Drey spoke of his frustrations--a lot.

I do not understand her!

I've never understood what you see in her at all.

Calm yourself, Alessandro. Do you not agree that her heart was at least in the right place?

But I had told her, time and again, that what she pursues is unnatural and hazardous! She is a young lady just having grasped the threshold of adulthood. She holds the rest of her life in the palm of her hands, and yet she would throw such away in the name of…toying with the forces of nature itself?

She has her ideals, just as you have yours. Is that so difficult to believe?

Hers are flawed and dangerous. They will be the bane of others--of possibly this world.

How do you even know she's telling the truth?

I have witnessed her incredible gifts with my own eyes. I cannot forget what I saw. What world is it within which she lives? What Hell has she seen? What decisions has she had to make in the face of power beyond what should grace human hands?

You expect me to believe in magic?

Should you have seen what I have, you would not question the same.

But she's a smart girl, Alessandro. I know you know that. Don't you think she knows what she's doing?

To speak with honesty, I do not. How could I?

It doesn't even matter. You and your loud mouth scared her off. You won't be seeing her back here any time soon.

There are others, or so she said.

Other…what?

Others like her, with a similar ambition. Others with the same unnatural magic as she, who would seek to shape the world into something it is not.

Where are they?

I know not, nor do I know how many. Per her words, she is guilty of the same ignorance.

Does it matter?

Of course it does! From any direction comes a threat to a fragile peace.

What…would you do, then?

Octavia's fists, borrowed as they were, shook. The voice she loathed followed suit.

To both of you, I owe my deepest gratitude for lending not only an ear, but a guiding light to my deepest ambitions and dreams. By your hands, goals I once thought impossible became reality, and fragile hopes found the strength to stand tall for the betterment of tomorrow. I am indebted with my life. I…ask again that you respect and understand this man's humble ideals.

Alessandro?

It cannot come to pass.

What are you talking about?

I say such with the utmost grace and peace in my heart. I offer this as a signal of my dedication to a world I have always hoped to better. I hope, too, that you both will understand.

I don't understand.

I will stop them.

Who?

Those of her kind.

You just said that you don't even know where they are!

Then I will find them.

How will you stop them?

I will reason.

And if that isn't enough?

Drey paused. Then I shall take what makes them special. Should that not suffice, I will…do what must be done.

Ale…ssandro?

You're losing your mind!

I know with certainty, Drey breathed, that you two know of the degree to which I speak to my word. I do not ask that you understand me. If you wish, I do not even ask that you assist me. I simply ask that you…know my rationale. I ask that you know the depth of my will.

I…In the time I've known you, I've never taken you for a killer.

I assure you, more than anything, I do not wish to be.

But Alessandro, the hands that hold such power, you know nothing about them! If a child--a child--were to be guilty of the same crime as Priscilla, would you still hold the same ideals?

When he didn't answer, the look of terror on Samuel's face spoke more than words ever could.

Alessandro! Portia snapped.

I do not wish to hurt children! I do not wish to hurt anyone! I do not wish to stain my hands with the blood of the innocent, who long in misguided ways for a better world! What must be done is not easy, nor is it admirable, but it must be done!

They were silent. When next Drey spoke, his words were low and rough.

I do not ask that you stand at my side. I do not ask that you stand before me. I ask only that you stand at my back. I ask that you watch. I ask that you witness and that you are there. I ask that…there is something that reminds me of my purpose. Stand at my back. I beg of you.

At the very least, they stood before him. They stared, the fear and confusion in their eyes offered to his face instead.

Drey's memories had left Octavia floating, aimlessly suspended in every rich fragment carried close to his heart. It was Cadence all over again, and she couldn't tell if he was an exception. Either she was simply enraptured in his sickening life, or the clock truly ticked slower for a man who had it all. Each flash was hardly a snippet, closer to films of their own. It was equal parts dizzying and captivating, and she struggled to absorb every loathsome aspect of his existence to which she bore witness.

It became exceedingly difficult, if nigh impossible, the moment Priscilla came back.

Octavia had never once doubted the feelings in her stomach that told her of crisis after crisis. She already knew how this toll ended. She knew of a story mired in horrific tragedy, page after page turning far too fast before her eyes. It was unavoidable. The moonlight streaming from on high illuminated the glass she pounded on, banging wordlessly thousands of miles away against walls she'd never shattered. It was a scene she couldn't pierce. It was a scream she would never manage to unleash, and control she would never salvage. Prayer was useless. It was all Octavia had.

Run.

Run.

Run.

I can't let you hurt anyone.

Who is it I would hurt, Priscilla?

I can't let you stand in the way. I…came to tell you. You always want to talk about resolve, right? This is mine. Please, just…don't interfere.

I have never once doubted the strength of your resolve, nor will I ever. It wounds me that you would think so. No matter our differences, know that you will always have my utmost respect. I will always call you my friend.

How can you say that when you won't even stand by me?

I have warned you of the way by which our ideals clash. You are…without that violin. Have you given up the fight?

I haven't. I won't.

I ask again, why?

There are people I need to protect.

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You are so young.

You were young once, too.

You play with forces beyond human understanding. You will hurt others by virtue of your noble intent to heal.

That's what you think. I disagree. We're different. This is my…last warning. Don't interfere.

I ask as well, interfere with what?

With…anything. With me. Please don't stand in my way.

Will you fight for this ambition to your last breath?

I will.

Should this world beat you to the ground and steal your senses, should you lose your every limb and your very voice, would you still struggle?

I would.

Priscilla, please.

Octavia's vision blurred. It swam. Were it her own, it would've done so long ago.

Is there truly nothing, nothing at all I can do to set you on another path? Is there nothing I can do to bring you happiness in another way?

Priscilla shook her head. There is nothing. This is what has to be done, no matter what.

Time never slowed in a toll, no matter how badly she could ever wish for the opposite. For once, against her will or otherwise, it practically stilled altogether. The moment her borrowed hand delved into the inner linings of her suit jacket, Octavia knew. So many times had she watched Drey train through his own eyes. Of smaller armaments in self-defense and not, she'd long since memorized their homes. His fingers twitched, and she was well aware of what was to come.

Octavia struggled through nothing. She flailed in the dark. She cried out again, and again, and again without success. She reached with hands not her own for a blade too distant. She gasped for a breath she couldn't find. Her soul fled her body in full, and she'd never get it back.

He hadn't yet mastered the speed with which he'd cursed Renato with pain far later. He hadn't yet perfected the skillful force with which he'd slaughtered Cadence. A sloppy thrust sufficed, and the heart that Octavia had adored in every conceivable way for so long came to claim Drey's blade. In place of bursting love, only crimson bloomed. The blouse of Priscilla's dress challenged the splendor of hair caught in the crossfire. Every tremble of his rugged hands around the hilt drove the weapon further beyond clothed skin, and a remorseless knife bit ever further into a girl so beautiful.

This was Hell.

Drey didn't dare look away. Neither did Priscilla, their eyes locked to the very end as he stole her life. Octavia shed tears that weren't her own. She doubted their validity. Priscilla's dilating pupils, still cursed with confusion and surprise above all else, haunted her. There was no fear. There was none to be found in betrayal.

This was Hell.

Priscilla fell. Her angelic visage was still remarkable even in her last breaths, her back colliding hard with the unforgiving ground. She stole the blade in turn, still lodged deep in her sternum. So violently did she crash into moonlit grass that her limp body practically bounced, and one ajar dress pocket sloppily surrendered its contents to the night. She was robbed of her song, locks aflame and arms languishing on either side. Octavia could've envisioned her to be an angel at rest.

This was Hell. This was a nightmare. She would wake up shortly, and Priscilla would be cherishing Stradivaria's melodies in the front yard. She would be in the shop, tormenting their father with shrill notes in the midst of his work. She would be in the kitchen, still searching for the correct ratio of flour to butter for pancakes despite the eggs she'd already dropped on the countertop. She would be in Octavia's room, helping her little hands curve around Stradivaria's neck until she complained of the strings being too rough for her skin. She would show her the way with the finesse of someone who loved music more than life itself.

Here was her truth, the one Octavia had begged and pleaded the universe for. It killed her from the inside out. Try as she might, she could never unsee it. Wish as she might, she could never do unto Drey again what she'd already done once.

Priscilla's killer loomed above her body, his work a catalyst for trembling and tears. He wept bitterly, droplets of sorrow tinting Drey's bloodied fingers and the soft fabrics of Priscilla's dress skirt. His eyes flickered between the instruments of his brutality and the victim of his sin again and again, in disbelief and despair alike. Only once did they capture the little pink book that had fled Priscilla's pocket in the fall. The rose emblazoned upon more of the same shade was the single flower offered to her corpse, accompanying her in the plush grass.

I'm sorry.

His words meant nothing.

I'm sorry.

Octavia didn't believe him.

I'm sorry.

She would never, as long as she lived, believe him.

Everything that followed was familiar, a lie she lived from the other side.

That's not mahogany.

Internship?

It was my pleasure, Miss Ellis.

She looks…so much like her.

You're sure?

I could not be mistaken.

The surprise in Portia's eyes, close as he was to her that evening, was surely nothing compared to whatever look Drey had fixed her with in turn.

What a pleasure to see you once more!

It's great to see you again, too, Drey.

May we meet again!

The backdrop of the Blessed City that had cursed her so wasn't stinging quite as severely immediately after Cadence's toll. It didn't completely erase the pain altogether.

She really did come.

They are alike, in that way. Her heart, too, is upon her sleeve. It is a wonderful thing.

Will you still…

The cards will fall where they may. Until then, I will pray for her happiness.

You're no guardian angel.

How I would wish to be one of mercy, instead. She is every bit as beautiful.

You don't have to do this.

You know that I must. Perhaps, even now, fate may steer her in another direction. For this, I, too, will pray. I will guide.

This was different.

Beneath our feet? How can that be?

Such is the legend of the blossom and the flame. It isn't a tale meant for traveling ears, that's for one. It's a cage of sin and debauchery. Even the acolyte is useless.

There's a second one?

You know, for having a Maestra with you, you two don't seem to know a damn thing. She doesn't talk?

She's…shy.

Fine, then. That's the truth of the matter. You wanna talk about culture, there's not a whole lot of it to find down there. You'll find plenty of other messes, though.

And how would we gain entry?

You're really askin' a lot out of me. You better have the coin to compensate.

Money is no object, my friend.

Thick fragments were thinning, fluid and flowing free. Flashes were flashing. It was all too fast. It didn't matter that Octavia knew what was to come. If she could reach out and rein in Drey's runaway memories, she would grab hold for dear life. Her eyes, stolen as they were, could barely keep up their desperate theft. In attempting to break open a wasp nest, she'd accidentally triggered a volcano.

If the acolyte escapes, the whole city is at risk.

Indeed, there is a role to be played. The culture of this place must be preserved, and its customs maintained. Is it not our responsibility to, at the very least, contribute to such?

I-I…yes, I agree. We'll…alert the clergy, I suppose. Do you think they'll trust two outsiders?

Should they be affiliated with a…what did you say they were called?

A Maestra.

Yes, that. Should they be affiliated with a Maestra, then I am certain they will listen.

He lied.

He lied viciously.

He'd told her so to her face, well aware of the consequences of his actions. Drey had the nerve to deny the truth, effortless falsehoods passing through the lips she wore. He had the nerve to claim, unspoken or not, that Selena's agony was a mystery. She wished so, so desperately to fill his throat with the sun in place of bitter words once more.

She did all she could to block out the sight of yet more agony that followed. A polearm speared at ruthless violet would return to sin soon after. She struggled to ignore the way he spoke so kindly, her own trusting fingers surrendering to his grasp. She flashed, and flashed, and flashed, the reel of Drey's life rapidly stuttering to an end with each passing second. It was equally cathartic and unbearable. Octavia's heart had already died. The Ambassador was a corpse, an empty shell bearing witness for a greater cause. Never had she melded so perfectly with the dark. As to where it ended and she began, she'd never be able to tell.

Octavia saw their faces.

Will you truly put your life on the line to change this world?

I will. I always will.

Then you are no better than your sister.

The one that she wore herself. Wide eyes, flooded with shock and betrayal.

I'm sorry.

She didn't believe him.

What will you do, then?

This.

The one who had been loved and betrayed much the same. A blank gaze, surprised and confused.

I'm sorry.

She didn't believe him.

And you mean what you say?

You know it, old man.

So be it, then. You have my apologies.

The one whose carefree life he'd ruined. A broken grin, disbelieving.

I'm sorry.

She didn't believe him. She could never believe him.

And at the end, in the worst throes of suffering, Octavia found catharsis. She swallowed it whole. For the first and only time since she'd become the Ambassador, she didn't fear death. She welcomed it with open arms. She cheered for it. She cursed and loathed and hated the way she couldn't kill him over and over of her own accord. She relished every last bit of light that scorched him from the inside out, her own screams echoing miles away from her own lips. Her dying eyes, too, were just as bright, her vision giving way to radiance far brighter than any flash. She hoped it hurt. She hoped it was agonizing.

To the very end, she could hear him lie. The same falsehoods came crawling between rays of brilliant plasma, and Drey fought to speak as he burned alive. Octavia had never noticed, consumed by rage as she'd been. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

I'm sorry.

Until the day she died, she would never, ever believe him.

◆ ◆ ◆

She came up screaming and couldn't stop. Octavia hadn't done so in quite some time, let alone lost her footing in the aftermath of the dark. The latter was an understatement. She was outright on the floor.

Octavia's blurred vision was either a byproduct of disorientation and lightheadedness or the excessive tears she didn't realize were erupting. Her throat was raw from how hard she wailed, her cries fragmented at best. Her fingernails dug brutally into her own arms, and she nearly punctured the skin along the way. Her stomach hurt. Her nausea was so overwhelming that she was all but confident she'd vomit this time. Her breath was gone, and she hardly cared. If this is how she died, that was fine. Now, she knew. For better or worse, she knew.

Stradivaria rested at her side, haphazardly discarded against her will. If she had even a sliver of energy for empathy, perhaps she would've pitied him. As it was, Octavia was overwhelmed and enraged. She was beside herself with grief anew. She wanted to kill someone. She wanted to break something. Her glass heart had crashed to the floor with her, shattering into millions of pieces that sliced her skin every time she moved.

Viola met her in that glass. Octavia didn't notice, initially. The pressure draped over her body wasn't uncomfortable. The delicate fabric of a bow brushing against her reddened cheek was a distraction in and of itself. The Maestra held her tightly, and she didn't resist. She didn't search for more eyes that surely watched as she lost everything. Instead, she sobbed until her soul evaporated. She cried enough tears to last the rest of her life. Her blood burned, melted, turned to lead and soaked through her veins. Hatred and iron followed it out.

She knew the answer to the crisis of those she loved, alive and before her as they were. What had come along with it was a truth she could never seal again. It was what she'd asked for, once. For now, all Octavia could do was die inside, over and over forever.

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