Harmony

There was drive that came with sorrow. What had taken only an instant to crush her heart and hurl every fragment to the sea below left hours lost above. Shoreline be damned, it took Octavia time to fill in the gaps. It was with shaking fists and rattling breaths that she struggled to drink in the tragedies in her wake, and her tears were not localized. Viola did her best. Josiah, miraculously, had far less tears of his own to shed than she would’ve expected.

Velrose was nearly no more, spared by utter luck. Even in death, Selena’s agony was unparalleled. What remained was enough to curse the Blessed City with suffering once sealed so deeply below, unfathomable in such a holy place. Four Maestros had been little but a brief deterrent, despite exhausting every ounce of their strength. It left hundreds spilling from the violet-tinted gates, a city once thriving now practically devoid of life. Granted, their safety had been battled for in earnest, and it was one small victory.

The death toll, by comparison, was debatable. It existed. As to what extent, mired in the worst shades of violet as it had been, there hadn’t yet been a public consensus. It was not the acolytes’ blood alone that painted the city, for how much had been spilt in the grasp of agony. Those who’d perished by mortal means may have been the lucky ones, self-inflicted or otherwise. She prayed it wasn’t many who’d succumbed, regardless. It was all that could be done, now, for what Hell had already been unleashed. Failure outweighed pride fivefold.

So high above, Valkyrie’s Call claimed a new Maestra.

Given how rapidly the bond had been forged, Octavia initially didn’t believe them. Even so, the valiance of Allison Ivory betrayed her age to an astonishing degree. The strength of sound in her little hands was flawless still, and what of Selena’s sorrow remained to ravage the world below succumbed to every toll. Some citizens returned. Some fled regardless. Neither option could be blamed, even with the blessing of the Velrose Acolyte upon them yet again.

There was nearly an ire that she aimed squarely at Valkyrie’s Call, for how easily the late acolyte had been discarded in favor of yet another. It ached, no matter how many times Octavia pictured it, to imagine Allison’s face as she’d heard of Sonata’s fate. She wondered if the rope was still bloodied. Those innocent fingers had settled upon it regardless. It tore her apart.

None of them saw the bodies. It was an incredible relief, and she vowed never to let slip the finer details of the gruesome sight. She didn’t want to know who’d discovered them, then. She didn’t envy them. She doubted she’d be forgetting the mental image any time soon, if ever.

There was no Velpyre. The blossom had withered, somewhat, and yet survived all the same. The flame, rather, had long since been snuffed out in full. Sealed off as it was, what dwelled below was beyond comprehension. If yet more Dissonance remained, she didn’t want to know. If it was little more than a tomb of the grandest scale, she didn’t want to know. She spoke not a word of it to Josiah. His grief was his alone, and he’d run from enough already. She wanted to confide in him, somewhat, given the way their sorrows might’ve overlapped in the slightest. Her courage to pry was nonexistent, still drowning in her own flavor of grief anew as she was.

She feared for Selena, then, and she feared for him much the same. In passing, she was surely loathed. In life, he was no safer, plagued by his birthright as he was. The flame truly had consumed the blossom once warmed, in the end--in both manners of speaking. Above, their rage could be almost justified from afar. To leave him in Velrose was cruel, if not exceedingly dangerous. He was a sole survivor. He was innocent. He’d lost all he’d known, for all intents and purposes--beloved or otherwise.

I…hate to ask this, but do you guys have room for one more?

There was one person she could save in the Blessed City, at least.

It left Drey.

It was almost a tragedy that he’d survived the catastrophe, given what she now knew. Her rage was unshakable, her ire unyielding. It was a fury unlike any she’d ever felt poison her veins, and she was indifferent to the shock and concern on every face. She knew it to be unnatural. She hardly cared, valid as it was. She rationalized her fire, somewhat--he was more than a murderer, and yet more still than the sickest of betrayers. He was a key piece of Priscilla’s puzzle, even now. He knew what Octavia didn’t. That could change. It was as irresistible as it was necessary.

Evacuation was an excuse for passage, strictly limited as it typically was. Solenford was accessible, distance was irrelevant, and wrath was toxic. It was a vile combination. She regretted forcing someone to retrieve her belongings from the inn on her behalf, for how she refused to return to the Blessed City’s boundaries. She would never take one step within the walls of the blossom again. If she had her way, ultimately, Octavia would never raise her eyes to the bell upon the church’s peak so long as she lived.

It hardly mattered, given the way every dream featured the same.

In stark contrast to her prior voyage from Coda to Velrose, Octavia spent nearly seven full days bedbound alone. What joy had once come with her first foray into railway travel had long since evaporated, and it was only in the shadows of a lightless cabin that she found reprieve. She didn’t blame Madrigal or Viola for avoiding the darkened room at all hours of the day. In truth, part of her did feel guilty for condemning them to her radiating sorrow in the evenings. If she remembered to eat, she was lucky. She didn’t mind the isolation, for how she clung to it so desperately. It kept nothing at bay, and every tear she could ever conjure had surely soaked into her pillowcase long ago.

She slept, sometimes. It wasn’t pleasant, and she grew more resistant to the concept of surrendering to unconsciousness than she would’ve liked. She’d never had such vivid nightmares before, crystal clear in the worst way and splattered with the same scenes time and time again.

The bells were a constant, long after she’d awoken. The acolytes, too, were a chronic feature, mangled and bloodied as they’d been. Every cry of her name, every call to guard her ears, every last sight and sound that could choose to blight her was ever-present. Awakening was worse, and the screams of Valkyrie’s Call followed her up. No amount of slamming her head against the pillow or screaming in her own way did a thing. It was endless. She almost missed the screeching Dissonance, by comparison.

Drey was nearly a distraction. If she tried, her pain could be fuel to a different fire. It wasn’t as difficult as it seemed. She was a pendulum between sorrow and scathing rage, fear and burning hatred. It was undoubtedly unhealthy. It was uncontrollable. Solenford inched closer by the moment, and it was her hands around his neck that would hopefully be the cure. It was the only flavor of blood she wished to see spilt.

To their credit, they’d tried.

You did everything you could.

We…saved a lot of people.

That bastard is gonna get what’s coming to him, believe me.

Octavia, Viola had simply murmured, let us know if you need anything.

She hadn’t decided whether Josiah’s silence was a relief or a crushing blow to her already-shattered soul. What he could’ve given would’ve been hollow at best. She’d be surprised if he himself wasn’t much the same.

It was ironic. It was hypocritical. She wallowed in the thought until it came with paranoia.

It took six days for that to settle in, and she’d struggled initially to dismiss it as a trick of the light--or lack thereof, rather. For what soft footsteps had settled upon the threshold, she’d hardly needed to roll over to draw a conclusion. They moved no further. She couldn’t tell which one it was, nor did she want to guess. It was for far, far too long that she was cognizant of the cracked door, for the slight increase in background noise it brought along. Whatever eyes burned holes through her covers threatened the same of her skin. Stilling her breaths was a trial. Feigning sleep was her one defense.

She heard the quiet thud that came with the door sliding shut, eventually. What isolation Octavia had initially been grateful for once more was dashed regardless, the same soft footsteps soaked up by plush carpeting. They were far too near the bed for comfort, and she was far too conscious still. Her heart skipped a beat uncomfortably. The moment the bedsprings creaked and the pressure left her body dipping slightly, her heart came to outright race instead. They were warm. Their soft breaths tickled the back of her neck. They were foreign, and that was her greatest concern. Octavia was deathly still.

“Do you…remember the first night we met? When we shared your bed?”

They weren’t foreign, then. She was silent all the same.

“You saved my life that night,” Viola continued. “You were the first other Maestra I’d ever met, and you were even my own age. You didn’t run away, even though you could’ve died. You’d never used your Harmonial Instrument before, you didn’t know what Maestras were, and…you were still so much stronger than me. I was jealous, honestly.”

The familiar sting of prickling tears was irrelevant. Octavia’s silence was precious.

“I was jealous for a lot longer than I wanted to be. I was jealous that you woke up to parents that ate breakfast together. I was jealous that Dissonance had never wronged you before that night. I was jealous of Madrigal in every way. I was…jealous of Harper, even, in some ways. I know that sounds terrible to say.”

She wasn’t jealous of Renato, apparently. The thought was almost amusing enough to threaten her vow of silence.

“Even now, I’m still jealous of you,” Viola murmured. “I’m jealous of how you’re creative, and how you always have a solution for everything. I’m jealous of how easily you make friends, and how kind you are to others, and how far you’re willing to go to do what’s right. I…think I’ll always be a bit jealous of that.”

It was enough. “Are you making fun of me?”

“I’m not,” Viola answered firmly.

“Does this look at all like the time to tell me this? Not even the tiniest bit out of place?” Octavia spat.

She could hear the frustration tinting Viola’s tone. “This is exactly the time I should be telling you all of this. God, Octavia, you realize what we’re going to Solenford for, right?”

She did.

“You understand what’s waiting for us there, right?”

She very much did.

“I wanted to tell you everything now,” Viola spoke softly. “Just…in case.”

“In case of what?” Octavia muttered.

Viola sunk into silence. Octavia didn’t back down. “Viola, in case of what?”

When she found no answer, it was more than a catalyst for aggravation. “Do you think I’m going to die or something?” Octavia snapped. “Is that sincerely how little you believe in me, even after all of that talk?”

“I’ll follow you no matter where you go. All of us would,” Viola answered quietly, her voice shaking somewhat.

It wasn’t the answer she’d expected. It hurt. “You don’t need to do this. I’ll go alone. This is my fight.”

Even turned away, she could feel the motion of Viola shaking her head. “If it’s someone who hurt you, it’s a fight for all of us. We want to.”

Octavia did the same. “I don’t want to put anyone else in danger.”

“I put you in danger too many times for you to say that to me,” Viola argued gently. “Besides, being a Maestra means being in danger. It comes with the territory.”

The silence that settled upon them in tandem was heavy. Only the deep rumble of their voyage and the delicate clatter that came with wheels upon metal served to soften the blow. “You don’t need to do this for me,” Octavia finally whispered.

“You didn’t need to go to Coda with me, and you did,” Viola whispered in return. “Please, let me do this for you this time. Let me return the favor. Let all of us.”

She was running out of counters to the Maestra’s sentiments, steadfast as they were. She wished she could be appreciative. She wished she could be believing, at least. It took longer than it should have for Octavia to summon enough courage to turn over in full. What she couldn’t trust verbally, she could salvage from streaks of tears not her own and reddened cheeks to match. Viola was stubborn, and that was of no surprise. it was difficult to make out the shimmer in the dark, and still she found it all the same. The resolve that bubbled beneath was honest. It wasn’t quite contagious. Octavia sighed.

“I want to talk to Josiah,” she whispered.

It was the first time in days she’d willingly risen to her feet, guided by a gentle touch or otherwise. So, too, was it the first time she’d left her room with any semblance of purpose. It was the one hint of resolve she could steal. She had sentiments of her own still left buried.

She’d lost the sun already. Given the darkness she’d clung to extensively, she’d nearly lost track of time altogether. The delicate stars speckling the blackened sky were her one reprieve, and the rushing winds she’d found outside were a relief. She didn’t quite hate the way they battered her braids, for how her heart was battered in turn with every hesitant footstep. Viola gave her space. So, too, she’d been informed, had the boy been given his. Octavia didn’t so much as attempt to stand in his shoes mentally. She could hardly bring herself to stand adjacent to him at all.

If he’d heard her approach, he made no indication of such. If his windswept hair was any sign, he’d been out here for quite some time himself. Josiah’s eyes were upon the stars alone, cast high and distant from the Maestra at his back. Even now, she hesitated to disturb him. She liked to imagine he’d found at least some semblance of peace. She strongly doubted it, in truth.

“Josiah?” she asked hesitantly.

He didn’t so much as turn his head. “Yes?”

Octavia had to battle the urge to fidget uncomfortably. “Can I…sit with you?”

He nodded, and she stole his permission before apprehension could sting her once more. She could understand his preoccupation with the view, at least, if it were honest. She followed every stretch of track with her eyes as it evaporated quickly in their wake, her words unfortunately left behind much the same. She considered condolences. A small part of her considered apologies. Neither would be fruitful, and one would surely kill her the moment she began. Octavia never had the chance to entertain either option.

“Can I ask you something?” Josiah murmured. “And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

She nodded. She hoped her silence was enough of an answer, and was more than satisfied when it was.

“Selena…had never seen the open sky before,” he began. “All she ever got were those crappy little dots in between the rocks down below. She never got to see the night sky like this. She never got to watch the sunrise, or the sunset, or even the way the sky looks on a rainy day. She never saw any of it down there.”

He paused for a moment. “I mean, I’ve had the chance to step outside. I was lucky enough to get my hands on a Velrose passport at some point. I haven’t gone beyond Velrose, but I’ve seen the sky with my own eyes. I’ve had the privilege to see the outside world in a way Selena didn’t.”

He folded his hands together neatly in his lap, his gaze still offered to the stars alone. He sighed. “Octavia, when she fell, did she land face-down?”

It was a gruesome question. Her stomach lurched. She shook her head regardless, battling the lump that quickly rose in her throat. Octavia lamented the way her voice cracked all the way there. “S-Sonata…fell on top of her. She landed face-up.”

Josiah’s faint smile, fragile as it was, was an immense surprise. “Thank you. That’s all I wanted to know.”

Breaking down was imminent. No amount of biting her lip was helping. “Josiah, I’m so sorry--”

His soft eyes fell to her at last, one raised palm stifling her words gently. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You did everything you could, and none of this was your fault. I…should’ve expected this to happen eventually.”

Octavia blinked back her tears to the best of her ability. “Expected…what?”

He sighed, his gaze stolen by the stars once more. “You can only push someone so far before they break. Honestly, I knew that day was going to come for Selena at some point. You said you talked to her, right?”

Octavia nodded. “Once.”

“Did she show you the scar?”

She nodded. It was an unfortunate memory. “Yes.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Did she show you the bruises?”

Octavia was silent in turn. She shook her head.

“What about the burns?”

Once more, she shook her head.

“Did she show you the joints on her fingers that never healed properly?”

Octavia had no words to offer him. Josiah exhaled slowly.

“Velpyre deserved it,” he murmured. “They deserved everything that happened. At the greatest expense, the clergy finally got what was coming to them. Even in the wake of all of this, somehow, I don’t care that the city was destroyed. I really, really don’t.”

She thought to ask as to how anyone could indulge such cruelty. In truth, her fleeting interactions with Selena had been more than enough to illustrate such a concept. Part of Octavia wondered if Josiah had read her mind, somewhat.

“An acolyte can’t run away if her legs are broken,” he offered quietly. “She won’t flee with a broken spirit, either.”

It only made their silence thicker. She was grateful he pressed first. “Would you fault me for not doing more?”

“You couldn’t have done anything more. You’d put yourself in danger,” Octavia answered.

She watched as he closed his eyes slowly. “Selena was in danger every day of her life for the simple crime of being the Velpyre Acolyte. What I saw was nothing in the face of that. I wouldn’t have survived in her shoes.”

“But it was still hard for you to see, wasn’t it?” she insisted. “Don’t…dismiss that.”

“Do you know why I was there in the first place? Do you know why the clergy gave me a place to stay when my family left for Selbright?” he continued.

Octavia shook her head once more, whether he could see her or not. Josiah hardly needed her denial.

“I kept her in line, according to them. I gave her a reason not to run away. I gave her a motive to play every night. I gave her a reason to eat and sleep and not destroy herself out of spite. I gave her something to live for.”

“Then isn’t that something to be proud of?” Octavia asked.

Josiah took one deep breath. “She doesn’t know. I don’t think she did, at least. Either way, she’ll never know, now. She had no idea that’s how they thought of me, and I think the concept would’ve broken her heart. I wonder if it would’ve been kinder to her if I never existed. I wonder if death would’ve been preferable to what she had to endure.”

Octavia winced. “How can you say that? If she would’ve lived for you, isn’t that enough?”

“All I did was keep her from burning herself out, and even then it didn’t stop the way they hurt her,” he insisted. “The hunger strikes, the sleep deprivation, the beatings. The way she did everything in her power to spite them, and the way they’d…break her until she played again. All I did was postpone that and force her to do the one thing she didn’t want to do, every day of her life, right up until the end. Am I not at fault for her death, just as much?”

His words were as soft as they were sharp. Not once did he don a shred of visible emotion, his expression utterly blank. His opened eyes had caught the glistening stars once more, and their light was all she found within. For how hard she’d fought to go numb, he’d been successful in her stead. It was enough for her heart to miss several beats painfully. Octavia had little to offer him. She tried regardless.

“You didn’t do this to her,” she argued gently. “You know who’s to blame, and it’s not you.”

He gave her no answer. His empty focus was still upon the night sky alone, and she didn’t particularly blame him. Octavia shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“I’m sorry someone hurt your sister,” he murmured at last.

It was unexpected, gentle as he’d given it. She found tears she’d long thought expended, and it took effort to beat them back. “I’m…sorry, too. Thank you.”

“Are you going to kill him?” he asked. “When we get there, the guy who hurt her?”

She paused. “Probably.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to do it?”

She hadn’t so much as entertained the opposite. It was a chilling concept. “I…don’t know. I’m going to try.”

Josiah’s eyes drifted to her slowly. “I can’t do a lot to help fight. I’m sorry about that. I don’t think I’d ever want to be a Maestro, but I wish I could be more useful.”

Octavia’s eyes widened. “Please don’t say that. You don’t need to be useful. You just need to be you.”

He chuckled, somewhat empty as the sound was. “Sometimes I wonder how much things would change if I was a Maestro. I don’t envy you. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing but respect for Maestros, but I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”

For the first time in longer than she could remember, Octavia smiled softly. “I wouldn’t want to be in my shoes, either. I don’t blame you.”

“I’ll support you,” he offered. “I’ll support you however I can. You did more for Selena in a day than anyone else did in a lifetime. I want to do something for you instead.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything,” Octavia said.

Josiah’s smile was fragile. It was debatable, for how it just barely challenged the dull tint in his eyes. Still, it was welcome, and she put her faith in it. “I want to. I know your friends probably think the same way. You have some great people by your side, you know that?”

His eyes flickered to the door at their back, and hers followed along. Their audience of four knew nothing of subtlety, given how several faces had quite literally flattened against the window. Madrigal waved high above them all. Octavia was forced to stifle a genuine laugh as she returned the same. It was not even slightly an invitation. It didn’t matter, apparently, and four Maestros stumbled gracelessly onto the newly-cramped platform within seconds. At least one nearly greeted it face-first.

“Not eavesdropping, I swear!” Harper spoke quickly, waving his hands in alarm.

“I mean, if I could hear through the door, I definitely would’ve,” Renato mumbled.

The swift kick Harper delivered to his ankle was somewhat deserved. The yelp of pain he gave right back was enough to draw a giggle out of Octavia.

“We were all just worried about you,” Madrigal said with a gentle smile.

Viola’s knowing gaze was enough, her own smile more so. Octavia returned the favor.

“Thanks, guys. I’ll…be okay,” she reassured. “I just need a little while to think.”

“And think we should!” Renato asserted, bashing one balled fist against his palm dramatically. “We’re gonna wreck this Drey guy, right?”

“Knock it off!” Viola hissed through gritted teeth.

Renato blinked. “Too much?”

“Kind of a calm attitude for murder,” Harper muttered.

“You’re really gonna do this?” Madrigal asked.

Octavia nodded regardless. “The more I think about it, the more I know it…has to happen. It’s not just for me. It’s for anyone else who’s in danger, or for anyone else he’s hurt. I don’t know why he killed Priscilla, but I know that he did it. He needs to pay for that.”

Viola’s voice was soft enough that Octavia nearly didn’t hear her speak. “You’re not…conflicted about killing someone?”

Shaking her head almost felt cruel. It was still the truth. Octavia spared no empathy for him, and surely never would again. Every breath he breathed was one undeserved, even now. If she were to spill the depths of her ever-growing hatred to Viola in full, at least some part of her feared the repercussions to their relationship. It would’ve been partially her fault for asking.

“Josiah,” Harper began instead, changing the subject delicately, "do you…have enough things to take care of yourself? I know you didn’t get a chance to grab all of your stuff out of Velpyre.”

Josiah shrugged. “I have the clothes on my back and everything I usually keep in my bag. I don’t have much else. I’ll have to pick up some more clothes eventually, probably. I’ve been just washing and reusing these ones the whole trip. I’ll worry about it later.”

Renato crossed his arms. “What do you keep in there, anyway? That’s a small bag for everything you’ve gotta carry.”

Josiah smiled softly. “Not much. I usually carry around my journal and some first aid stuff. Maybe some snacks, I don’t know.”

“You know first aid?” Harper asked.

He nodded. “I’d like to become a doctor, eventually. I’ve been trying to pick up things wherever I can, but there’s not a lot of doctors in Velpyre to study from. I want to learn more about herbs and methodologies and whatnot at some point.”

Octavia smiled. “You should come to Silver Ridge. I’ve got a lot of books you can borrow.”

“What do you want to do someday, Octavia? With your career?” Josiah asked.

She winced. “I…honestly haven’t given it much thought yet. I guess Maestra isn’t really a profession. Maybe I can follow in my dad’s footsteps and become a woodworker or something. One of the only things I’m good at is telling what different kinds of wood look like.”

“Alright, then, what’s this?” Renato teased, swiftly thrusting one drumstick before her eyes.

“Cherry oak,” she deadpanned.

He blinked several times over. “How the hell did you do that so fast?”

“Figured it out a long time ago. You didn’t exactly keep them hidden,” Octavia muttered with a smirk.

“Well, I want to lead a double life!” Madrigal exclaimed, throwing her hands high excitedly. “Keeper of the Talludo Inn by day, slayer of the darkness by night. The Magical Madrigal will protect the peace of this world for life!”

Josiah tilted his head. “The magical…what?”

She’d deal with it later.

“I…if it’s any consolation, Octavia, I’m not entirely sure what I want to do, either,” Harper comforted. “I think it’d be nice to take care of the kids properly. Make enough to get them all somewhere to live and whatnot. I’d love to be a florist, maybe.”

Octavia beamed. “I remember you mentioning something about that at some point.”

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have absolutely no idea what I want to do with my life,” Renato admitted with far too much pride. “Take it as it comes, I suppose. No sweat, we don’t need to have everything planned just yet. Harper, move over, let me see this man’s bag.”

“What? No, you can’t just go through someone’s things!” Harper cried, inching ever closer to the bag at Josiah’s side defensively.

“Damn, he’s got a stethoscope in there? Lemme see!”

“Get your hands out of there!”

Josiah chuckled, apparently content to refrain from intervening. “I’ve got nothing to hide. Just don’t make a mess if you can help it.”

“Viola, what do you want to do with your life?” Madrigal asked softly.

Viola stiffened in silence. It wasn’t subtle. “Lawyer, maybe.”

“I found the journal!” Renato cried, casting a cluster of carefully-bound leather high above his head.

“Put it back!” Harper scolded, desperately reaching for the same. Their height difference, in that moment, was palpable. Octavia struggled not to laugh.

Renato had zero qualms with delving into every borrowed page, for how quickly he’d begun to leaf through the little leather journal. His eyes lit up almost instantly. “Damn, did you do all these yourself? These are awesome!”

Josiah flushed in the slightest beneath his praise. “I just…draw a bit, sometimes. Things I see and whatnot.”

Harper had largely calmed, casting his own eyes upwards towards the same illustrations. Octavia appreciated the way by which Renato lowered the journal from on high, stealing what she could with her eyes. Josiah was a spectacular artist, actually, and every lead-laced stroke was masterful. He was startlingly skilled at sketching people, in particular. She recognized few, initially. Renato’s excessively-invasive scan of page after page, at least, brought to light exactly one subject of notable interest. The way by which several humble pencil marks could capture the full splendor of the airborne Maestro was utterly stunning. The grin that exploded upon his face threatened to split him clean in half.

“Is that…me?” Renato asked, somewhere between astounded and thrilled.

The pose was perfect, his visage more so. Granted, cherry oak surely wasn’t too difficult to shade accordingly. It hardly mattered, given exactly how fleeting of a glance Josiah would’ve truly gotten at the spectacle. The level of detail was borderline impossible. She side-eyed him in wonder, briefly. He shied away from her gaze, and she smiled.

“From Velrose!” Renato cried happily. “When we were roughing up that purple stuff, right? Man, you’re amazing at drawing!”

Josiah shrugged. “What can I say? I was inspired.”

Octavia had her turn, eventually. It took effort to will the journal out of Renato’s hands, for how fixated he continued to be. She handled every page with grace, by comparison. For each unfamiliar stranger she’d found previously, there lay a significant amount more of the Velpyre Acolyte. Josiah had done her incredible justice at every angle, regardless of what flavor of expression befell Selena’s illustrated face.

It wasn’t a smile she’d personally seen the acolyte wear, and still Octavia found it enough. There were no bruises. There were no scars. There was safety pressed to paper alone, and his sketches had blessed her with peace. It was as much of a comfort as it was an ache. Her eyes flickered to him once more--preoccupied as he was, handling two Maestros prying into the depths of his artistic background. She found a smile, there, at least. She still wondered where the grief lay.

“So all the other people, they’re strangers?” Harper asked. “Do you just…draw people you see walking by, or something?”

Josiah shrugged. “I kinda just pick ones that catch my attention. The loud ones, the oddly-dressed ones, you know what I mean. I draw a lot of the people that come to the church for confessions.”

“Confessions?” Madrigal asked.

“There’s clergy who’ll sit and listen to your sins,” he offered. “They can’t see you, but they can hear you speak. Interesting concept. Still unsettling. I can’t imagine the things they have to hear.”

“Oh, the sins I could confess to,” Renato joked.

“I can think of a few,” Viola muttered under her breath.

Each page was generally more captivating than the conversation, in truth. His depiction of the church was immaculate, limited as stained glass could be by strokes of lead alone. His illustrations of architecture were equally impressive. She had half a mind to keep the journal outright, for exactly how much love and care he’d clearly poured into it over time. He most definitely made the interior look nicer than it actually was, atmosphere be damned. That, too, was impressive.

“There was someone the other day I didn’t even get the chance to speak to. She was literally sprinting out of the confessions room. Ran right into me, knocked me flat on my back and everything. I tried to apologize, but she just took off running anyway. She looked horrified. It’s…weird to say, but I got the urge to draw her afterwards.”

Harper raised an eyebrow. “You draw jerks?”

Josiah smirked. “It’s like I said. I draw the interesting ones.”

She wasn’t exactly fleeing in the sketch, at least, smothered in anxiety as the static pose was. The way by which Josiah illustrated such expressions of misery and distress was also worthy of praise. He’d captured the subtle curves of her glasses well, as did he do justice to her muted bangs. To be fair, monotone as it truly was, the attire necessitated little color. His basic shading had done the trick, for how bland the attire of the Solenford Girls’ Academy truly was. On paper, she was perfect. She was accurate. It was vile.

Octavia laughed. It was a low and bitter sound, bitten into singular syllables that began one by one. It was abnormal, strained in every way. They trickled, at first. It didn’t stay that way.

She drew their gazes. She couldn’t help it. Octavia was well aware of the manner by which Viola’s eyes widened, let alone how Madrigal’s own had glazed over instead. It hardly mattered. She could barely tear her own away from the paper. She didn’t try.

Harper tilted his head slowly. “Is…everything okay?”

For how long he’d spent in the depths of what was, for all intents and purposes, a horrific place, Octavia wondered how many people had ever witnessed Josiah’s lovely creations at once. A Maestra’s visage so cautiously sketched held a captive audience of five silent onlookers and one less than such. Octavia’s laughter was hollow, utterly devoid of joy or true emotion. Still, she couldn’t stop. It came with tears, and tears came with something indescribable. For how every drop crashed so perfectly onto each piece of her sickening puzzle, it was eternal. It clicked. It crushed along the way. She laughed harder.

Fingers slipping desperately through the crevices of her braids did nothing. There was an urge to tear Cadence’s skillfully-sketched silhouette to shreds, somewhat. It would’ve been rude, still disturbingly beautiful as it was. Instead, she laughed yet more still. She laughed, and she laughed, and she cried, and she laughed, all the way to Solenford.