The walk wasn't quite as severe as she feared it would be. Morning had long since passed, the tell-tale heat of noon high overhead. She'd been fortunate enough to stall her way through the remainder of the morning services' bell tolling--although the thought hadn't crossed her mind until now. Had she been roughly an hour earlier in performing the Witnessing, she would likely have returned to a shape just as poor as that in which she'd awoken.

The idea of panicking at all was deeply sickening. To panic in front of Josiah would be much worse. If she had to hazard a guess at another victim of the burnt blossom's far-reaching grasp, it would be him. She could confide in him, maybe. She still couldn't prove it.

Domino's directions were legitimate, although the construction area was more difficult to locate than most other landmarks. The woods facing the north weren't visible from the camp, let alone the outskirts of Coda. They were even thicker and more opaque from afar than those she'd previously considered abundant and lush. She settled on "overgrown", almost unnatural in the way mismatched flora climbed splintered wood and vines strangled unsteady bricks.

"Abandoned", per Domino's words, wasn't a poor descriptor, either. He'd neglected to mention the houses that dotted the cusp of the forest in turn, freed of the oppressive prison of shrubbery. They, too, were devoid of life. As to whatever was going on out here, she made a note to ask Viola later--once that situation was resolved.

What houses called the woods themselves home were surprisingly intact, if not decrepit and deteriorating in their own right. Many had long since succumbed to mosses and molds, roofs bending dangerously under the pressure of creeping branches. Bricks had pitifully crumbled, and shingles had come with them. Far too many doors, so often dampened by storms long past, had either escaped their hinges or snapped in two. Still, unlivable as they were versus those freed of greenery at her back, the foundations stood strong. It was almost disorienting, by which she'd stepped into a broken battlefield of decay.

She had a feeling as to which one she should be looking for, along with its respective tells. For what he did know of Harper, Josiah seemed to realize the same. He pointed it out before she had the chance.

"That one. It's gotta be."

She followed his trailing finger with her eyes, and she agreed with him immediately. It was blackened, crumbling, and--with the context in mind--most definitely charred to a crisp. It was surely a less obvious fate, to a third party. Regardless, the building was an absolute testament to damage incarnate. Meddling vegetation was the least of its problems, cursed instead by wooden beams spearing through the ceiling. Walls on every side had long since earned gaping holes or outright collapsed, paving passages to the open forest beyond. The front door was so thoroughly damaged that it may as well have not existed.

As to how the house was still standing to this day, clinging to mere scraps of annihilated brick and wood, Octavia couldn't begin to guess. It was every bit as resilient as the boy who'd once called it home. A strong storm, or more, would undoubtedly do it in eventually. Knowing what she knew now, she prayed that day would never come.

She was hesitant to step inside--if not for fear of being crushed by the collapse of a creaking roof, then for fear of confronting what lay within. She bit her nails. The gesture wasn't subtle, apparently.

"Hey, it'll be alright," Josiah comforted. "Just…talk to him. You're good at that."

"I have nothing to say to him," Octavia murmured. "I don't know what to do. I shouldn't have told him."

"You told him because he asked you to. You were trying to be a good friend."

"A good friend is what I feel the least like right now."

Josiah paused for a moment. "You go in and talk to him. I'll wait here."

Octavia winced. "You're not coming in with me?"

Josiah shook his head, offering a weak smile. "Right now, he needs you, not me. I'm not exactly the best at finding my words, anyway.

"Josiah--"

"Just try. If it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out. Do your best, okay?"

Truthfully, she was getting sick of that phrase recently. Her best amounted to little, at this point. Still, motivation was threefold. She didn't have the heart to turn him down. Harper needed someone--her or otherwise. More than anything, it was the least she could do to heal a wound that she'd opened.

What tentative first steps she took into the scorched house scraped and squeaked, floorboards protesting noisily beneath her feet. Octavia treaded with caution, somewhat paranoid about outright falling through the floor. The wide holes blighting the masonry at least blessed her with flimsy sunlight, sparing her from the horrific task of plunging into darkened decay.

She navigated around rusted nails and bits of broken glass as necessary. Several collapsed beams were so tightly condensed that squeezing past required excessive flexibility. The entire room was a tomb waiting to happen. It had already taken enough lives, to be fair.

There was something sickeningly satisfying about the disfigurement, in a way. The wrath of time had disrupted memories she still couldn't stifle. Shards of Harper's tolls were present, even in the wake of the inferno that had swallowed the blood on Vincent's hands. Above all else, the ruthless flames had burnt cherished memories and love to utter ashes. Octavia regretted her moment of relief as soon as the thought crossed her mind.

If she cared to look, she could pick out various aspects of a house so recently bound to two tolls alone. She found the salon, the kitchen, and even a window once untouched by spilt blood. Octavia liked to imagine the sprinkling crystal along the floor was divorced from the abused lamps that had started it all.

There were rooms she hadn't seen, by which the hallway frayed. One was effectively obstructed in full, a protruding beam from on high barring a door long eroded. There was little decay behind it, and that much was aggravating. It was a poor time for curiosity. It left the far side of the hall, unburdened by interloping wood. If she strained, it came with sobs.

Octavia resisted the urge to run, lest any sudden movement leave the house caving in entirely. There were no squeaking floorboards to announce her approach, and every step was quieter. Her own breaths were in contrast to the gentle weeping that grew ever nearer. She still had no idea what to say. She doubted she'd ever find the words.

She assumed it was a bedroom. Devoured by flames long ago, a guess was the best she could offer to a room without so much as a door. Walls were useless where wood crumbled to dust, and carpet underfoot had morphed into roasted ash. There'd been a bed, once. It still clung to some semblance of shape, miraculously, charred remnants of a mattress gracing the frame. Rusted and protruding, the stray springs were somewhat of a hazard. If she tried, she could sit on it anyway. She'd have to ask Harper to move over.

With knees hugged tightly to his chest, he buried his face where she couldn't see. His bangs just barely peeked over his kneecaps, his cap shielding what little of his face Octavia had hoped to capture. In stark contrast with the low volume of his sorrow, his shoulders shook violently. Either he'd gotten most of it out of his system, or he was holding back. Both were equally heartbreaking to consider.

How long he'd been there was beyond her. Her approach was quiet, for how his soft sobs still drowned out her footsteps. Octavia feared she'd startle him, somewhat. She could call out to him, touch him, or let him grieve in peace. If nothing else, she knew he was safe. That was her own peace, by comparison. Still, to leave felt almost cruel--with or without Josiah's disapproval awaiting outside. She fidgeted anxiously, staring at his pain from a distance.

"Harper," she finally murmured, "I'm here."

He hardly reacted. Even so, she caught the slightest movement of his head and the tiniest stifling of his sobs. She settled in beside him, lowering herself with care onto the creaking springs. Ideally, the frame wouldn't snap beneath the weight of both of them together.

"I'm sorry," Octavia offered softly. "About everything. I…shouldn't have said anything."

Harper answered in audible tears alone, quiet as they continued to be. Octavia wrung the hem of her dress uncomfortably.

"I…know what it's like to want to know the truth. When you lose someone like that and you don't get your answers, it's one of the worst feelings in the world. I wouldn't wish it on anyone."

What sobs had been eternal calmed at last. Harper fell silent, shuddering inhales taking the place of deeper sorrow as his shoulders shook. He kept his head down all the while.

"We haven't been through the same thing. I know that, and I know our situations are a lot different, but I still know what it's like to need that closure. I know how it feels to stay up every night wondering what happened, and how hard it is to get through some days because you don't know the truth. I know how it can…ruin you."

Harper raised his head in the slightest, wide pupils just barely peeking out from between his bangs. His veiled gaze drifted to her, exhausted and pained as it swam with ever more tears.

Octavia exhaled heavily, casting her eyes at her boots. "I also know how the truth can kill you inside once you have it. For that, I'm sorry. I should've known better."

"I asked," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I thought I was ready. I just didn't think it would be like that."

"Neither did I. No one did. How could they?"

"It doesn't make any sense," Harper said louder, trembling as he slowly uncurled from his ball. "I just…don't understand. They didn't do anything wrong. Why them?"

Octavia shook her head. "I don't know. I don't understand a lot of what's been going on with that…situation."

Choosing her words with care didn't ease the knot in her stomach at all. Viola had been honest enough about the crimes of Vincent Vacanti, whether or not they were Octavia's business to begin with. The sickening privilege of the Ambassador was a curse, and yet the full context still eluded her even now. There was no good time and place for questions anymore. Every second left that particular wound growing ever more gaping.

"I just thought I was over it," he whispered once more.

"It's not something you ever really get over," Octavia said.

"I don't know if I hurt Viola. I don't know how to feel around Viola. I know she didn't do anything. I know that, but…"

Octavia shook her head. "I get it. If you need time, you need time. I think she'd understand, in her own way."

She couldn't ask anything more of him, for Viola's sake or otherwise. Sadness was more manageable than ire, if nothing else.

"What were they like?"

"Huh?"

"Your parents. What kind of people were they?" Octavia asked quietly.

Harper folded his hands in his lap, his eyes still scraping the ruined floor. "My…dad was gentle. He wasn't afraid to love, and he loved me and my mom harder than words could ever describe. He was funny. He always made me laugh, even when I was crying my eyes out about something silly or another. He spoiled me. Probably shouldn't have, but that's just how he was. If I wanted to do something, he'd never stop me. He'd be my biggest fan."

He paused for a moment before continuing. "And my mom, she was…incredible. She could sing, she could cook, she could sew, she actually made most of my clothes. She was a tailor by trade, and the best damn tailor I've ever seen to this day. Maybe I'm biased, I think I deserve that. She was like my dad. She'd let me be…well, me. If I really set my mind to something, she'd always have my back. She loved teaching me little things about life. Just like my dad, her love was endless. We were so…happy. I was happy."

Octavia smiled. "They sound wonderful."

"What was your sister like?"

The smile she'd found slipped from her face in an instant. Harper winced.

"I-If you wanna talk about it," he stammered. "You don't ha--"

"She was indescribable," Octavia breathed. "Nothing I say about her could do her justice. Harper, she was so beautiful. She was amazing, she was talented, and she taught me how hard I could love someone. I see her in everything. She is my everything. She always will be. She was what brought people together, she was the light in every room, she was the one who picked me up when the world knocked me down. I love her. I love her so, so much. She makes me…glad I was born."

Octavia met Harper's eyes, conscious of the tears welling up in her own. "I miss her every day I'm alive."

He smiled a true, genuine smile at last--weak as it was. "Then we're in the same boat."

Octavia smeared her sneaking tears along her palms. "You have…a lot of people who care about you, and are worried about you, and want you to be happy. I care about you, and am worried about you, and want you to be happy."

He tilted his head. "If it's any consolation, I also care about you, and worry about you, and want you to be happy. You've got a lot of people still around who love you, too. And wherever your sister is, I'm sure she still loves you just as much."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Just like your parents."

"Yeah."

Harper was silent, for a moment, as was she. Quietly, his eyes found the charred flooring below, and his words along with it. "This is…actually where I found her."

Octavia blinked. "Who?"

He smiled faintly. "Royal Orleans."

Her eyes widened. "In…here?"

Harper nodded, a muted motion that left his bangs brushing against his eyelashes somewhat. "I…come back here a lot more often than I should. One time, she was just…here. It's ironic. It's really ironic, actually. I still think about it sometimes. It's the only good thing I ever got out of this place after everything that happened."

Octavia shifted in her seat with slight discomfort. "I'm…sorry. That's a silver lining, though, right? They have weird ways of finding their Maestros. You know that. I guess that was how she wanted to do it."

His smile brightened into something much more welcome. "I guess I owe her a 'thank you', then. If she hadn't ended up in here, I don't think we'd be together right now."

That, at least, was equally deserving of her own bright smile in return.

For a moment, they were content to drink in each other's warmth, two beacons of light in the oppression of a ruined home. The silence didn't come to hurt, and yet it was weighted all the same. It was the first time she'd been alone with him in awhile. Somewhere between spilt blood and ancient flames as she'd been torn today, she had a third concern. It still bothered her more than it should've, although whether it would curse him with yet more pain was debatable. Curiosity won. She took her chances.

"Hey, Harper?"

"What's up?"

"Did you…have a si--"

The words never left her lips in full. Her voice was overshadowed by one of the worst sounds in the world.

It was nothing short of a miracle that she'd escaped it for such a long time. It was a dream alone to believe she could've outrun it forever, the ever-present screeching leaving her hands on a collision course with her ears. It couldn't be now. It couldn't be here. More than anywhere else, it couldn't be here.

Harper did the same, recoiling at the sheer volume of agony itself. His eyes widened as he struggled to call above the sound. "Is that--"

"Where is it?" Octavia cried, leaping to her feet.

Harper, again, followed her lead, claiming her hand and tugging towards the hallway. "We need to go, now. I don't know 100% how this works, but if it's messed-up memories, I'm sure there were plenty of them in this house on the way out--if you know what I mean."

She fell into step behind him, surrendering to his panicked guidance as they sprinted down the hall in tandem. Her boots squeaked against the floor, their shoes collectively tormenting the floorboards with each step. The cacophony of suffering incarnate grew ever louder, and dizziness was inescapable. Keeping upright was a trial. Vertigo crashed down upon her, each movement forward leaving her stumbling.

Harper wasn't immune to the same, his hurried steps wobbling in turn. Still, he gripped her hand tighter, pulling her onwards with yet more force regardless. Dissonance was every bit as torturous as she'd remembered, even by sound alone. Octavia didn't remember the hall being this long when she came in.

At the very least, untouchable malice incarnate wouldn't threaten a crumbling house. They finally burst into the salon once more. It took effort to navigate stray debris and beams barring their path, moving as swiftly as was possible given the situation. Her greatest fear had been plunging into the dark, and what luck had spared her from a dim fate faltered.

Light once graciously granted through gaping holes in the masonry stood obstructed. It was obscured, rather, trickling sunshine swallowed whole by choking indigo she'd come to loathe. Billowing violet climbed to scrape far past the ceiling, easily clearing the height of the building through every exit point above. The haze that claimed the structure from within was unrelenting, a variable wall to compensate for those that had weakened. Octavia couldn't breathe. So, too, could she not escape.

Harper squeezed her hand so tightly that she feared her circulation would halt. Even so, she couldn't keep herself from doing the same. She threw her other hand over her shoulder, fumbling for whatever zippers she could reach from this angle. Whether or not she'd be able to withdraw the whole instrument like this was debatable. She couldn't reach it at all.

Octavia tried again, stubborn as she was in clinging to his grasp. Desperate fingers fumbled for the thick material of the outer lining. She found nothing. She shifted her shoulder to shuffle the case. She found nothing. She tipped her head forwards, liberating interloping braids from her back. She found nothing.

She tensed. For once, it was her iron grip that threatened his blood flow. She hardly needed the Dissonance to steal her breath away. With lead seeping into her veins, Octavia's eyes slowly drifted over her shoulder. Of the violin that should've called her home, she found nothing.

It was her fault. In her haste to catch up with a grieving boy, she'd forsaken her precious partner along the riverbed. This was what she deserved for being the worst Maestra in the world, maybe. Her heart tumbled lower than her stomach, coming to rest on the filthy floor where it belonged. If she fainted now, she wasn't sure if it'd be the work of the Dissonance or her own infinite stupidity. Octavia wasn't the only one. It was the pure and utter opposite of a comfort.

When her frantic gaze snapped to the right, the hand that didn't grasp her own was aloft and empty. Harper's palm was upturned and devoid of defense, wide eyes pooling with horror. The fingers brushing against hers trembled fiercely. She wasn't ignorant to the way his eyes flickered to her own before delving into the writhing indigo before them. She wondered if he was kicking himself just as hard as she was.

"Your room," Octavia called, raising her voice above the wailing on every side. "The walls, they're messed up. We can get out that way."

Harper shook his head, tilting his head sharply towards the hallway. The hazy smoke was fast, and it had trailed in their fleeing footsteps. A corridor once vacant was robbed of passage, replaced in turn by rolling violet that surged yet further. Octavia loathed the way that fate hated her.

Octavia's eyes darted in each conceivable direction around the room, and still she was no closer to an escape route. Each time she found a dilapidated passage still touched by natural light, the Dissonance could practically hear her thoughts. Sickening indigo served to cut her off, and she was forced to start anew as agony plugged the gap. The world was practically shrinking, sneaking fog rising high and pressing them on every side. A house once painted within by crimson and orange was now splattered with nothing but violet. She'd long since surpassed "trapped". She was ensnared in agony itself.

"What…do we do?" Harper asked, loud and soft all at once.

Octavia gritted her teeth, grasping for oxygen in the face of panic. "W-We could hold our breath and run through it, maybe. You know this house, right? T-There's holes in the…walls in certain places, are we c-close to one?"

Her nerves, once iron, were rapidly crumbling. In that way, she matched her potential gravesite. All along, Harper had never once surrendered her hand. She only remembered the moment a second warm touch settled upon her fingers. Octavia initially jolted at the feeling, her eyes snapping downwards in alarm.

"It's okay," he offered, drawing nearer to her. "I don't mind."

She bit her lip. "Don't mind what?"

Harper smiled weakly, his shimmering eyes meeting her own. "These are my parents' memories, right? They're all messed up, and I don't know where they've been hiding all this time, but maybe they're here for a reason. I don't mind if this is…how I go."

Octavia recoiled, battling the urge to pull away. "Absolutely not! I'll f-figure something out, I swear!"

She was tired. She was dizzy. Her vision was blurring. Above all else, she was terrified. She couldn't fathom how Harper could forge a smile in the midst of suffering on every side. She couldn't fathom how he could manage every peaceful word that left his lips.

Harper shook his head. "I just wish you didn't have to come with me."

Octavia jerked her hand free from his touch, grasping his shoulders in tandem. Keeping her focus was a struggle, for how what miniscule light they still clung to slowly began to dim. "If you give up, I'll kill you myself! You're better than that!"

"There's a lot of things I wish I got the chance to tell you, you know," he murmured. Were it not for the distance at which they stood, his faltering voice would've been inaudible.

"We're gonna run through it, okay? Don't let go of my hand," she ordered.

It was his turn to shake his head. "I'll cheer you on if you try. Do your best. I believe in you."

"I'm not going without you, idiot! Don't let go of my friggin' hand, alright?" she cried, her voice trembling as fiercely as her fingers. She cupped either side of his face instead, glaring daggers deep into his defeated eyes.

"You know more about this stuff than me. What…happens now? What happens if you touch it? Does it hurt?"

She somewhat knew the answer to this. Granted, her circumstances had been substantially different. From what she was aware, becoming Dissonant and succumbing to Dissonance itself were two varying flavors of agony. She'd just barely conquered the former, and it had taken divine intervention to do so. She feared the latter with all of her heart, and the answer was completely out of reach. Octavia shook her head.

"Worry about that when we make it out of here, okay?" she shouted. "Hold onto me if you need to! Do you need me to carry you? We need to go now!"

Harper's eyes closed gently, freed from the harsh gaze pinning him in place. "Octavia, I'm…really tired. I'm gonna go to sleep for a bit, alright?"

Drained and absolutely exhausted, dizzy and nauseous, lightheaded and battling double vision, Octavia could hardly stand. It took everything she had to keep her eyes open, and yet more so to keep her hands clasping Harper's face. "Don't you dare go out on me! Stay awake! Please, Harper, you can't!"

And somehow, surrounded by suffering, he still smiled for her.

"Thank you. For…everything."

What smoke-free circle she'd claimed was all but gone, and rolling agony pressed harshly at her back. The sensation left her skin outright burning. She'd never truly, in full, made physical contact with Dissonance. She'd made it herself on an occasion she fought to forget, that much was true. Still, raw Dissonance hadn't once wrapped her up in its grasp. The smog against her body was searing and chilling all at once, sharp and soft in a manner as indescribable as it was confusing. It was an experience just as disorienting as the mist itself.

Octavia could at least say, with certainty, that it hurt. It really, really hurt. She'd resisted every blunting symptom, and she'd perhaps made her pain worse on her own. Her senses were still too sharp, and she failed to block out the sting of agony incarnate. At the worst time, she could understand submission to a violet fate.

To be fair, it wasn't as though a normal person could see it coming. To be assailed this way without a meaningful explanation was petrifying in concept alone. As to whether or not a visual would've been more terrifying, she wasn't certain. She didn't particularly want to weigh the two.

If it hurt this severely on the outside alone, she very much did not want any of it inside of her. She couldn't fathom the idea. She didn't want to. Of all the ways she'd died so far, the worst possible option was surely the one so standard in her world. The moment the smoky haze coagulated, twisting into the most wispy of tendrils, she knew what would come next. She hadn't expected it to go for Harper first.

It drifted towards his back in full with a tantalizing slowness, forgoing subtle flickers. It was offset only by the speed at which her heart struggled to outrace what was left of her murky thoughts. Harper was barely on his feet, his weight sustained only by her desperate attempts to keep him upright as he slipped into unconsciousness. When he finally slid to the floor with a soft thud, rolling sideways onto the charred hardwood, Octavia, too, threw herself down on top of him.

Shielding Harper's body with her own was a reflex. Crawling towards the oncoming Dissonance was just the same as it advanced on him. Even inches from her face, she staggered to stand upright on her knees. Unflinching, she threw her arms wide on either side. Octavia gritted her teeth, narrowed her blurring eyes, and screamed over the intolerable screeching that rattled her eardrums.

"I'm the Ambassador, damn it! Come at me!"

She could conjure all the bluster she wanted. It wouldn't change what was next. Regardless, she wouldn't leave his side for a single moment. She'd already died five times. Legitimate or not, she could handle one more.

Do you mean what you say, then?

Octavia had never heard that voice in her life.

It wasn't Lyra, nor was it Brava. It wasn't Orleanna, nor Mente, nor Aste. With certainty, it wasn't Stratos. Even so, loud and unmistakable, she heard it above the noise as it wove through every thought. Soft and firm all at once, smooth masculinity was clear in a way that gave Stradivaria competition.

"I do!" she shouted back. She didn't dare question it.

You understand what such a decision entails, correct?

"I made my choice a long time ago!" she answered. Her darkening vision had left the Dissonance almost invisible, so near that she could feel its painful aura flickering against her face. "I'm not going back on that now!"

Once you make your choice, you cannot rescind it. Do you accept those terms? This is my final warning of courtesy to you.

"I'll do whatever it takes to protect the people I love! Give me your strength!" she yelled.

Then I will lend you my essence. Use it wisely, oh child who has seen agony.

Octavia squeezed her useless eyes shut, turning her head away from the approaching Dissonance. It would earn her only a moment of distance, and yet it was a moment more all the same. She held her breath. She prayed for a miracle. If not for her sake, she would pray for the kind boy below her who deserved the world.

Crackling overthrew the shrill screeching that had dominated a broken home forever. The air shifted, somewhat, the sound accompanied by a steady hum in turn. Dry and hot, the endless chill subsided, replaced by something Octavia couldn't quite pinpoint. The feeling was uncomfortable, every hair she possessed rising beneath the fabric of her clothing. Her braids weren't immune to the same, and strands already frazzled grew more so as they stood high. She opened her eyes hesitantly. If this was her doing, she almost feared it.

The lightning nearly scared her to death.

The sound alone was enough to send her tumbling down on top of Harper's unconscious body. With a sharp crack, blinding golds struck far too close for her comfort. Octavia screamed, recoiling sharply. Even so, she was eternally grateful for the way by which it hit its mark, the cries of the stricken Dissonance far outdoing her own as it splintered.

It coagulated again, healing its foggy wound. She'd expected that much. It never had the chance to recover in full, cracked in half with much of the same by another ear-shattering strike. Every blasting bolt was still much too near to herself and Harper. Octavia cast her body over the boy's, doing what she could to guard him from the explosive electricity. The unbearable luminosity was, ironically, cursing her vision with the opposite of a problem she'd had moments before. Her pupils hated her.

Another. Another. Another. Lightning hailed around her, a thunderstorm devoid of rain fizzling to life from nothing. Rippling gold was born in the confines of the house that was rapidly beginning to feel far too small. Each strike cut sharply through deep violet as it wailed, the vicious smoke slowly beginning to dwindle. There was little at which to strike back, for how plasma from on high lay so far out of reach. Octavia was a fair target, by comparison.

What Dissonance bore down upon her was excessive, twisting tendrils unwavering as they rushed towards two fallen Maestros. There was little she could do aside from stare down agony and pray, gripping Harper's shoulders for dear life. If she was making this happen, she wished with every fiber of her being for it to continue. If they were going to survive, it was all she could count on.

She was blessed, then. Another sharp crack split as it crashed to earth, splintering into sizzling bolts that erupted forth instead. They were razor-edged raindrops, flickering jolts that speared deep into the smoke nearest the Maestros. It did so splendidly, and Octavia's sigh of relief was eclipsed only by the wails of repulsed agony.

She could've sworn it was dwindling. What remained of the Dissonance was lessening with each and every strike of violent electricity enveloping the humming room. The salon practically pulsed, the mixture of lingering hazy purple and scattering gold somewhat beautiful in its own right. Octavia hated herself for even entertaining the thought.

It took at least two more minutes of the explosive storm for the last of the Dissonance to succumb with a shriek. In its wake came only sizzling wisps, smoky remnants fading and scattering sparks kissing the floorboards. Only once the steady electrical hum drew to a halt did Octavia rise to her knees, not daring to leave Harper's side. The vicious bolts had earned smoke where they'd struck innocent wood--true, honest smoke, light gray in stark contrast to threatening indigo. That, too, took a moment to subside, obscuring the salon in its own right. It didn't conceal footsteps, at least.

Octavia wasn't sure exactly what made her tense. Still, her hands tightened around Harper's shoulders once more. There was nothing to fear, ultimately. She traded her fear for relief. She traded relief for confusion, in turn--abundant as it was.

She hadn't seen Etherion in a while. It wasn't since a hurtful threat had been made against Lyra that she'd laid eyes upon the instrument. Now, the rosewood mouthpiece still dripped with the vestiges of blistering bolts, tiny sparks raining to the floor. The fingers draped skillfully over each key and hole spoke not to novice hands, particularly given the absence of any shaking or trembling to be seen. Octavia's eyes widened. Sharper even than the spearing lightning of his song, there was one revelation that struck harder.

"He wasn't talking to you, idiot," Josiah said with a hint of aggravation. "He was talking to me."

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