Harmony

Octavia usually didn’t mind going to new places. If it was within the boundaries of Coda, it was all the more exciting. There was always something fascinating about uncovering exactly how large the city truly was. It was almost fun to see how many landmarks lay beyond the eyes of the average tourist. The courthouse would’ve been fine in passing. As an attendee, it was horrifying.

Knowing what awaited inside was the worst part. At a crisp eight o’clock in the morning, the sun overhead had just begun a modest, ambling ascent. Pink clouds drifted lazily above, and she was floating just as high. Coming back down was difficult. The stature of the courthouse, coupled with its many steps towards judgment, was just as imposing as the backdrop upon which it had been placed.

There was a silence that spoke in contrast to the Hell beyond its doors, organized and uniform as it would be. The judge, jury, and all others involved had surely beaten her there. She’d never actually attended a trial, let alone set foot in a courtroom. Silver Ridge was peaceful enough. Silver Ridge was hardly populated. She couldn’t even remember if Silver Ridge had a courthouse in the first place.

Each step upwards, even in tandem with the others at her back, was terrifying. Anxiety pooled in her wake. She couldn’t help it. Stradivaria’s case jostling against her shoulders was her one saving grace.

Viola had added a new rule in light of recent events, of which Octavia was partially responsible for sparking the idea. In an ironic contrast to advice she’d once been given before a certain auction, they were now not to part from their instruments at all. Every case would be bound to every back, and every partner would be within arm’s reach at all times. Octavia didn’t resist the idea in the slightest, lest agony blight her in the ruins of a burnt home once more. She was still kicking herself over it days later.

She appreciated Renato, Josiah, Madrigal, and Viola accompanying her to her own possible death sentence in the form of the witness stand. She would still very much have adored Harper’s support, were it possible. It was the first time in a long time that the boy had been wholly absent from her side for longer than several hours. She wouldn’t dare start a problem by proclaiming that she missed him. It didn’t stop her from thinking it all the same.

Halfway up the steps, her heart was beating quickly enough to leave her lightheaded. It had nothing to do with exertion. “What am I supposed to say when they call me up there? How do I admit to knowing all this stuff?” she asked, panic seeping into every word.

“First of all, you need to relax,” Josiah said. “It’ll be okay. You’ve got this, even if you don’t feel like you do. Second, you’re a witness who never had the opportunity to come forward during the initial sentencing. That’s all you have to say. From there, the story you provide will speak for itself.”

Octavia did what she could to take deep breaths. “What else?”

Josiah raised one hand aloft, counting on his fingers. “Don’t indicate any kind of intent on her father’s part. Don’t mention Harper’s father at all. Don’t even bother bringing up the Dissonance. That’s basically it.”

Octavia nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay.”

“Are they gonna let all of us in there?” Madrigal asked.

Viola nodded in turn. “It’s a public trial. They’re not advertised, necessarily, but in Coda, you can literally just…walk in. You just need to be quiet.”

Renato winced. “Eww, so random people can watch you get sentenced for personal stuff like it’s entertainment? That’s creepy.”

“They don’t do that in Selbright?”

“Hell, no. You try to sneak into someone else’s trial, you’re gonna end up in one yourself later--provided the defendant doesn’t kick your ass first. Rightfully.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Josiah interrupted. “None of us are going inside.”

The resounding exclamation of surprise that followed was collective and startling, particularly given that they’d already reached the entrance. Even here, cresting the top of the stairs, the exterior was deserted. Had Octavia been alone, her lack of understanding of both legal proceedings and navigational skills would’ve led her to wonder if she was in the correct place. Above all else, entering alone was a horrific concept.

“What do you mean? We’re all allowed to go in. That’s…how this works,” Viola insisted.

“I told you about my backup plan. This is part of it,” Josiah said calmly.

At the mention of his scheme, puzzled eyes instead pooled with apprehension. “Are you sure about this?”

“Let me restate that,” he began. “None of you are going in. Octavia and I are.”

Renato groaned. “Man, where the hell are you even going with this?”

“Do you trust me?” he asked Viola alone, his gaze equally soft and firm.

Octavia watched the way Viola pursed her lips, hands curling into fists at her sides. Still, she met his eyes with false confidence.

She nodded. “You better know what you’re doing.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

He turned to Octavia instead, that same gaze of gentle firmness settling onto her. “We can’t wait much longer. I won’t leave you. Ready?”

Absolutely not.

“Y-Yeah.”

At the very least, he shouldered the pressure of opening the doors.

Octavia made the fatal mistake of looking over her shoulder at the three exiled supporters in her wake. She was more engrossed in their confused and distressed expressions than the rush of cool, interior air that had blasted her in full. Madrigal waved half-heartedly. She waved back. Renato gave her a lazy two-finger salute. She returned the same.

Viola only stared, eyes full of fear and hands clutching the hem of her dress. The smile Octavia cobbled together was compromised at best and false at worst. Even so, she poured into it what little confidence she knew she should save for what awaited. It was worth it anyway.

The doors creaked shut noisily at last, sealing her off from the outside world. Already, she craved the sun. This was going to be miserable.

It took effort to will herself to turn around, soaking in the grand splendor of the front lobby. Simple as it was, the sheer scale of it was just as intimidating as the outside. Crowned more or less only by a singular desk and yet another set of alabaster doors, the plain environment still found a way to pressure her. Marble was abundant and sprawling underfoot, and she was plagued with the illusion of a variable marble blanket draped over the room in earnest. It offered a dizzying sight that contributed to her lightheadedness just as much as the task at hand. Dying was much easier than even considering doing this. In the worst-case scenario, after all was said and done, she wouldn’t be the one to die.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” she murmured.

“You’ve got this,” Josiah offered. “Just breathe.”

“Tried breathing. Not helping.”

When he gently took her hand into his own, the surprise of his touch was substantial enough to blunt her nausea and fear. Her eyes flickered to his, and his smile was its own surprise.

“We’ll go together. If this is set up the way I’ve been led to believe it’ll be, you’ll still be able to see me at all times. If you get scared, just don’t take your eyes off me. I’ll be here for you.”

She wished she had the confidence to return a smile, let alone any inkling of gratitude. She settled for the weakest nod she’d ever produced. If nothing else, her heart was grateful.

“You don’t think it’s gonna look…I don’t know, like something’s up if we’re staring at each other the whole time?” she asked, content to follow his lead onward.

He shrugged. “If anyone asks, just pretend I’m your boyfriend.”

Octavia laughed a genuine laugh. She didn’t know she could make one in the first place. “Eww. No.”

Josiah smirked as he pulled her along. “Pretending, idiot. You’d make a terrible actor.”

What little peace and relief she found in the form of a solid giggle was threatened by halted steps before the guardian alabaster before them. Squeezing his hand was a reflex, her fingers trembling from the concept of entry at all. He could read her mind, maybe, for how one of his palms came to rest flat against the leftmost door.

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve never been to one of these, either. Like I said, we didn’t exactly have them down there. We’ll play it by ear.”

She gulped. “We do that a lot.”

His chuckle surprised her somewhat. “This’ll work out. I’ll make sure it works out.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow, her attention briefly torn from the door. “Wait, what exactly do you have in mind?”

Josiah inhaled slowly, declining to acknowledge her directly. “We’ll cross that bridge if we need to. For now, just stick to what we discussed. Ready?”

No.

“No.”

It slipped out this time.

He laughed. “That’s the spirit.”

It took significant effort for him to push with one hand, and Octavia lamented the way she selfishly clung to the other. It was the most anxious she’d been in weeks, even given that she’d died eight times recently. She’d never admit it aloud. When the double doors gave way to her fate, whatever nerves ate away at her instead fought to devour from within.

No longer were they alone, although she wouldn’t quite have rushed to call the room “populated”. The cast of actors in a play to weigh the value of a man’s life weren't as numerous as she’d been led to expect. Even so, they were more than enough to drag her back to the Hell of relentless nausea under prying eyes. The creak of the doors wasn’t exactly subtle.

Most had already taken up their respective positions, and she initially feared she was late. She could vaguely assume their particular roles relative to both manners of dress and placements--secondary to what she’d seen once in a book, at least. It would be her sole frame of reference for the next several hours. Given what she was expected to do, that was absolutely not a good thing.

The semicircular seating on the furthest side of the courtroom numbered ten individual places, each slowly growing occupied by strangers in monotone attire. The remainder of the chamber was largely cleaved in two down the carpeted center, halved on either side of the divisive maroon aisle. The hardwood oak comprising every remaining bench welcomed a stray, speckled assortment of yet more strangers. They, too, were clad in their own respectively-dull clothing. Some hugged the left side. Others, the right. They didn’t mingle, converse, or hardly exchange more than a passing glance.

For a publicly visible trial, then, the abundance of empty seating was a shock. Vincent Vacanti wore a poisonous name, surely, for the blood that stained his hands. The horrors of his deeds surely warranted a crowd, if not at least splattered interest. The opportunity was prime. Instead, including Josiah and herself, the occupants of the courtroom numbered, at most, twenty-five.

“Do you think no one knew this was going on today?” Octavia whispered.

Josiah shrugged half-heartedly, still drinking in the settling scene of his own accord. “This all happened so quickly that I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t become public knowledge. I think Viola said her family was obligated to find out, but that’s it.”

She, too, did what she could to study the foreign atmosphere. If she were to face her own death sentence in here, she’d cling to all she could garner first. The semicircle of proceedings did, in fact, harbor a stand--a literal stand, nearly identical to the mental image she’d conjured. The angle was excruciatingly unfortunate, the pedestal facing rightwards as it was. It left a sea of hardwood seating and foreign faces in sight, should she take her place behind it. It would leave her showered with gaze upon unfamiliar gaze, just the same. A toll would’ve been a phenomenal alternative right now.

“I-Is that where I have to testify?” she stuttered.

Josiah squeezed her hand gently twice over. Feeble or not, she appreciated the effort of reassurance. “Do you know what a cross-examination is?”

Octavia shook her head. She wasn’t certain she enjoyed the word alone.

“This is a weird situation, so I don’t know if it’ll actually happen, but there’s a chance both sides might press you on whatever you give them. No matter what, you have to be confident in what you say.”

She was dizzy. The pressure was unbearable. She had no idea what she was doing.

“I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Involuntary.

Josiah sighed. “If you really get stuck, I have a backup plan for that, too. Just remember, I’m not the one who’s seen the things you have. There’s certain things I can’t help with, even if I wanted to.”

Her curiosity was at war with her nerves. She had little time to entertain either one, for how her attention was kidnapped by yet more shuffles and murmurs. Those who still stood instead settled into their respective places, whether that equated to speculatory benches or the proceedings circle she dreaded. Still on her feet, she was out of place in more ways than one. She was collecting different flavors of panic, at this point.

“Where exactly are we supposed to--”

“Let’s just…go to the left for now. We’ll figure out if we’re wrong pretty quickly, I think,” Josiah offered, dragging her along accordingly.

Octavia was content to surrender to his guidance, nearly stumbling in the process of settling at his side on the bench. Even now, she couldn’t bring herself to free his hand. He didn’t make her. If he weren’t here, she’d already have fallen to pieces.

In the midst of draping silence, Octavia’s final survey of the room brought her eyes to a vacant seat. It was higher, imposing, opposite to the pedestal she feared. It came to accommodate a stranger in turn, oozing confidence with every step. Blackened robes just barely spared plush maroon at her feet, the blows of spearing heels softened in turn. She took her rightful place, fiery locks bouncing with every controlled movement. The contrast of tethered, flaming red upon flowing, darkened night was striking. She was gorgeous.

Oh, God, she almost looked like Priscilla.

Why did she have to look like Priscilla?

“Not so tight,” Josiah hissed in pain, wriggling his fingers in Octavia’s own. She quickly unfurled an iron grip she didn’t realize she’d cursed him with.

“Sorry,” Octavia muttered. This whole situation grew more miserable every second.

She was so thoroughly distracted by the woman’s exceedingly-familiar looks that she outright didn’t register the first ten seconds of speech stinging the air. It took conscious effort to refocus. For how little she truly understood of the environment, it might not have mattered to begin with.

“Trial is now in session for the resentencing of the defendant on three charges of murder in the first degree,” she spoke, her voice projecting about the courtroom spectacularly. If nothing else, Octavia was impressed.

“Will the prosecution please provide their opening statement?” she continued.

Josiah winced. “Damn, they’re not messing around.”

“What do you mean?” Octavia whispered.

“They’re getting straight to the point. Not sure what the rush is.”

One splash of gray in the form of another stranger rose to his feet from the distant right, and it took ample squinting to make him out in full. He was less intimidating, granted, and it was an immense relief that no further actors resembled Priscilla. If his carrying words were anything to go by, he, too, harbored years of experience in the field.

“Your honor,” he began, “having served eight years of his life sentence, the defendant is no stranger to the criminal justice system. It is true that his reign of terror can no longer proceed behind bars, and he can never again inflict harm upon another. Even so, it is after careful reconsideration of the circumstances that the city of Coda finds his punishment too lenient relative to the barbarity of his sins. This is a man who acted with ill will and premeditation, a man who stole away three innocent women from their loved ones and their ambitions.”

Octavia scoffed under her breath. She’d already counted at least four incorrect statements in the span of several sentences. If only he knew.

“There can be no justice for these families while he still yet draws breath and lives another day. Your honor, what this man deserves is what should have been handed down upon him to begin with. The city of Coda argues that Vincent Vacanti should be put to death to atone for his heinous crimes. No further argument.”

The mention of his name aloud was enough to leave her burning. For how she’d eternally caught it in hushed whispers and treaded razor-thin lines to acknowledge him, this was wrong. He was a solemn secret not meant for the open air, and yet his truth was set free without care. It was sacrilegious. For others to know his crimes was jarring. For others to know of him at all was jarring. It was only by the grace of the sickest privileges that she could guard what secrets remained, and--for once--she was grateful for the gruesome burden she carried. She’d have to share it soon enough.

“Harsh,” Josiah muttered.

“Defense.”

One powerful word from the woman’s mouth was enough to banish the man Octavia assumed to be the prosecutor--provided she was understanding this correctly. They were puzzle pieces she hardly wished to assemble, slowly falling into place on a board she hated maintaining. The judge handled the room with grace, trading one bland stranger for another entirely. He, too, was unremarkable and well-projecting, differentiated by his positioning alone. From the left, he rose to his feet.

“Your honor, there is little denial as to the nature of the defendant’s actions. He has accepted and acknowledged them, including recognizing their heinous nature. It serves as a testament to his character that, despite his inability to meaningfully recall the events of that fateful night, he has served his sentence thus far with no resistance. Within the prison walls, the defendant is a model prisoner himself, with no infractions or incidents to speak of. He carries no prior criminal history, and his actions that evening do not speak to his character. ‘Mistake’ is too loose a term to describe what the defendant did to those women that night. Even so, to bestow the death penalty unto a man who does not so much as remember his own choices is a cruel perversion of justice. The defense argues that Mr. Vacanti should maintain his current sentence of life imprisonment to atone for his deeds. No further argument.”

“So they at least know he doesn’t remember,” Octavia whispered.

Josiah nodded. “Yeah. That’ll help.”

“Prosecution,” the judge began anew. “Do you have any witnesses?”

The prosecutor was once more on his feet, rising from the right with a nod. “Yes, your honor. The prosecution calls Vincent Vacanti to the stand.”

Oh, God.

The miniscule wave of whispers that drifted past paled in comparison to the blood rushing through Octavia’s ears. If she would see him, then he would perhaps see her in turn. At least one of those was unavoidable. She wasn’t sure which of them she feared more.

“Geez,” Josiah groaned, recoiling with disgust. “They can do that? And this is all happening way too fast. I’ve never seen one of these before, but I’m fairly certain this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.”

Octavia barely even registered his words. She was too busy drinking in Vincent Vacanti’s visage as he rose into the light. He’d been distant, and yet there all the same, shielded by an angle that had spared her heart. Eight years had been kind to him, even by his back alone. Caged behind cold walls, his composure had endured--slandered or otherwise. Gone were the lovely hues of royal blues that had adorned his body, elegant fabrics replaced with restrictive attire. Still, its dull shades paled in comparison to rich, jet-black locks that she’d witnessed so many times in so many tolls.

He moved slowly, and her eyes found his wrists bound by glistening metal. Harmless and untainted by agony, his treatment spoke to the opposite. Flanked on his left by a man she presumed to be law enforcement--if his outfit was anything to go by--he was never alone on his shuffling voyage to the stand she dreaded.

When he turned at that vulnerable angle to face the room at large, Octavia caught the way his eyes lingered upon every gaze in turn. Her opportunity to match his own was fleeting, miniscule, and--for him--ultimately meaningless. For her, it was everything. Deep, brilliant cerulean met her with gentle sorrow, and Octavia could hardly breathe. That was enough. He was the absolute splitting image of Viola.

“Mr. Vacanti, do you agree to tell the truth upon this stand and to this courtroom, under penalty of perjury?” the judge asked.

He nodded, the long waves of his hair rustling in just the slightest. They, too, were scathingly familiar. His voice was raspy, soft, and delicate--nothing Octavia would associate with a killer. “I do.”

There was zero hesitation. The prosecutor didn’t spare one moment, just as he didn’t dare spare Vincent. Any closer and he would’ve stolen that hollow sorrow from the rest of the room, the broken man’s view narrowed to him alone. “Mr. Vacanti, you stand here today to answer once again for the terrible sins you have committed. To take a life is to--”

“Can I say something?”

Vincent’s interruption was as sudden as it was gentle, his words powerful and soft all at once. Where Octavia expected ire on the part of the prosecutor, she instead found surprise. The leeway that followed was equally shocking.

“Go ahead,” the man granted.

“Thank you,” Vincent murmured. His shoulders rose and fell once with the labor of a deep breath.

“I don’t deny any of the things I did. Whether or not I remember them is irrelevant. I know what happened. I know what these hands of mine have done. For that, I know I can never truly be forgiven. I will accept whatever punishment comes to me. I have no regrets in saying so.”

His statement draped the courtroom in silence. Octavia squeezed Josiah’s hand once more, her heart threatening to burst.

“Well, let me correct myself. Of the regrets that I have, there is nothing that can be done. I will take them to my grave without struggle,” he continued. “Do as you will. I am indifferent as to where this verdict takes me.”

Collective murmuring, once dulled, again besieged the room. Josiah gritted his teeth. “Idiot,” he hissed among scattered whispers.

“Can you blame him?” Octavia murmured sadly.

Josiah closed his eyes, forcing several deep breaths of his own. “No,” he said at last, “but it just made your job a lot harder.”

The craftsmanship of the hardwood benches was lovely. Octavia appreciated it. It was a shame that the butterflies in her stomach were going to stain it with her breakfast.

“T-The prosecution rests,” the prosecutor stammered.

Even the judge wasn’t immune to raising an eyebrow. “Defense, do you wish to proceed with your cross-examination of Mr. Vacanti?”

When Vincent challenged the defense with empty eyes alone, the man shook his head. “No, your honor.”

She nodded. “Prosecution, do you have any other witnesses?”

“We do not, your honor.”

“As to the defense?”

The man shook his head. “We do n--”

“Now!” Josiah whispered harshly.

A tight, sharp squeeze of Octavia’s hand was the only thing that returned her to reality. She wasn’t sure exactly where she summoned the strength to speak. Shouting was even more of a surprise.

“I volunteer as a witness!” she yelled, leaping to her feet. Her volume, truthfully, was enough to startle even herself. With one hand cast high and the other still firmly secure in Josiah’s, both were trembling in equal measure. Adrenaline wasn’t helping.

Whispers and murmurs were no longer whispers and murmurs. An uncontrolled commotion had taken its place, in turn. Octavia had seen that kind of gavel, specifically, depicted on paper once. Today, she figured out how it worked.

“Order!” the judge called, her eyes narrow and vicious.

She didn’t get what she wanted for at least another ten seconds. That much was enough for Octavia to second-guess why she was here at all.

“And…who are you, exactly?” the judge asked, her cold tone enough to hurt.

Octavia gulped. She’d rehearsed this part exactly once. She prayed she could remember the wording.

“I was…there. That night, as a child, I was there. Eight years ago, I never got the chance to speak up. I’ve been waiting. Please, let me tell you what I saw, with my own eyes.”

It sounded good in her head. She crossed her metaphorical fingers.

The judge blinked. She turned her head sharply towards the man eyeing Octavia, tethered flames jerking in the wake of her motions. “Defense?”

For a moment, the defense didn’t answer. “What…is your name?” he finally spoke.

She hoped her voice was louder than the ringing in her ears.

“Octavia,” she answered, her words dangerously unstable. “Ellis. Octavia Ellis.”

The man nodded. “The defense calls Octavia Ellis to the stand.”

There was no going back.

Letting go of Josiah’s hand was the second-hardest part, short of actually willing her feet to shuffle forward and into the aisle. Each step forward in the direction of the semicircle left her lightheaded. It was a miracle she remembered how to walk at all, given how the wrong words leaving her lips could cost a man his life. Octavia soaked in only silence as she moved, and that was somehow worse. Their eyes, scattered and honed all the same, sliced painfully into her skin. She couldn’t breathe.

Stradivaria’s case brushed against her shoulders, the rugged material snagging her hair in the wake of erratic movements. She strongly contemplated mentally begging for his companionship. If her own words were to determine a man’s fate, then she desperately needed those that would comfort her in turn.

This boy never ceases to surprise me.

That wasn’t him.

The voice that graced her from within was far from Stradivaria’s. She’d caught it yesterday, in the heat of an argument not meant to be shared. The way by which her footsteps slowed in the slightest was involuntary. It took conscious effort to press forward, particularly with dozens of eyes pinning her on every side.

Who…are you? she asked instead. She wasn’t sure if this should've been her focus right now.

Your interpreter, as it would seem. I do not necessarily appreciate being used as such, but the concept is amusing enough that I will humor him. Perhaps, in one of his better moods, he will permit me a formal introduction to you, oh Ambassador.

She blinked, her slogging footsteps practically endless. She entertained the idea of making them slower. Etherion?

I will speak on his behalf. Know my words to be his. Have you something for him, I will relay it as such. What next you hear will be from his lips alone.

Madrigal had done the same, once, brief as it was. For how Lyra had been shared between them, the Maestra had assembled a party of three bound only by the privilege of the Ambassador. It was an odd time to at last hear the Muse's voice in full. Still, she thanked him silently. When Josiah said he wouldn’t leave her side, he’d meant it. It was so like him.

If you get stuck, do what I tell you, and exactly what I tell you.

The voice that came to her was not Josiah’s proper. Instead, she was blessed with the smooth, soft tones she’d come to associate with his presumed partner. When she stopped briefly to peer over her shoulder, Josiah’s crossed arms confirmed the origin of those words once and for all. This was going to take time to get used to.

She pressed on. Right.

Penetrating the semicircle once and for all was painful. Still, it wasn’t as awful as she’d feared. She chalked up the relief to the bubble of isolation popped by the person-and-a-half in her head. Vincent had since returned to his own seat, taking his place beside the defense. Moving past each set of prying eyes was vividly uncomfortable. Moving past him, in particular, was agonizing. Octavia couldn’t help the way their gazes touched, mingling for what felt like far too long. The bottomless sea in his eyes threatened to swallow her whole. She struggled to hold her breath.

She’d been correct in her assumption that the witness stand afforded a view of the full room at an accommodating angle. From where she stood, every face was visible with relative clarity, even of those who’d opted to sit in the back. At the very least, despite the incredible intimidation that came with each gaze and glare upon her, the sight of Josiah’s reassuring smile from afar warmed her heart. He even gave a playful little wave, just barely peeking over the head of the hardwood backing in front of him. She regretted her inability to return it.

Do your best.

She couldn’t nod, let alone draw attention to herself through non-verbal expression. Even a smile was out of the question, given the circumstances, as badly as she wanted to offer one. As long as I know you’re there.

I’m not going anywhere.

“Octavia Ellis, do you agree to tell the truth upon this stand and to this courtroom, under penalty of perjury?” the judge demanded.

That was out of the question. As Josiah would say, lying by omission was still lying. Knowing everything that she knew, and dodging what was dangerous to say? She was about to lie her heart out.

“I do.”

If Harper were the judge, she’d already be in prison.

The defense approached her podium, the man’s steps heavy even against the plush carpet below. Octavia did her best to breathe. It was useless. Still, an attempt was an attempt.

You can’t admit to being in three places at once. You’re going to lose your credibility immediately, came Josiah’s words, hastily-interpreted and far more audibly pleasing than his usual voice. Talking about Harper’s mother is dangerous. There’s no real safe way for you to have been there and gotten out. You’re gonna have to choose one of the other two and lean hard on that.

She hadn’t considered that part. There went her all-seeing Ambassador privileges. As quickly as possible, she mentally weighed which of Viola’s two tolls she recalled best.

“How old are you, Octavia?” the man began, his voice a bit softer than she’d expected.

It made sense. Technically, they were on the same side. “F-Fifteen,” she stuttered.

He nodded. “At the time of the Vacanti murders, you were seven years old?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Tell us where you were that night.”

She closed her eyes. She mentally flipped a coin.

“I-I was walking back home from playing with friends. We were out for a few hours. It got dark. I was late. I got scared, and I got a bit lost. I don’t…actually remember what side of the city I was on. It was so long ago.”

That took care of the ambiguous location, hopefully. With her limited eyesight and flashing snippets, combined with her poor knowledge of Coda geography, guessing her location would’ve been dangerous. She prayed it was enough of an excuse.

“Even so, I-I still remember what I saw, and I’ll never forget it as long as I live.”

Granted, that wasn’t a lie.

“I came around a corner, trying to find my way back to a road I knew, and there was this woman with…long blonde hair, a-and fair skin. She had a work uniform of some kind on. I think maybe she worked with plants? It had a lot of green stains. It doesn’t matter. She was walking, and…”

Octavia embellished her words with actions, aiming one regretful finger at a sitting Vincent across the semicircle. Simply implicating him felt awful. “That man, he was chasing her. She fell, and she landed on her face really hard. She tried to get away, but he wouldn’t let her. And then he…stabbed her. In the throat, over and over, until she…”

She paused for emphasis, doing what she could to let the obvious point sink in around the room. She went so far as to fix the defense with the most sorrowful look she could muster. Ideally, he wouldn’t confuse it with something far more anxious.

“She stopped moving. And breathing,” she concluded, forcing her voice to wobble.

The defense nodded. Internally, Octavia praised her own performance. She dared Josiah to call her a terrible actor again.

We’re here to argue on behalf of insanity, remember? You’re not done.

Octavia winced. I was getting there.

“But he was acting weird,” she interjected suddenly.

“Weird in what way?” asked the defense, the man tilting his head as he eyed her.

This entire testimony was going to be a nightmare to manage without mentioning Dissonance. Octavia racked her brain for every smokeless symptom she could recall, rapidly doing what she could to interpret them to the average eye. No one could counter whatever claims she could make, regardless.

“He was…it’s hard to describe. At first, I thought maybe he was drunk, but it was different. He was moving strangely. He was kinda…stumbling around, making these jerky movements every few steps. He wasn’t paying attention to where he was going. He was running, but he could barely run in a straight line. He kept saying weird things under his breath. I couldn’t make out what, but I remember that part really well.”

She didn’t remember that part at all, actually. She’d completely made up the last one. It wasn’t as though they’d know.

“Most of all, his eyes were all…glassy. It’s like he wasn’t even there. Even when he was…done, he barely reacted. He just got up and walked away. He just left her there. It’s like he didn’t even know what he was doing.”

Octavia was well aware that she was pushing the angle hard. Striking a balance between planting the seed and remaining impartial was a struggle.

Again, the defense nodded. “And what did you do after Mr. Vacanti left the scene?”

Lying was getting easier. “I was scared. I didn’t want to get hurt, so I ran away. I know it was wrong, and I think about it every day. I found my way home. I cried. I never told anyone, not up until today. I regret leaving that woman there that night.”

“And, Miss Ellis, if I might ask, what drew you here today? How did you learn of this trial, specifically?”

That was a problem. The trials were public, granted. Still, they didn’t seem to be advertised, let alone specified by defendant. To stumble across Vincent’s, in particular, would be nothing short of a miracle. ‘Coincidence’ was a dangerous argument.

She tried anyway, casting her better judgment aside. “Coincidence. I really…think it was fate. I’ve never sat in on a trial before. I planned all week to come by today and see one, just to see what it was like. When I heard his name, I couldn’t believe it. It was like…destiny. It was like God was giving me a second chance.”

Really laying it on thick.

Shut up.

Even with a raised eyebrow to meet her honeyed words, they were apparently enough. “I see. It certainly is an extraordinary stroke of luck that you would find yourself here, again, face-to-face with the man who drew blood before your eyes that fateful evening. And you’re confident that the killer was the defendant?”

She nodded. “I haven’t forgotten his face. I’ll never forget his eyes, even if they’re not the same empty ones I saw that night.”

Octavia didn’t dare look in his direction. The way the hairs on her skin were slowly rising were at least a slight indication that those eyes had settled upon her, for better or worse.

“As to the woman whose life he took, had you ever seen her before?”

She shook her head. “No, sir.”

“So, Miss Ellis, just to reiterate, you believe with confidence that Mr. Vacanti’s behavior that night was abnormal?”

“I know something wasn’t right. I’ve never met him personally, but I’ve never seen someone act like that before. I feel like ‘insane’ is a really mean word to use, but it’s the first one I can think of. He was just…off. I really, really don’t think he knew what he was doing.”

There. She’d at least put the word out there. If nothing else, she doubted anyone would’ve suspected she had a motive. She was getting good at this.

“That is all of the questions I have. The defense rests.”

Nicely done, Josiah praised as the man returned to his seat.

Octavia tilted her head. I kinda expected him to ask more questions. Was that really enough?

“Prosecution, you may proceed with your cross-examination.”

She had completely, totally, and utterly forgotten that that was a risk at all.

When the prosecutor in question stepped a bit too close to the stand for comfort, by which she could study the threads of his suit, her stomach twisted into knots. Whatever confidence she’d cobbled together rapidly slipped through her fingers. The pine of the stand was nice, too. It made for another unfortunate target of her breakfast.

Apparently, it showed. Calm down. Keep your story straight. Don’t change anything and don’t go in any direction you haven’t already gone. Don’t let this guy screw you over.

“Miss Ellis,” he began firmly, “first of all, I would like to commend your bravery in coming forward after all of these years. I imagine it wasn’t easy to dredge up all of those awful memories again, especially after bottling them up for so long.”

Don't think about it.

“You state that you witnessed the defendant behaving…erratically that evening, during the course of his crimes?”

She had most definitely witnessed the defendant. She did what she could to shelve a chuckle over his poor choice of words. “Yes, sir, like I stated. He didn’t seem…all there.”

The man crossed his arms. “And what would you consider to be ‘all there’? What would lead you to believe his actions to be unsound?”

He was going in circles. It was annoying. “It’s like I said. He looked disoriented--and he acted disoriented, too. He almost fell every time he moved, he was muttering all this nonsense to himself, he was breathing really heavy and ragged, and the look on his face was so out of it. He wasn’t drunk. I’ve seen drunk. That wasn’t it.”

“And this is different from Mr. Vacanti’s usual behaviors?”

Octavia winced. “It’s…different from anyone I’ve ever seen. I’ve never seen someone--”

“Pardon my bluntness, Miss Ellis, but at the age of seven, there was still much to be seen in the world. It is not unfeasible that the behaviors you witnessed that evening weren’t as unique as you were led to believe.”

“Objection!” the defense called, rising hastily from his seat. “Speculation!”

From her own position, the judge narrowed her eyes. “Sustained. Prosecution, please watch your wording.”

Octavia dug her fingernails into the edges of the stand. What do I do?

Relax. Don’t let him throw you off.

“In that case, Miss Ellis, you stated you’ve never met the defendant before, correct?”

She nodded. “Not on a personal level, no. Today is the first time I’ve ever seen him.”

“At the age of seven, were you aware of his social standing in Coda?”

She shook her head. “At the time, no. I know who he is now--who he was, at least. Not a lot, but a little bit. Art trade, I think.”

“So you knew nothing as to his personal character, then?”

Damn it.

What?

I think I know where this is going.

“Miss Ellis?”

Josiah’s words were distracting enough that it took effort to acknowledge the prosecutor. “N-No, I didn’t know him personally.”

“Then how could you, at seven years old, be certain that Mr. Vacanti’s behaviors were so unlike him?”

I need you to stall for time for as long as you can. Now.

Distant shuffling and a fierce bang drew Octavia’s attention. So, too, did most eyes in the room snap to the exit. Whoever had departed left excessive noise in their wake, the door slamming open just as loud as it shut. Even if she couldn’t see him from here, Octavia knew. It was enough for her to panic.

Josiah?

Stall!

“Miss Ellis, please.”

She struggled to blink the fear out of her eyes. “It’s true I didn’t know him then, but I know him now, and I know he wasn’t acting like himself. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Miss Ellis, you yourself have said that you still do not know the defendant on a personal level. You’ve stated today is the first time you’ve ever seen him in full. Is that still the truth?”

She gritted her teeth. “I know of him. I know his legacy.”

Probably Soulful, if Viola’s bloodline was anything to go by. Maybe her choice of words wasn’t much better.

“You admit, then, that you do not know the real Vincent Vacanti, the man behind the mask of proper business and morals?”

“I-I…” she stammered.

“Could you testify as to his character? As to the man he is behind closed doors?”

Keeping calm was agonizing. “You guys said it earlier. He’s been great in prison. He hasn’t given anyone any problems. He’s peaceful right now, even in the face of being threatened with his own death. That’s the kind of character I believe him to have, and it doesn’t match with what I saw that night.”

“With all due respect, Miss Ellis,” the man nearly growled, “‘beliefs’ do not count for much within the walls of the courtroom. The defendant you see before you, the defense has argued, is a changed man. Even if that were to be the case, from what has he changed? From whom has he changed? What kind of man was he that evening? Before that evening, even?”

Octavia wanted to scream. It took immense effort not to do so. Stalling was getting difficult, and not just in terms of generating content. “Has no one ever testified to his character before? In the last trial?”

The man shook his head. Either he was losing his patience, or this was part of his job. She believed either one. “The details of prior cases are not to be disclosed without proper clearance.”

“Prosecution,” the judge warned sharply, “do you have any more questions for the witness?”

She was being rushed. Once more, panic was setting in. There was no Josiah to guide her this time.

The prosecutor sighed. “No, your honor. The prosecution re--”

“Wait!” Octavia cried, gripping the stand for dear life.

“Restrain yourself, Miss Ellis, or I will have you removed from this courtroom!” the judge snapped.

She had exactly one idea. Whether or not it would work was debatable.

“If I can get someone to testify about his character, would you accept that testimony?” she practically pleaded.

The prosecution scowled. She was most definitely making this man’s job difficult. “You intend to procure a witness with such credibility so late into this trial?”

She nodded. Ideally, no one could see her sweating.

“Do you understand, Miss Ellis, that such a witness would need to be able to provide a testimony as to the defendant’s character as of and prior to the night he committed his crimes?”

Again, she nodded. “I would just need someone who could testify about the kind of person he was eight years ago, right?”

“Correct,” he hissed.

Idea or not, she was making empty promises. Josiah needed to hurry. “There’s a witness I can provide who fulfills all of that criteria. They’re readily available. They’re so close that I could go outside and get them.”

The judge raised an eyebrow. “Miss Ellis, this trial is not to be extended. We’ve got no time to waste hunting for additional witnesses. You, as a witness yourself, should not be referring more witnesses in the first place. That responsibility should only lie with the defense. You are setting up a potential conflict of interest, and I must respectfully--”

“I’ll testify to his character!”

The tell-tale bang of the innocent and abused alabaster doors, thrown wide yet again, was twofold, for once. On either side, a door nearly collided with the wall, hurried and desperate hands slamming into the wood with greater force than was necessary. To Octavia’s immense relief, Josiah had assaulted one.

The equally beautiful sight of equally beautiful eyes, resolute and glorious, nearly brought Octavia to her knees. A confident voice, clear as crystal, brought the tense atmosphere grinding to a halt. Five powerful words from the mouth of one young Maestra served as the catalyst for a loaded silence.

Viola didn’t lock eyes with Octavia, nor Josiah, nor the prosecution or defense. She declined even to search for, let alone acknowledge, Vincent. Instead, she trained her harsh, challenging gaze on the judge’s own, fire and ice waging wordless combat. Where Octavia’s face had been plagued by only fear, she found zero upon Viola’s own. The courage she wore was iridescent.

The silence didn’t last. The commotion that followed spread like wildfire, resistant to desperate calls for order. It was a miracle Octavia could still hear her own thoughts over the uproar. The judge was nearly forced to shout over the ceaseless cacophony to be heard at all.

“State your name and purpose! There is to be order in this courtroom!”

With one hand pressed firmly over her heart, the Maestra was wholly unfazed. “I will testify to his character,” she repeated. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know about this man, up until that night.”

“Your name,” the judge snapped, quieter as the noise dimmed at last.

“Viola,” she spoke confidently, pausing for a moment. “Vacanti.”

Three syllables was enough to undo the peace. In an instant, what calm had been restored was shattered, surprise erupting from wide eyes and astonished lips. Participants and onlookers alike practically leapt to their feet in every direction. Nearly every gaze darted back and forth between Viola and the judge, still deeply engrossed in a lethal staredown. Where one Vacanti clung to determination, another Vacanti entirely was stricken by shock. He, too, was on his feet, his eyes plagued by such shimmer that they matched his sea.

“Viola?” he asked aloud, his soft voice just barely audible amongst the chaos around him.

Octavia held her breath. Not once had Viola’s eyes fallen to Vincent. She wasn’t sure exactly what would happen once they did.

“Viola,” she watched Vincent breathe once more, syllables mouthed in disbelief. Borderline tearful as he was, her heart was breaking on his behalf.

He gazed at her with abject wonder and an unbroken line of sight. It took him time to raise his shackled wrists to his forehead, lowering his head in what Octavia assumed to be a silent prayer. His long, somewhat-unkempt bangs had fallen over glistening pupils, waves of fraying black obscuring both her view and his own. She really, genuinely, pitied a man whose shoulders began to tremble in the slightest. Soon enough, they shook violently, wracked with sobs.

The same shoulders were not meant to breathe violet. Even so, sobs gave way to spindling fog, streaming parallel as it climbed into the open air. Deep and nearly blackened as every rising wisp was, they matched closely with the threateningly-dark shades of his hair. One was far more lethal than the other.

For a moment, it was all she could do to blink. She thought to rub her eyes. Of the place, it was improbable. Of the situation, it was impossible. Of the man, it was absolutely unthinkable.

She was wrong. Denial took far too long to conquer. He wasn’t unlike a suffering Ivy she’d encountered days prior. Harmless wisps that trickled aloft evolved to crash in a sickening stream, blanketing his body like the sickest of toxins along every pore. He steeped in malignance incarnate, thickening with each passing second and labored breath. When he lifted his head from his hands at last, even his exhales were tinged with the same congealed clouds, rolling menacingly as they snowballed ever larger.

And like Ivy, he, too, became a fountain.

There were differences between the first time and the second time. His Hell was no longer within, for one. Instead, out it came, equally free and equally deadly. It moved slowly, a thick, bubbling haze of smoke that drifted outwards in every direction. It spread in far too many directions, really, given the quantity of people vaguely adjacent to him. Even at a slower pace than Ivy, there was still a lot. It was still coming. It was still bound to be overwhelming, if not deadly.

The deep sea of a gaze not unlike Viola’s had dried up. What now claimed the whites of his eyes was the worst violet had to offer, wisps of smoky tears trailing down his cheeks in excess. His shackles didn’t hold, and one singular, metallic crack was all it took for the straining metal to snap clean in half. Whether the material had grown weaker or he had grown stronger, Octavia was unsure.

She couldn’t reach for Stradivaria fast enough, eyes wide with panic. She couldn’t stifle denial, much the same. “No, no, no, no!”

It was only via her frantic cries that Viola and Josiah noticed, the onset of awful screeching finally besieging their eardrums in turn. With one look, Josiah recoiled. With her own glance, Viola’s world shattered into pieces. Her eyes, in turn, had flooded with fear, if not more. Every anguished emotion in the world flickered past her pupils in sequence, her breath rattling. She was speechless. She was motionless. She was left to watch as the Dissonance grew, billowing purple doubling and tripling in quantity. So, too, had the vicious fog begun to swell horrifically near to those who knew nothing of agony.

Still, even now, her fingers moved instinctively towards Silver Brevada. Lightning struck twice, history repeated, and Vincent Vacanti’s personal Hell began anew.