Harmony

It was the worst way for him to crush her joy. Octavia thought she’d misheard, initially. Each word was vague, just as she’d long since learned him to be. She was almost afraid to press. It was her fault for diving this deep in the first place, and she’d pressed him for far longer than this. There were eyes on her, human in nature or a luminous lack thereof. She didn’t care. Her confused gaze was for Stratos alone.

“It’ll…fall on me?” she asked meekly.

He nodded. “If it is your wish to heal this world, then that price is yours alone to pay.”

“You tell an incomplete truth,” Lyra interrupted. “The burden falls on all.”

Stratos declined to face her, his attention meant only for his partner. “A singular toll is nothing in the face of such sacrifice.”

When Lyra didn’t respond, Stratos continued. “If you choose, and I must emphasize that it is not your burden--”

“Cease your foolishness,” Brava spat. “We have not the time to find another.”

“I will speak as I must!” Stratos snapped. His raised voice was more unsettling than his actual words.

“Then tell all! Your cowardice shows,” Brava retaliated, throwing his arms into the air.

“Stradivaria,” she murmured. “What do you want me to do?”

His tone was soft and pained. “Octavia, if you undertake this task, we, too, would be saved from our own suffering. I would…like to preface that.”

“Coward,” Brava called again. “Will you next beg? Will you grovel and plead to a child? Say it!”

“Stradivaria,” Octavia repeated firmly, “what do you want me to do?”

Silence threatened to strangle her. Distressed or not, Stratos’ heavy inhale was a relief. “It is the sole gift of the Heartful that they may bear witness to our pains. Such is decreed by my Lord of All. There may be only one.”

Her confusion was enough for him to continue. “Without one of your legacy to bear this burden, we cannot return.”

Octavia blinked. “Return…where?”

“For all that is good, Stratos, pull yourself together and speak your mind! You speak in circles like a fool. If you do not say what you mean, I will do so myself!” Brava shouted.

For the briefest of moments, Octavia could’ve sworn she saw a flash of sorrow on Stratos’ featureless face. “To the place from which we came.”

“Heaven?” she asked softly.

He shook his head. “Above.”

She didn’t enjoy the word. She had a distaste for “below”, much the same. She’d avoided them as much as possible in the last several weeks. The smooth tones of his voice, even for how she’d come to enjoy them, couldn’t block out the poison that came with the phrase. Octavia’s hands grew clammy. Focusing on him was difficult.

“Are you…not supposed to be here?” she tried anyway.

Wordlessly, he shook his head once more. It was enough for her heart to ache, whether or not she understood in full.

“You sincerely believe we chose to walk upon this world of our own accord?” Brava said. “Who among us would be so foolish, save for Sh--”

“We,” Lyra interrupted sharply, “through a sequence of tragic events, cannot return on our own. The benefit of the Witnessing is twofold. It would…do us a great service. We would be forever indebted.”

“The Witnessing, huh,” Josiah murmured.

“I’ve been wondering,” Madrigal began, resting her head delicately against the top of Lyra’s Repose. “How did you all get here in the first place? Why are you here?”

Complete silence, even from Brava, was enough to leave a chill trickling down Octavia’s spine. Stratos didn’t let it last.

“To each of our…I suppose you would call them ‘Maestros’, correct? To each of our own, they’ve their respective burdens to bear. It pales in comparison to that which you would undertake, and yet still would weigh upon each in their own way.”

“So we’re also screwed, basically,” Renato interpreted.

Viola stung him with a sharp glare. “Shut up.”

“If it’s something we can do to help,” Madrigal offered, “then we’ll do whatever we can. It’s not fair for everything to be Octavia’s burden.”

Ominous clarification or not, it left Octavia with a smile. She gave it to Madrigal, and Madrigal returned one far brighter. It was a warmth not so luminescent, for once.

“Each will pay the toll,” Orleanna added quietly. “No less than one. The sacrifice is not to be forsaken.”

“H-Hey, I’m not exactly a huge fan of that word,” Harper stammered. “Where is this going?”

Lyra shook her head. “Fret not. From what I have gathered, you children have already done what is necessary.”

“Not all of them,” Brava muttered. “Your own has known only peace, of this I have no doubt.”

“Have you no shame, nor sense as to when to temper your ignorant tongue?” Lyra spat. If she could scowl, radiant features be damned, Octavia imagined she would. “On the contrary to what lies you have led yourself to swallow, you do not know all that is to know.”

“I kind of like it when they fight,” Josiah mumbled. Even given the situation, he at least managed to fish a snicker out of Harper.

“What do you mean by ‘what is necessary’?” Viola pressed. “What did we do, exactly?”

“At the very least, I could speak to the Willful one and the Heartful one. That much is true without question,” Brava went on. “My own, as well. As to the others, it is not so.”

“Do not make haste,” Stratos warned. “Octavia, I will clarify. To pay the toll is to--”

“Perhaps,” came Aste’s long-silent, shrill words, “was the Apex’s own not enabled by her interloping ways, she, too, would have paid her toll long ago.”

“I would not have allowed it to be so,” Lyra growled. Even in her anger, shoulders hunched and hands curled into fists, Octavia found her every bit as beautiful.

“One could not call it a loss to this world. Now, rather, her chance has been wasted in favor of frivolous and material joys,” Mente continued.

Renato blinked. “The hell are you two talkin’ about?”

“Nothing you deserve to hear, child,” Lyra answered, her voice still tinged with aggravation. “I suggest you give no thought to their venom.”

“What’s an Apex?” Josiah asked. He earned no answer.

“We are not two to speak, when our own bears no fruit himself,” Aste spat. “If you would squander the chance to claim ours, perhaps we should claim yours instead.”

In Lyra’s brief moment of silence, the simple aura of her ire was enough to choke Octavia from afar. “Were you to harm one hair on this child’s head, I would destroy you.”

“Wait a damn minute,” Renato growled. “If you two are talkin’ about Maddie, I’d kill you myself!”

In the split instant that he found himself face-to-face with Mente, their bodies mere inches apart, he sparsely had time to jump in surprise. “If she did not feel the same, then, what would you do? In the face of her resolve, would you possess the fortitude to fight back, oh he of the Strong?”

There was the slightest moment in which his deadly glare faltered, and it took extra effort to keep his composure. “Maddie wouldn’t. You two don’t know anything about me, or her, or any of us. I’m gettin’ real sick of this already.”

“I would never hurt him!” Madrigal cried, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

“What the hell is a toll?” Octavia exclaimed, curled fingers aloft in frustration. No amount of flexing them into fists was calming in any way.

Her outburst was enough to earn a momentary silence, somewhat more of a relief than she’d expected it to be. She was well aware of her racing heartbeat and rising aggravation, and yet both were impossible to taper in full. She didn’t bother breaking the peace herself. It was a collective surprise when Orleanna took the initiative over Stratos.

“Blood must be shed,” the Muse murmured. “Touched by the mistakes we brought to this world, we will atone by claiming those who have suffered at our hands.”

“Octavia, perhaps this is enough for today,” Stratos interjected.

“We have to kill people?” Viola whispered, just barely loud enough for Octavia to catch her breathless terror.

Josiah, once calm, sported eyes no longer immune to the same. “Wait a minute, they just said some of you already ‘paid the toll’, right? And none of…”

He trailed off. Wandering gazes flickered, split-second motions touching her skin in a manner impossible to conceal. If they’d tried to hide it, they did so horrifically. Octavia knew. She didn’t dare return a single one, nor count exactly how many had stung her in succession. She wanted to run. She wanted to throw up. If she couldn’t forget, then she wished that they would.

To his credit, he tried to salvage what he could. He failed. “That’s…not the case for…I mean…”

“How can our tolls be paid if we’ve never…killed anyone?” Harper asked tentatively. Direct as he was, he was at least gentle about it.

If the solemn atmosphere was contagious, Orleanna didn’t seem fazed. “It need not be by your own hands. The toll need simply be by virtue of malicious influence.”

Madrigal tilted her head. “The darkness?”

When Brava raised one hand in anticipation--to chastise the Maestra’s terminology, probably--Orleanna cut him off instantly. “Sequential events birthed from a single true encounter with the Dissonance.”

Josiah leaned backwards onto his palms, shutting his eyes to spare himself from the fiery sun above. “Guess we have the same word for that, at least.”

“Like a…cause and effect sort of thing?” Viola attempted to clarify. “Am I understanding that right?”

Orleanna nodded, her petite figure bobbing in the slightest. “It need not be an execution. The toll may simply be an untimely demise, unnatural at the hands of that which should not be.”

“People who died…due to Dissonance, in some way,” Octavia interpreted.

Renato again crossed his arms defiantly. “And everyone’s gotta give one up?”

In tandem, Orleanna again nodded. “There is no limitation.”

“Is there a benefit? To having more than one, I mean?”

“On the contrary,” she answered. “There is a detriment.”

“Where does Octavia come in with all of this?” Viola asked. “She…you said she’s got something different to do?”

Stratos didn’t offer his attention to the Maestra, instead fixating on his own partner once more. Lowering himself to her level again, Octavia relished the feeling of his warmth so near to her skin. For whatever heavy words he could lay upon her, his presence alone was enough to assuage her fears.

“Octavia, my child, I will remind you that this is no…simple burden.”

Octavia shook her head. “Witnessing. I heard Lyra say it. What is it?”

He paused for a moment before continuing. “It is a fate I would not wish upon any. You must see each toll through to its end.”

She blinked. “I don’t understand.”

He did what he physically could to wrap two hands around one of her own. The benign heat that tickled her fingertips was not unwelcome, and she didn’t recoil beneath the contact. Slowly, she curled her fingers inward, clinging to the tingling warmth.

“You, who would see through their eyes, would alone bear witness to their demise,” he uttered.

Still, she could only shake her head. “I still don’t get what you mean.”

“This is what it means to bear witness, to perform the Witnessing. You alone are tasked to witness their pain.”

It wasn’t clicking, no matter how she tried to swallow his words. “Stradivaria, I’m sorry, I just…don’t get it. I know you’re trying to explain, but--”

“You have to watch them die.”

Octavia hadn’t realized she’d yanked herself out of Stradivaria’s warm touch until long after her eyes had locked with Viola’s. The Maestra’s words were equally as foreign.

Stratos, too, had surrendered his attention. It left only Viola’s labored breaths to fill the weighted air, each one rattling on the way out. The voice that followed, too, was shaking in their wake. Viola ripped her harsh gaze from Octavia, pinning it to her partner instead. “Octavia…would have to watch them die. Am I correct?”

When Stratos only nodded, his gestures silent as ever, Viola’s eyes narrowed. Gone was her makeshift calm. Disgust took its place. “You’re sick,” she spat.

“I…apologize,” Stratos breathed. “I truly do.”

It sank in for Viola quickly. It wasn’t as contagious fourfold, and the revelation spread like poison. There was no repulsion to match Viola’s own, granted. Even so, there still wasn’t a shred of acceptance offered in its place.

“That’s…all of them?” Harper murmured. “Every single one?”

Madrigal shook her head fervently, her curls bouncing against her shoulders. “That’s horrible!”

“So what, like, go back in time and rewatch them or something? Like a film?” Renato asked, unable to halt the waver in his own voice.

“There is a process,” Orleanna said. “Nonetheless, they are memories to be relived, up until their final breaths.”

“Relived,” Josiah echoed. “So it’s not just watching, she’s gotta stand in their freakin’ shoes? That’s…disgusting.”

Octavia wasn’t a fan of the idea of dying already. To do so multiple times was a petrifying concept. She still hadn’t fully come to terms with the idea that he wasn’t joking. He was playful enough with her as it was, subtle about it or otherwise. It would be morbid, for him, granted. Luminescence wasn’t all that was floating right now. It wasn’t voluntary. Even if she kicked and struggled, she doubted she could touch the ground. The first words out of her mouth were a reflex born of disbelief.

“How many times?” she asked under her breath.

Stratos didn’t respond. Silence wasn’t an answer.

“How many times?” she repeated, battling the rising bubble of panic in her throat.

Lyra's words weren't a comfort. “There is no way to be certain. One is not restrained by any number of tolls, and would--”

“At minimum,” Octavia breathed heavily. “At bare minimum, how many times?”

Even Orleanna, for as honest as she’d been thus far, hesitated momentarily. “You must account at least once for each of us.”

Octavia’s efforts to cling to composure were failing. She was agitated, and her voice quaked. Every syllable was strained and sharp. “How many times?”

Stratos averted his faceless gaze. Something about his stolen attention was more shattering than any of his sick truths.

“Ninety-six.”

She wanted to vomit. She almost did.

Viola and Renato were nearly in unison with their subsequent exclamation of shock. “Ninety-six?”

Josiah leapt to his feet immediately. “One for each…there’s ninety-six of you?”

“Octavia, Stratos said you don’t have to,” Madrigal offered, her voice nearly pleading. “Right?”

It was too much. It was too fast. Her head was spinning, and the world came with it. The number was a minimum, by which the end could chase her for far longer. As to what it entailed, she didn’t want to know. As to what it looked like, she didn’t want to know. As to what it felt like, she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to know. He was definitely joking.

“Does it hurt?” Octavia murmured, her voice trembling. She didn’t know why she asked. She already knew that she didn’t want the answer.

Only now did Stratos find the heart to comfort her, once more rushing to her side with concern. “I assure you, it will not be painful to your body. No harm will come to your physical form.”

“You didn’t say anything about my mind,” she whispered.

“I…Octavia, this is my greatest concern. I know all too well that no one could wish for this role. It is for those reasons that I offer you the opportunity to step away from this path.”

She watched him with empty eyes, her heart racing in the worst way. “What’ll happen to you if I don’t? To all of you?”

He didn’t match her gaze, fearful as she knew it to be. The hurt in his words spoke for itself, a far cry from the radiant guardian she’d imagined him to be. “We will remain as we are. We will await the next of your legacy who would lay down their peace so that others may be freed--whether of this world or not.”

“And if no one comes?”

“Then no one comes.”

“Forever?”

“It is true.”

Octavia winced. “But that’s…not fair to you, either.”

“Then would you take on the burden, child?” Brava asked, his bold voice in stark contrast with Stratos’ own broken tone.

Her roaming eyes caught only equal helplessness, every Maestro frozen and hesitant in their own right. For how much attention fell to her, plagued with anticipation, she offered her attention to one alone. Her expression was an indiscernible mess. Octavia had a vague idea why. Behind the distressed gaze, she hunted for validation. When she didn’t earn it, she pried for words bearing the same.

“Viola.”

“You don’t have to,” the Maestra whimpered.

“It’s the only way.”

“We can…find a different one.”

Octavia shook her head. “I don’t think there is a different one.”

“Please don’t choose because of me.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Not at the cost of you!” Viola cried. “I didn’t want this!”

“There’s no other way. This is…how we can fix everything. We could save people.”

“But what about you? Who’s going to save you?”

Octavia’s hands trembled. She couldn’t help it. “I don’t…need anyone to save me. I can do it. I can do this.”

Whether she was talking to herself or to Viola, she wasn’t sure. “I just…need to hear you say it,” she pressed.

“Say what?” Viola asked.

“Say that this is the right thing to do.”

“This isn’t a choice I can make for you,” Viola snapped. “You need to do that for yourself.”

It hurt. Her heart ached, and she only trembled more. If there was one person who would’ve understood her hesitation, it was the one who wanted this more than she did. For more reasons than one, this entire endeavor was painful. She hadn’t even started yet.

“Octavia,” Viola began again, her voice hardly more than a murmur.

Wordlessly, Octavia raised her head. Viola’s eyes shimmered. Every word that followed her subtle sorrow was startlingly level.

“I told you, I’ll follow you wherever you go,” she said. “All of us will. If this is really what you want, we’ll…support you however we can. You don’t have to do this alone.”

She already knew she wasn’t alone. She found her proof on every face and in every supportive gaze. She found it in quiet nods of encouragement and the tiniest of smiles. She, too, could’ve cried. For what reason, she still hadn’t fully decided.

“Stratos, you are cruel in your ways,” Brava spat, his guarded posture a testament to every judgmental word on his lips. “Would you not offer to her the sweetest truth of the matter? How disappointing.”

“I beg pardon for my blunt phrasing, but it would do you well to hush,” Lyra hissed.

“I was…planning to do so,” Stratos answered, his tone nearly shameful. “There is another matter of importance.”

Octavia sighed. Slowly but surely, her head was beginning to throb. This was the most draining conversation she’d ever had, and she still wasn’t fully certain it had actually happened. “I…don’t know if I can take anything else today. You told me to tell you when I was overwhelmed, right? I think this is it,” she admitted.

“I believe you may benefit from listening one last time to this matter in particular,” Orleanna said. It was enough for Octavia to stifle her objections.

“I…you would follow in her path,” Stratos murmured.

“I know.”

A faceless gaze that had eluded her for too long suddenly snapped to her once more, every word dipped in astonishment. “How?”

Octavia embraced the faint smile that crept onto her lips. “I don’t forget the things you say. When you first told me there was something I had to do, you mentioned her. Besides that, you were her precious partner. If I know, I’m sure she knew, too.”

Her smile brightened. If not for Priscilla, then it was for him. “And something about cats, right?”

Again, he hummed. For the briefest moment, in the midst of her distress, it was enough to make Octavia’s heart happy. “Your sister was nothing if not creative.”

“Will you seek to finish the task she began, then?” Lyra asked.

Priscilla was a deterrent for fear. Still, she wasn’t a full shield against hesitation. It could’ve been worse. It could’ve been much, much worse. Octavia had seen enough films in her time, flimsy reels and shaky sepia speaking to far less than death itself. They’d been a comfort, sparse as they’d come in Silver Ridge along occasional mounted canvas. Were it so simple, it would be tolerable. It would be disgusting, granted, ninety-six times over--at minimum. Josiah’s phrasing was all she could cling to, and it eased her racing heart. It really, truly, sincerely could’ve been worse.

She wondered if Priscilla would’ve been proud. It was one more reason to nod.

The headache that followed was, in turn, one more reason for her to collapse the moment she returned to her room.

Ten minutes wasn’t nearly enough for her to do more than close her eyes, ignore her frazzled braids, and do what she could to hide from the setting sun. The ambience of a darkened room was the closest she could get to crafted peace. She didn’t get to keep it. She never got to keep it, for how her life was anything but peaceful to begin with. No amount of pulling the covers high above her head was stifling the chronic knocking at the door. She groaned. If she really wanted to try, she had a one in five chance of guessing the perpetrator correctly. She took her chances.

“What do you want?”

“Let me in.”

She’d been betting on Renato, actually. Viola wasn’t usually annoying. “I’m sleeping,” she called.

“No you’re not,” Viola called back.

“Yes I am.”

“You have to open the door. It’s my house.”

“It’s my room. I live here now. This is where acts of kindness get you.”

“I want my kindness back.”

“I’m sleeping,” she repeated.

“I want to talk for a bit.”

Octavia groaned. “We just talked for hours. That was enough talking for the rest of my life.”

“I don’t want to talk to the glowing people in the musical instruments, I want to talk to Octavia.”

“I cannot stress this enough, but Octavia is asleep right now.”

“Octavia is about to not have a door to her room anymore. Just for a little while, please.”

Octavia sighed. Sitting up took notable effort, and the feeling of her braids untangling into a complete mess along the way was surely symbolic of something. Her headache was overstaying its welcome.

Viola hardly even waited for Octavia to turn the knob, more or less inviting herself in. Unblemished darkness was slain by opened curtains, and Octavia rolled her pained eyes. She’d worked hard on making that. Part of her wanted to scream.

“This seriously couldn’t have waited until like, I don’t know, dinner?” Octavia muttered, more than irritated.

Viola winced. “I’m sorry, I just…I have a lot on my mind right now. All of that was a lot to take in.”

Octavia gestured dramatically to the bed. “This was literally my solution. Thinking about it more isn’t going to help right now. Trust me, I already tried that.”

“Have you spoken to Stradivaria? Since we got back, I mean?”

Octavia shook her head. His starry visage had left a miniature supernova in his wake, a momentary burst of brilliance every bit as beautiful as his arrival. If she'd blinked, she would’ve missed it. She almost did, and she hadn’t pressed him on it since. His explanation was already confusing enough.

They are but a physical vessel, much like your own, born for this world alone. It is only through your eyes that you may behold our true selves. Do you understand?

It was a strange time for her to acknowledge his body, if that was how he meant it. Octavia had been half-correct about that much. She’d spent more than enough nights stroking, touching, and cradling the violin in her arms, borderline excessively on occasion. He’d been in there. He’d felt it, maybe. The blush that followed the revelation had lasted for ten straight minutes, at the time. She still hadn’t completely gotten rid of it.

“Have you talked to Brava, then?” Octavia asked.

It was Viola’s turn to sigh. “I tried. He got annoyed with me asking questions, I think. He’s…a lot to handle.”

“Yeah, he definitely struck me that way,” Octavia said. “Sorry to say this, but your partner is kind of arrogant.”

“Unfortunately, I’m inclined to agree with you. He’s my partner, though. We’ve been through a lot together, and I respect him.”

Octavia smiled. “Nothing wrong with that. He seems to like you, at least. Better than whatever’s going on with Renato’s partner. Partners, I guess.”

Viola faked a gag. “All three of them are idiots. They’re a match made in Heaven.”

“You are so mean to that boy,” Octavia mumbled with a smirk.

“In all seriousness, I have no idea why his partners are so horrible to him. Mente and Aste, right?”

“Right.”

“I don’t get it. I don’t especially get along with him, but I can’t deny he’s a really good Maestro. He seems like he takes good enough care of them, too.”

“So who’s your favorite?”

Viola raised an eyebrow. “Favorite…what?”

“Favorite…you know, Harmonial Instrument. Except, like, as glowy people.”

“Muses? They have a name.”

“Gods, according to Josiah.”

Viola shook her head. “You heard Stradivaria, they’re not gods.”

“What are they, then?” Octavia asked.

Viola shrugged. “I mean…Muses. That’s what they said, whatever being a Muse entails. Ask Stradivaria.”

“You dodged my question, by the way. About favorites.”

She sighed. “You’re under the impression I’m gonna pick anyone except my partner?”

“I’m 100% certain you’re going to pick anyone except your partner.”

For a moment, Viola was quiet. “Lyra,” she finally deadpanned.

Octavia grinned. “Good choice.”

“I don’t even need to ask yours,” Viola scoffed. “It’s written all over your face. You spent hours making lovey-dovey eyes at Stradivaria. Is he your type?”

The blush that smacked into Octavia’s face was instant, blood rushing to her cheeks quickly enough to leave her dizzy. She thought she’d gotten rid of it, by now. “Excuse me? Of course not!”

Viola smirked. “Oh my God, he’s your type.”

Octavia shook her head desperately. Whatever tangled mess was left of her braids at last unraveled into strands that whipped her skin. “It’s not like that, I swear! He’s just…something about him is so warm. I can’t explain it. I feel safe around him, and comfortable.”

“I mean, he’s your partner. That’s not particularly unbelievable,” Viola answered, flopping in reverse onto the bed. Positioned as she was, she took up precisely half the mattress. It was still enough to get another eye roll out of Octavia, the motion bouncing her in her seat uncomfortably.

“You’re uninvited from my room, by the way,” she muttered.

“Did Stradivaria tell you why he’s called ‘Stradivaria’ yet?”

Octavia blinked. “What?”

Viola stretched, unhurried arms cast at her leisure above. “I mean, Brava’s real name is Brava. Apparently he chose the name ‘Silver Brevada’ himself. It’s like an alias while they’re down here.”

“They…chose them?”

“Nicknames, I guess. If it took us until today to learn their real names, I’d guess that not a lot of Maestros know them by any names except the ones the Muses want them to.”

“What about Madrigal?”

Viola handed her a blank stare. “Think really hard. Use your big brain for a few seconds.”

Octavia immediately regretted asking. There was nothing subtle about Lyra’s Repose.

“So…why ‘Silver Brevada’, then?”

“Stupid reason that effectively boiled down to ‘sounded cool’. I don’t remember his wording, nor do I care, but it was definitely a lot more grandiose than that. That being said, some of the Harmonial Instruments we’ve seen have interesting enough names that I’m curious about their origins. I doubt all of them just ‘sounded cool’.”

Octavia had more or less resigned herself to sharing the bed against her will. Further rest was beyond her, the unfortunately-visible sun dipping ever lower beyond the horizon past her window. She embraced the waking world with regret, falling without grace onto the covers herself with a thump.

“Ninety-six, huh,” she murmured beneath her breath.

“Yeah,” Viola answered, her tone equally hushed. “A lot.”

“I guess that’s how many Muses there are.”

“And, by extension, how many Harmonial Instruments.”

The silence that served as her blanket wasn’t as awkward as she’d expected. It was still heavy all the same. Octavia settled into it, for a moment.

“I think I know who my toll is,” Viola finally whispered.

Octavia nodded, the pitiful remains of her braids shuffling against the sheets. “I know with certainty who mine is.”

Viola closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. “I…think I have more than one.”

Octavia turned her head. The pained expression she found on Viola’s face was contagious. “If it’s any consolation, I might have more than one, too. I’m not sure yet. I haven’t figured out how this works, entirely.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want you to have to see that. I don’t even want you to have to see one of…those, let alone three.”

Whether or not Viola could see it, Octavia shook her head. “It’s not your fault. You’re not gonna be the only one, you know. I’m…aware there’s probably gonna be more than ninety-six.”

“I wonder how many more.”

It was Octavia’s turn to sigh. “I…wonder if it’d be better not to know.”

“Do you think everyone else has a toll already? Has it, paid it, whatever?” Viola asked.

Octavia shrugged, the crumpled sheets beneath her shoulders accompanying the motion. “I don’t know. Harper, I assume.”

“I mean, that’s what Brava said, too, but I don’t think he knows the circumstances. What happened to Harper’s parents was wholly unrelated to Dissonance, Maestros, any of it.”

“You’re sure?”

When Viola didn’t answer, Octavia pushed. “Have you…talked to Harper about it or something?”

It took the Maestra a moment to find her quiet words. “A little. I didn’t press him about it much. He…it wasn’t talked about much in the news around Coda, but apparently it was arson.”

Octavia propped herself up onto her elbows, eyes wide. “You’re joking.”

Viola shook her own head in turn, her bow scraping the mattress in the process. “I wish. No one knows much more than that. He said there were a few leads as to a suspect, but nothing solid.”

Octavia cringed. The sudden pain in her stomach matched her head. “That’s…awful. I seriously thought it was an accident this whole time.”

Viola sighed. “I’m pretty sure that’s how he’d prefer people to see it.”

“And he opened up to you about all of this…why, exactly?”

Viola scoffed half-heartedly. “We’re both good at having family issues. We’ve been going back and forth about it a bit lately. Getting it off our chests. It’s nice that he understands.”

When she cracked her eyes open, whatever confusion touched Octavia’s eyes made her stammer. “I-I mean, not that I don’t think you understand, of course.”

Octavia thought to smile. Hollow as it would be in the wake of her words, she feared it would be insulting. “No, no, I get it. I completely understand. It’s helpful if someone’s…been through the same thing as you. Not exactly the same, but I get it.”

She had her blanket of silence back. It was awkward, by comparison. Ideally, whatever would follow had nothing to do with parental crises--let alone unforgiving flames. There was a twisted amusement that came with the revelation of isolation. Viola and Harper’s situations weren’t even slightly identical, and yet overlapped closely enough. By comparison, she couldn’t find a confidant who’d committed murder.

“I don’t know if Madrigal or Renato paid their tolls,” Viola offered, shattering the weighted quiet once more.

Octavia didn’t disagree. “I’ve never really asked about their personal lives much.”

“Do you know anything about either of them?”

Octavia smirked. “My God, you’re nosy today.”

Viola flushed. “I’m not trying to be insensitive! This is important stuff. If we know if something in their pasts counts as a toll, we can figure out how many we have to worry about for each.”

Octavia thought for a moment. “I don’t know about Madrigal. She seems like she has a good home life, I think. Lots of siblings.”

“Friends? Acquaintances?”

“Dead ones? Not that she’s ever talked about. I honestly don’t know. You’d have to ask her. This is a pretty big thing to speculate about--and a personal one, at that.”

“And Renato?”

The instant she heard his name, Octavia knew she’d have to lie.

“Nothing there either. I haven’t really talked to him much about personal stuff. You know how he is.”

She knew she was absolutely lying through her teeth. Octavia was almost positive Viola would catch her in the process. If Viola knew, she didn’t say a word. It was one relief.

Under no circumstances did she have Renato entirely figured out yet. He was loud. He was cocky. He was vibrant, sassy, and unique in ways somewhat questionable. He wasn’t immune to pain. If his own words were to be believed, he’d already struggled long before. Should his toll have been paid somewhere already, Octavia wouldn’t have been particularly surprised. For how much Viola loathed his company, she could find another confidant in terms of fatherly difficulties. It wasn’t something Octavia ever planned to share in the first place.

“Octavia,” Viola began, her tone strikingly dark.

The knots in Octavia’s stomach were immediate. She’d figured it out, maybe. “Yes?”

Viola took a deep breath before continuing, her silence painfully long. “The Muses definitely need a toll to go back where they came from, right? What happens if…someone hasn’t paid a toll yet?”

For a moment, Octavia couldn’t process her words at all. They didn’t settle. When they tried, they fell to her skin rather than her ears. It came with chills, and chills were enough to clot her blood. It took effort to keep it from sinking in, let alone chasing the lines of thought that splintered in turn. They raced. She couldn’t keep up, and battling the seeping concept was useless.

Viola was calling out to her as she violently shoved her way past tangling covers and sheets. Viola was showering her with apologies as she made for the door, her footsteps utterly muted. Viola was in her wake as she drowned herself in the only four words that had saved her for weeks. She didn’t think they’d be useful outside of the usual context, given what they were meant to strangle. She hadn’t tried much. Here, dragging herself underwater and pulling the world to a screeching halt, it was a surprisingly effective deterrent.

They followed out of the room. They followed down the hall. They followed wherever she was expected to go, company or not. They followed her often enough, anyway. It was nothing new. For what they gave chase to, in turn, Octavia let them follow wherever they liked.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about it.

In retrospect, she wondered how hard she’d slammed the door.

Don’t think about it.