accord. There was no set endpoint, nowhere Octavia knew to expect Mixoly’s suffering and rampaging sorrow to come to a halt. Had it not, she wouldn’t have been here. Ramulus had said as much. It had to end eventually.
Please!
Please!
Please!
Octavia tried to be optimistic. It was dangerous to explicitly anticipate the glass, let alone the fractures and fragile damages that would quickly follow. She feared she’d manifest it, should she try. She held whatever breaths she had down here.
Save me!
She wondered how long Theo had known.
Please!
For what Mixoly had wrought upon his beloved brother, Octavia wondered how he could protect the Muse with all of his heart.
Help me!
For the curse of her poisoned agony, seeping and oozing into every ray of her once-splendid light, she wondered how he could love Mixoly at all.
Please, help me!
She wondered if she would’ve been able to do the same.
Please!
He would’ve made for an incredible Ambassador.
Please!
For all Theo had sacrificed on her behalf, it was the least Mixoly could do to let him keep the world he called home.
Please!
It wasn’t that Octavia didn’t deserve to avoid Mixoly’s agony twice over. It wasn’t that Viola, nor Madrigal, nor Harper, nor Renato, nor Josiah weren’t worthy of survival.
Please!
If Mixoly owed any heart in the world she claimed to detest, it was the one who’d given her all of his.
Help me!
Help me!
Help me!
And with every plea she captured, with every desperate cry and sorrowful wail that Mixoly beat her down with in that blazing black hole, Octavia swore to make her repay the debt.
Save me.
For the absolutely infernal burst of light that cut through the violet world, Octavia at first thought she’d shattered to pieces once more. Part of her, in the split seconds of suspended radiance that followed, awaited Theo’s touch and the grueling onslaught of lucidity once more. She waited for her head to throb, for her body to ache, for her eyes to burn.
Instead, where the sun itself settled into her eyes in an instant, it burned out just as quickly. It was absolutely blinding in the most literal sense, by which Octavia briefly believed she’d never see straight again--even with eyes that weren’t her own to damage. For the utter darkness that followed, her vision swallowed whole by true blackness rather than agonizing violet, she thought she’d lost it altogether. Given the exception that Mixoly was, Octavia wondered if she’d died--at least briefly. If this toll was capable of hurting her, there were no limits she forced herself to entertain.
Save me.
In the dark, cold and enveloping on every side, Mixoly’s pleas were fainter.
Help me.
They were weaker.
Please.
They were broken in every way.
Are you…calling me?
And where she'd expected to find Lucian, she was completely and utterly incorrect.
Given what eyes she suddenly wore, far from Mixoly’s own, Octavia was initially perplexed. They were different hands, different skin, a different voice with a different tone. They were far from the Heartful boy she’d grown so, so near to over the course of his own lifetime again and again--ignorant to her existence as he would forever be.
Help me.
She knew the veil that plagued her eyes again, if nothing else. She knew the screeching that accompanied close behind.
Stop it, please! Make it stop!
I cannot. Find the Ambassador, I beg of you, and it will cease.
Never had Octavia switched strangers halfway through a toll. Still, Mixoly offered no normal toll to her cursed eyes. She should’ve known better. This stranger suffered in every way, coping perhaps even more poorly than Lucian. What love and tolerance the Heartful boy had at least attempted to spare for the forsaken Muse was infinite by comparison to the one who fled from her instead. There was nothing to be done, and where Mixoly’s blight had been granted, her stain was permanent. Even freed from Lucian’s eyes, Octavia suffered. It was surely nothing compared to those who’d lived it in full.
For all of the instances in which she’d shouldered Lucian’s suffering by proxy, it hadn’t been enough to lead her to actual death--unintentional or otherwise. The degree to which such pain would warrant a reaction so severe was unfathomable. With a sob and a faithless leap, tumbling far into what unseen fate lie beneath the steepest of cliffsides, Octavia found the first end that wasn't enough to bring her back up.
What are you?
I need you.
Instead, it brought her another victim. It brought her more eyes, equally soaked in shadow, and more sounds, equally bathed in misery.
Stop doing this to me!
It is not intentional. I apologize, I truly do.
Why do you hate me like this?
I do not.
Get away from me! Get out of my head!
Please, my child, it is my greatest wish that you would not suffer. Know this to be the truth.
Then make it stop!
You must find the Ambassador.
For her, death wasn't artificial, nor provoked. What stress was endured, seemingly, crawled into her soul and suffocated her in her sleep. It wasn’t much less upsetting.
It was a cycle.
Are you…talking to me?
Help me, I beg of you.
There came eyes unfamiliar, neither Lucian’s nor Mixoly’s.
You’re awful! What’s wrong with you? This is sick! Just stop it already!
Find the Ambassador. It is the only way to spare us both.
There came pleas on both ends, tinted with two flavors of agony, and the tragic end steeped in suffering that would follow. Sometimes, it was natural. The vast majority of the time, it was premature. It was prompted, desperate.
It took Octavia longer than it should’ve to recall Mixoly’s warning of Stratos’ sight, by which the world she witnessed was stolen through touch alone. For how many flashes and fragments Octavia cycled through, gaze after gaze and heart after heart, never had she imagined one Muse to have so many partners. Logically, she knew they’d collectively been bound to the world below for several hundred years. Octavia had never really stopped to consider the sheer number of hands that had rested atop every key and lips that had breathed radiance into every note. Even given the scarcity of the Heartful candidates she so viciously begged for, Mixoly’s contagious agony wore them down and snuffed out their lights one after another.
Please!
Please!
Please!
And sometimes, the begging wasn’t from Mixoly alone. It was horrific. It was endless.
It circled. For the hundreds of years it certainly took, Octavia’s heart nearly stopped once it happened.
Were you…calling me?
Those eyes, she knew.
And you heard my voice, then?
Burning with violet or otherwise, she’d worn them thousands of times.
What are you?
Octavia had torn them apart.
I am one who destroys what is precious.
And so, too, had she stitched them back together.
But you’re so small.
Where once they were tangled and inseparable, she’d shredded them to pieces and rebuilt the puzzle bit by bit.
It was not always such.
For all it had taken, it finally made sense. Octavia had her timeline. For better or worse, she had Mixoly’s heart.
My name’s Lucian.
And she stole the Heartful boy’s, through his own eyes alone, right up until the bitter end.
Leave me alone!
Lucian, please.
Get out of my head! Stop! I’m begging you, I’ll do anything!
My child, I--
Mixoly, please! Please make it stop! I can’t do it! I can’t!
Luci--
Please! Please, I’ll do whatever you want, just stop hurting me like this!
I am not trying to wound you, my child. You know this. The only way is to fi--
Kill me! Just kill me!
Lucian, listen to me.
Where once some nights had barred him from sleep, fitful or otherwise, it was all nights. Where once some days had banned him from food, indigestible and undesirable as it was, it was all days. His tears fell so frequently that his body often ran dry, his entire frame permanently weak and racked eternally with shaking sobs. His sorrow made it worse, for how blurred his murky vision had truly become.
Only in the dark, once more, was he granted reprieve, and even that couldn't spare him from the sounds that shattered his eardrums. They were utterly intolerable. Octavia had found her hated bells to be ruinous, painfully loud and unable to be hushed. Their volume paled in comparison to what noise dove so deep into Lucian’s very soul, cracking it from within.
Theo tried. It was everything he could do just to keep the Heartful boy safe from harm, for how often he lashed out at himself and himself alone. The false calm on his little face, offered up only for Lucian’s sake, was more than lost in the sea of violet that swallowed it whole. If Octavia could see clearly, she wondered what she’d find in Theo’s eyes.
It was a night not unlike that which he'd met Mixoly that Lucian sprinted into at last, screams stifled in place of gasping breaths and desperate clutching at his ears. For how relatively recently he’d moved to Mezzoria, he’d learned Selbright well. He’d learned enough to navigate with little effort, to retrace his steps where he’d once wandered with greater hesitation and uncertainty.
For what Octavia had seen him endure, so long before Mixoly had entered his fragile life, she was proud of him. Even now, she wanted nothing more than to push past the barrier that barred the Ambassador from those who’d paid the toll, to catch him in her arms and offer him the world anew. Theo deserved him. He deserved himself.
Stop! Please, please, please, just stop! Stop it! Get out!
Lucian deserved anything but this.
Get out of my head!
He deserved anything but his own chosen reprieve, effective and well-selected.
Leave me alone!
The way the means that had offered the Heartful boy a second chance at life sought to steal it away instead broke Octavia in half.
Stop it!
For all of her poor experiences with trains, Octavia had never faced one head-on.
Please!
And alone on the tracks, in the dead of night, she wondered if he’d even been afraid.
Stop!
It wasn't rain that struck him down long prior, nor the mortal world at large. Ultimately, his beautiful radiance be damned, it was Mixoly who brought Lucian’s world to ruin.
◆ ◆ ◆
Octavia didn’t realize she’d come up, initially. Only the trembling against her body served as any indicator of her lucidity once more. She first believed it to be her own, utterly fatigued and borderline unconscious as she was. Instead, the pressure and warmth that she slowly came to recognize wrapped around her filled in the blanks and kept her upright.
For as small as he was compared to her, supporting her full body weight was surely a task for Theo. Nonetheless, fueled by resolve alone, he served as the sole reason she hadn’t collapsed in full. Octavia desperately wished she had the physical strength to lessen his burden. As it was, it was all she could do to simply speak.
“I…I saw it. I saw…all of it,” she whispered.
She couldn’t find Mixoly, not for how her eyes still fought to adjust to the true world once more. Octavia drank in what she could hear with the ears that still rang relentlessly.
“Ambassador, I…you have borne witness to the toll?”
“I saw everything,” Octavia said again, somewhat stronger. “I saw what you…went through. I saw…Lucian.”
There was almost pride to be found in the way she’d left Mixoly nearly speechless. “I…”
She wondered if it seeped into her voice. Octavia couldn’t fight the tiniest smirk that bled onto her tired lips. “I…told you not to…give up on me.”
Given how Theo trembled around her more viciously, his body lurching as he struggled to maintain his balance on his knees, her obligation to contribute felt somewhat urgent. With what she had left to spare, she battled her way forward, leaning into him in full and sparing him from collapsing himself. His breaths, too, were just as labored.
He tilted his head, his shoulders slightly heaving. Octavia smiled as best as she could, weak and faint. It was better than nothing, and she gave him a nod to go with it.
And when the corners of Theo’s mouth turned upwards, miniscule and fleeting as could be, Octavia’s heart could’ve exploded. It was all she needed to be strong. It was worth it, for as long as it had taken.
It was all she needed to boast of his love, plain for all to see.
“You know he loves you, right?”
“I…what do you mean, Ambassador?”
Octavia staggered as she pushed herself to her feet, nearly falling in the process. Theo threw himself around her arm, pulling harshly, and it was an aid surprisingly more effective than she’d expected. She did what she could to compose herself, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.
“He did all of this for you. He helped me for your sake. He stayed alone like this for you. He attacked me to protect you, Mixoly.”
For how he served as the reference for her words, Theo was content to offer his attention to Mixoly alone. His eyes were as soft as his hold around Miracle Agony, shimmering beneath the stray moonbeams it captured in the deepening night. Octavia didn’t even want to imagine how long she’d been here. It didn’t matter anymore.
Mixoly was small, her voice equally so. “I…”
“You did what you did to Lucian, and Theo still did all of this for you,” Octavia pushed. “You cursed his sight, and he still did all of this for you. I saw every Maestro you’ve ever had, and I saw how every single one ended up. There’s never been a single person in the world that’s gone as far for you as Theo has.”
“I-I…” Mixoly stammered.
“I,” Octavia began firmly, “in all my time as the Ambassador, have never seen a single Maestro go this far for their partner. You have no idea what you have. You have no idea how lucky you are.”
Mixoly wrapped her arms around herself tightly. She was pitiful. Octavia did pity her.
“I saw the world the way you saw it. I know it’s not perfect. It’s not the same world anymore, yeah, and it’s not as bad as the one you ruined, but I won’t deny that our world definitely has things wrong with it. Still, if you can find even a single thing in this world that makes you happy, that should be enough for you. Not everything has to be beautiful. Just…some things are enough.”
Octavia paused, inhaling deeply. “Even just one beautiful thing in this world is enough.”
For as speechless as Mixoly again was, Octavia didn’t give her the chance to enjoy her silence. When she turned to Theo, her eyes flickering to Miracle Agony, he nodded. It was almost hesitant. She didn’t miss it.
She spoke largely without looking, her heart speeding dangerously along as she stared at the little instrument in his equally-little hands. “I’ll make you a deal. If we do this, and you find out that you can’t cross the boundary after all, then…if you can’t think of a single thing in this world worth saving, go ahead and bring it to ruin again. I can’t stop you. No one can.”
“Ambassador,” Mixoly murmured.
“But.”
Mixoly fell silent.
Octavia’s voice was as sharp as she could will it to be, and she hoped Mixoly felt the razors on her tongue. “If you think of even one thing, no matter how small, that’s worth protecting this world for, then you have to give it a chance.”
On Octavia’s behalf, it was Theo who stared his partner down instead.
“I’m sorry for what this world did to you, Mixoly. You didn’t deserve it,” Octavia apologized. “Even so, I know you loved it once. I know you can love it again, even just a little bit.”
“Ambassador, to lose that which is so pure is a grief to which words will do no justice,” Mixoly argued. “To surrender perfection, wonderful in every way, surrounded by those so beloved, is the most impossible agony! To…to lose the trust and affections of all who one has thrived alongside for eternity, it is a pain unlike any! For a sin to turn all who would--”
Her words were cut short by her own tongue alone. Octavia watched her with confusion. For the way her faceless gaze instantly snapped to Theo’s, she had a vague idea of the circumstances.
“What?” the Muse breathed.
Theo was silent, his hands and body alike utterly still.
“I…”
Only his eyes, burning and soft all at once, spoke on his behalf.
“I could not!”
Theo nodded exactly twice.
“My child, I could not!” Mixoly repeated desperately.
With Miracle Agony grasped tenderly in one hand alone, it was with slow and careful movements that Theo raised one pointed finger to Mixoly. When he drew it back to himself in turn, it trailed next firmly to the floor below. Never once did his eyes leave her.
“I-I could…not,” Mixoly mumbled, her voice small and weak.
Whatever he signed to her with one hand alone, his motions far slower than she knew him to be capable of, was enough to lodge a waver in her voice.
“Theo,” she nearly whispered, simple and soft.
His eyes flickered back and forth between the Muse and Octavia. It was Mixoly who nodded, for once, shaky as every word that left her continued to be.
“I-I will…endeavor.”
Octavia watched as Theo carefully balanced the little piccolo atop his forearms, motioning for her slowly. His face was just as soft as that which he offered his partner, and she held her breath.
“‘Thank you,’” Mixoly aided.
Octavia blinked. It took a moment for her to shake her head with a smile. “I didn’t do much. You’re the one who did everything for her.”
He signed further. Again did Mixoly fill the gaps. “‘Thank you for loving her, too.’”
Octavia beamed.
Mixoly didn’t need to interpret the motion for "Ambassador." Octavia knew it well. She appreciated it regardless, and she adored the gentleness with which Theo made the gesture. “‘Thank you for being her Ambassador.’”
“Thank you for letting me,” she answered.
When his hands fell silent, Octavia nudged him slightly. “Are you…ready?”
He nodded.
She tensed. “Are you nervous?”
Smart as he was, Octavia was well aware he feared nothing of the process itself. Her words and their subsequent meaning were clear. Even so, Theo shook his head, his motions soft. “‘I trust her.’”
Mixoly flinched under his gaze, even delicate as it was. Each time Octavia had ever seen Theo raise Miracle Agony to his lips, it had been in the context of violence--defensive or otherwise. Now, in place of threats, he graced the Muse's vessel with one tender kiss alone, his lips brushing against every sparkle the instrument captured. Octavia’s heart felt as light as could be, for the way he hardly looked away from Mixoly all along.
And for as quiet as Mixoly was, there was no room left to chide her--nor threaten her, nor persuade her, nor beg her. If the world was to come to ruin, Octavia had done all that she could. With Miracle Agony offered to her so sweetly and serenely, Theo’s palms upturned before her one last time, the words she needed most were preceded only by a smile and a farewell.
“No matter what happens,” Octavia said gently, “thank you for everything. Thank you for protecting me. No matter what anyone tells you, you were a miracle to me.”
“Farewell, Ambassador,” Mixoly whispered. It was better than nothing. “Please, please be safe.”
Octavia nodded. What was left came with equal parts calm and fear, a cold dread assuaged only by a glow she stole from before her even now. Where her blood threatened to freeze over, the warmth in Theo’s eyes was enough to keep her alive. For all the trust she’d gambled, whether gained or lost in the process, it was now up to fate alone. If Octavia had her doubts, then she would trust the heart that trusted Mixoly’s instead.
“I have borne witness to your pain, and my light guides your passage from the depths of my heart.”