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Octavia had always wanted siblings. It was a desire born out of loneliness, out of wistful longing watching her mother and uncle work as a unit, sharing secrets and being each other’s confident. She had wanted someone who played with her when her dad was too tired from meetings, or away doing his royal duties. She had wanted someone to share her dreams, someone to support her the same way Uncle Andre always came to her mum’s side the moment she felt upset.

She still clearly remembered the day she had announced her wish to her parents. It was her tenth birthday and, for reasons unknown to her at the time, dad had agreed to throw a lavish party, giving in whatever mum asked—the cake, the entertainment, the endless list of guests—for the party. It was probably only upped by her Presentation Day and her eighteenth birthday party. She also remembered walking to her parents at the breakfast table and proudly announcing she knew what she wanted for her birthday.

“I want something unique. Something that will be just mine forever.”
“Oh?” her dad had sat down the letter on his hands, a small and joyous smile on his face. “What is it, my Starfire? Shall I capture a Star just for you?”
Octavia had laughed, unaware of how truthful and possible those words were. She had shaken her head, sat between them and beamed as the words left her beak: “I want a younger sibling. Somone who will be with me forever, like Uncle Andre with mum.”
She hadn’t understood the look in her parents eyes. Her mum had distractingly patted her feathers, her talons faint and trembling—which Octavia had confused with excitement—as she said: “We shall see. A sibling will not come right anyway, Octavia, and you need a gift for tonight.”
“But I will have my sibling, right, daddy?” At ten, dad had never failed to make Octavia’s wishes come true regardless of how wild and impossible they looked. He would have given her his own legions if she had asked.“…I-It is as your mother says, my love. But we shall see,” and Octavia had missed how faint his voice had sounded, as if he hadn’t been there at all but miles and miles away.

Octavia hadn’t got a sibling when she became ten or the years that followed. She hadn’t stopped asking until she was thirteen and the idea of a baby waking her up at night or toddling after her was utterly unappealing. She declared as such the morning of her birthday too, looking at her dad with imploring eyes as she asked for her favourite band to perform at her birthday.

“I really think I deserve it as a ‘make-it-up’ gift for never getting that sibling.” Octavia had said in that way all teenagers had to pass their wishes as reasonable requests.
“Absolutely not!” her mother had said with a disgusted face. “This party is a respectable social event, Octavia, not a…commoner’s gathering. We will have proper entertainment.”
Octavia had already known that her mother would refuse, so she turned to her father and gave him the most disarming and wounded look she could muster. “All my friends are into this band. Please, daddy, this is all I want for my birthday.”
“Don’t you dare, Stolas,” mum had warned in that voice that meant business and long, long lectures for disobedience, but Octavia had just pushed with sad little trills until her dad’s resolve broke. “Octavia, stop it. Stolas, I swear if you…”
“We will have a proper, well-renowned Symphony playing for us adults in the Grand Ballroom, as you wish, Stella,” dad had said in that voice that allowed no buts and arguments, the one Via only saw him use at court. She had trembled with wet eyes, until he turned soft eyes on her and stroke her cheeks, “And for you and your friends, we will have this band you want playing in the smaller ball room, a private concert for your very own private birthday, my special Starfire.”
“STOLAS! You can’t be serious! People will speak!”
“And you will let them speak,” dad had finished with that same icy voice before returning to his breakfast, leaving a startled Stella and an overly excited Octavia.

Octavia never expected to end up with a sibling, a sister to be precise, and for her to be older than her. Life had changed more in the last year than in the past seventeen years of her life. Ten-year-old Octavia would have never imagined her parents divorcing or her dad having an affair. Thirteen-year-old Octavia would have been ashamed of knowing that her party had caused his father so much distress behind closed doors. Stolas hadn’t talked to her in detail about the ins and outs of his and Stella’s marriage, but after the plaster was ripped off, Octavia hadn’t been able to unsee the ugly truth of her parents’ marriage.

She still struggled with those harsh truths and the misplaced guilt over their divorce. Therapy had helped with a lot of the sudden changes—mum moving to a different city in Pride; dad dating his affair partner; juggling her admiration and kinship towards Loona and her conflicting feelings for Blitz—but there were still times when she mourned for those past memories that were true but not the whole true. And with mourning came the guilt, the shame for missing a time where life was bad for her father and mother, when they were both unhappy and miserable and the only one happy was her.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Octavia focused on her projects when the palace felt overcrowded.

She made a routine of waking up early and have her meals in her workshop whenever Blitz was over. She had even enlisted the assistance of the servants to avoid bumping into the imp, and whether the servants commiserated with her feelings, they were extremely helpful and supportive of their princess. Octavia only came out of her hiding place when she was sure Blitz was either gone or had brought Loona with him.

It wasn’t a long-term solution. Octavia knew she had her days numbered and the only reason she was still allowed to skip meals in the dining room was because her dad was giving her space. Stolas would eventually make subtle suggestions about doing something ‘all together’.  Like a family. Stolas hadn’t dared to say the last part out loud—which Octavia was thankful for—but it was implicit.

Her last family had been a hermetic fortress with strong and cold stone walls. It had taken a spark—a long overdue spark, a romantic flare—to burn the people inside, leaving them trapped in that inferno that knew no mercy until their bodies were almost charcoal and unrecognisable. And the fortress hadn’t collapsed, hadn’t succumbed to the ferocity of the flames or to the screams of its inhabitants; it was abandoned. They fled from it and never looked back—except that Octavia looked back from time to time, tempting those flames to see if they had mellowed and were just a warmth, hopeful bonfire in a winter, frozen night.

Stella had removed her presence from the palace almost completely. The painting of her parents’ wedding had been vandalised, and if it hadn’t been Stolas’ face the one scribbled all over and cut from the painting, Octavia wouldn’t have believed that was her mother’s doing. Any portrait of her was taken, every picture of them as a family ruined, and every picture of her and Octavia was left behind. Octavia liked to believe it was a mercy, her mother’s way to leave something for her daughter when she moved out.

It hurt too much thinking that the paintings were abandoned like Octavia herself. It hurt a lot more to think that Stolas and Stella had had their last all out fight when Stolas demanded she let Octavia keep pictures of her and Stella’s answer was a curt “If she wanted to see me, she should have told the court she wanted to live with me and not with you” before she left. She still had left the paintings, and Octavia had safely moved them to her room.

Octavia stared at those paintings when she felt sad and she missed the mum in her mind more than the person she was now, or maybe, she had always been that way and Octavia had never noticed. She stared at the family portrait in their visit to Loo Loo Land—the only one dad could restore for her—when she missed the easy days of childhood, the days her fortress was a home and not a graveyard.

Everyone had moved on. Dad. Mum. They were building new homes, new fortresses, and Octavia was just standing in the middle of that forked path, staring ahead wondering if she had a place in either place, if she and her broken and missing pieces could meet their expectations.

Knock knock.

Octavia jumped, scalpel falling loudly to the ground. She let out a squeak and turned her head around, staring with wild, surprised eyes at her dad. Stolas was at the door wearing his robe, his eyebrows frown in worry, and in his hands he was holding a tray with dinner and a tall glass with some fizzy drink. Usually, when it got this late, he sent a servant to bring her food. It was a way to give her space…but lately it just seemed like him putting distance between them.

Like mum.

“Is that late already?” she asked with a tired voice, and he nodded. “Sorry, dad. I just want to finish this project. It’s taking longer than I expected.”

Stolas nodded again. “It is all right. May I come in, Via?”

“Isn’t Blitz here?”

“Blitz can entertain himself for a while.” Octavia nodded briefly, and Stolas walked into her workshop with dinner. He set it on an unoccupied table and sat with her. “Talk to me, Starfire. This is… I understand when you invest your time in your passions. I am no better,” he started, face softening as he pushed some of her feathers away from her face. “You have been here for days now, Via. What is it, darling? You can talk to me. Please.”

It was a testament that Blitz had been at the palace almost every day that week, and the week before—but Loona had been with him, and Octavia hadn’t felt awkward spending time with them—and Octavia wanted to ask when he was leaving. But she didn’t ask. Her dad had been laughing nonstop the last two weeks. He had been humming silly songs to himself, smiling, and the palace felt lived in. It no longer was a place with big dining rooms and empty halls. It felt like a home.

Just not her home. Octavia’s home had been a quieter place. It was a place with her mum’s loud laughter taking over every space, her voice commanding attention, and Octavia had watched her with quiet admiration. It was a place where dad and Octavia had shared private jokes over breakfast, where they talked quietly while feeding dad’s plants, a place where she only needed to call her dad once for him to be there in an instant. Her home was a place where her mum’s expectations lived like a flesh thing, staring at them from the walls and her dad’s soft, placating voice reminded her to be kind—asked her, pleaded with her—and mindful of mum’s feelings even when, if push came to shove, Stolas would side with Octavia if only to make her happy.

Home was she and dad enduring mum’s expectations, being each other’s solace, each other’s rock and company and that had always been enough. Except now Octavia realised she wasn’t enough; maybe she had never been enough and now dad had someone else to be his rock, someone else to share private jokes that Octavia was not privy to.

“I’m just busy,” Octavia turned back to her project, picking another scalpel from her toolbox, and bit her tongue until she tasted blood. She wanted to scream.

She wanted him to stay with her, like before, and for them to just talk. It used to be so easy.

“What are you working on?” Stolas changed his strategy and stared at the table. There was a stripe of black fur extended on the table and the toolbox on Octavia’s non-dominant side.

“Dad, I’m not in the mood for twenty-questions, okay? Just…can I finish this alone?”

Stolas’ face fell. Octavia knew by his voice, the sad trill that left his beak. “Of course, darling, I’ll let you work. Just…please eat your dinner before it gets cold and, if you feel like talking later, I will be upstairs.”

Octavia paused mid-cut, hand shaking and ruining the skin. “Won’t Blitz stay over?” she asked with an arched eyebrow, curious about that change.

“No. He is leaving after our movie. In fact, he will not come at all next week; they have a very important hit that will require some recon and planning.”

He will not come at all next week. The tautness in her stomach receded, a sense of relief invaded her body, leaving her with a floaty, bodiless feeling. Like rushing towards the surface after being underwater for too long, her chest flared in a burning pain as she breathed. He will not come at all next week.

Shuffling with the possibilities, Octavia returned the scalpel to the toolbox. The project was ruined already—she had made deeper cuts than necessary, and fluids had ruined the fur—and she could do with a break. She jumped from her stool and kissed her father’s cheek, surprising him with her sudden change in mood.

“I think I need a break. Sorry for snapping, dad, I’m just tired, and grumpy after ruining that,” she pointed at her project. “I’ll take my food upstairs and…maybe we can go out tomorrow? Have breakfast together?” she didn’t want to sound too hopeful, but she was changing her weight from one talon to another, and her fingers were twitching in anticipation.

He will not come at all next week.

A whole week with her father. Ten-year-old and thirteen-year-old Octavia wouldn’t have imagined there would be a day when they would need to fight for dad’s attention. It felt like a treat. It felt like another reminder that her home was gone. Obliterated. Mum hadn’t fought for custody in the end, and Octavia wondered if dad would care at all once she was eighteen. She wondered if he would ask her to move out since she seemed unable to move on.

Dad cupped her face and nuzzled their foreheads together, like he used to do when Octavia was a small chick and felt upset about something. He hadn’t hug her in a while—they hadn’t spent time together in a while—and the contact made her coo. She might not say it out loud, but she had missed when he hugged her, when they could share breakfast and dinner and just talk about how their days went. She had missed their quietness and how they understood each other’s hearts; she also missed their rants, their loud conversations at 2:00 a.m. with a bowl of ice cream and a trashy soap opera playing on repeat.

She hadn’t expected things to be magically fixed after the divorce, but she had hoped, maybe naïvely, to spend more time with her dad outside her magic studies.

“If you don’t mind coming with me to run some errands after breakfast. I will do a quick consult with Duke Eligos and then I will be free to do as you please.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“We could have breakfast at that nice place in Gluttony we went last time, the one with the servers wearing rolling blades—you liked the music there.”

It was hard to listen to sinner’s bands outside Pride. Octavia had been surprised the first time her dad took her to another ring and no one cared about sinners, or overlords, or E-Day. She had been genuinely impressed when she heard ‘Fuck U Dad’ coming from the speakers of the unassuming restaurant. She had been thrilled and her praise had probably stuck with her dad even if the food Gluttony wasn’t the best in.

“Thanks, dad. I’d like that.”

-.-.-.-.-.-

“Stolas!” the name was shouted from the distance. Loud, brazen, and with a distinction of something else Octavia couldn’t identify.

Octavia flinched instinctively. She had had a lifetime of people roaring her dad’s name, a lifetime of yelling and fighting, of angered voices and dismissive looks that clawed at her heart. Her face was schooled in apathetic disinterest and her hands were buried deep inside her pockets—it was the first time she was allowed to choose her clothes for something official without her mum’s critical advice—as she waited beside her father.

Duke Eligos was a tall demon—a head and a half taller than her father—with broad shoulders, expressive golden eyes and a crown of orange and marron feathers, with black feathers from his elbows to his talons. Octavia noticed that he didn’t wear gloves like her father, and his clothes were more pragmatic and in earthly colours, as if he couldn’t be bothered with the pomp that so often was associated to royalty.

“Your Grace.” Beside her, Stolas dipped his head in a pronounced bow.

Octavia only hesitated a moment before following suit, dipping her head even lower. Stella had schooled her in etiquette and the correct form of addressing other royals. She was only a precautionary heir, important enough for her dad to marry off, but not to be of actual notice to higher demons. She would have been if the duchy hadn’t skipped her father—or so her mother often lamented to Uncle Andrealphus—because then she would be a Great Princess on her own right. Stella had made sure Octavia understood her position—and her father’s position—in Hell’s hierarchy.

Duke Eligos huffed, the noise impatient, before his voice echoed in the empty lounge where the imp butler had asked them to wait with some refreshments set on a low, marble table.

“None of that, Stolas,” Eligos dismissed, quickly dragging Stolas in a strong hug. “I’ve known you since you were a nestling! Leave formality for the court.”

Stolas squeaked. Octavia looked up briefly, then bowed again, waiting to be either acknowledged or dismissed.

“Ah, c-certainly, sir.”

“This must be your daughter! She has a striking resemblance to you at that age,” Eligos said with a hint of interest in his voice. “Come, child, your back will hurt if you stay it like that.”

Octavia looked startled to be addressed at all. She was rarely talked to by any of her mother’s associates and she had never met any of her father’s. She stood up straight, unsure of what to do with a Duke of Hell staring at her with such intensity, as if he wanted to know what made her thick.

“Yes. She is my daughter, Octavia. Via, this is Duke Eligos.”

“A pleasure to mee you, Your Grace,” Octavia said and curtsied stiffly, still unsure.

Eligos smiled at her kindly, which was unexpected with his loud behaviour. “A pleasure, Octavia. As I told your father, no need for ‘Your Grace’ here. You are among friends, no matter how stubborn and prim this one,” he pointed at Stolas with his thumb, “acts at times.”

“You mentioned it was something serious and important in your letter.”

“Yes. I also mentioned it was sensitive, but you brought your daughter with you without asking first.” Eligos looked at Stolas.

Octavia tensed. She hadn’t known. Her dad hadn’t told her that his meeting was private or pertained sensitive matters that couldn’t be shared with someone else, but why would he? If Octavia had paid attention to her lessons, she would’ve remembered that most—if not all of Stolas’ consultations—were sensitive matters. She felt her face heating up and her heart’s furious thud-thud-thud beating against her chest painfully. There was another truth, another cruel reality that only now dawned on him. She would have assumed her father didn’t want to spend time with her. She wouldn’t have listened to any reason, accusing him of using weak excuses to get rid of her.

“You said no such thing.” Stolas’ voice was huffy, not scared. Octavia immediately looked up at her dad, expecting him to be tense or defensive. He was crossing his arms, and his face showed some annoyance.

Eligos sighed. “No, I didn’t. You should have told me, regardless. I would have arranged something to amuse Octavia. I remember you fell asleep every time Paimon brought you to one of our meetings.”

“I was three. Via is seventeen.”

“Three, seventeen,” Eligos made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Children don’t care about politics, Stolas. Octavia, please feel free to ask the housekeeper to show you around if get bored.”

“O-okay?” she answered in a dubious voice. The exchange had her reeling. Wasn’t he angry at her dad? Wasn’t her dad in trouble?

Duke Eligos smiled at her, and then he smiled at Stolas. “To my office, then. I have wanted to show you something for quite a while, Stolas. I got it for your birthday, truthfully, but with everything that went down it seemed inappropriate to ask you to come or dropping by unannounced. Morana is the one who insisted I was just wasting time waiting for the opportunity to come, and she may be just right. You know how she is.”

Duke Eligos’ home was beautiful and regal, but it felt more lived-in than the palace. The theme was a deep teal with touches of silver and marble floors that were so bright they reflected the people walking. The hallway they passed had paintings on the walls depicting a happy marriage. There wasn’t any underlining tension like in her parents’ wedding portrait. The more Octavia looked at that portrait the more she realised how deep her dad’s lies went; the portraits in this house were all so happy, so silly. So real.

All Octavia had inherited was a fabricated lie, so convoluted and feeble, that it fell down like a castled of cards with the slightest change. Although she would say that Blitz was a slight breeze. He was a storm, a tornado that wrecked chaos and left ruins and debris in Octavia’s heart. Her father was happy; he was content in those ruins, buzzing with life as if he wasn’t struggling to rebuild himself, or as if the ashes of his reputation didn’t mean anything to him. If the lie was no longer important, what else will stop mattering with time?

Octavia shook her head, angry at herself. Blitz wasn’t even there. She was. She had her dad all to herself for the week. Why was she even thinking about that homewrecker?

She hurried up to catch up with her dad, but as soon as she turned to her left she stopped dead on her tracks. The first portrait on that second hallway was of Duke Eligos and a beautiful raven who looked tall and regal with deep purple eyes, but what had caught Octavia’s attention was the young owlet sitting on the raven’s lap and her grandfather flanking the raven’s other side.

“Dad?” she asked quietly. “Is that you?”

Duke Eligos and Stolas had stopped in front of wide crystal doors, but both turned around to look back at the portrait Octavia was pointing at. Stolas approached his daughter after a moment, when Eligos nodded and went with him. They observed the portrait. It was a commission, the background was too proper to suggest anything different, but the expression in the people’s faces was genuine.

“Ah. Yes,” Stolas said. “I must have been really young if father was there.”

Octavia arched an eyebrow, expecting a more detailed explanation. Her grandfather was a busy person, and as precautionary heir she didn’t matter enough to require his presence outside of specific occasions, but her father surely had spent more time with him.

Eligos placed his hand on Stolas’ arm. “You were. Barely a year. That is my wife,” he said to Octavia, “she bragged for months that not only she got to see you, but that Paimon let her hold you. I think only Lucifer and Lilith had seen you at the time. Paimon was very secretive with your birth and didn’t let anyone get too close.”

Octavia realised this was news for her father as well. “Hadn’t you seen this portrait before?”

“No. I haven’t visited this place in a long time. I think the last time was before I received the grimoire, when I was around eight or nine,” Stolas looked at Eligos for confirmation. “His Grace doesn’t normally host visitors.”

“The portrait used to be upstairs in my wife’s personal wing, but she is having the place remodelled and placed some portraits in here temporarily,” Eligos clarified as well.

“Are you friends with my grandfather?”

“My wife and he used to be good friends. I suppose he and I remain on good terms,” Eligos said a bit more softly, but the tinge of sorrow entered his voice.

Octavia was getting good at perceiving those subtle changes. She had had a lot of time to reflect and analyse her dad’s eyes, his voice, and the way his magic sometimes felt muted. Eligos looked at Stolas the same way Stolas sometimes looked at her—when he thought she wasn’t looking—as if he had failed.

“Shall we?” he carried on, a forced smile on his lips.

“Can I stay? I want to look at the pictures,” she said quietly. It was partially true. But she also didn’t want to feel how intense was the Duke’s sorrow. It felt alive and it tasted more ancient than her dad’s. it was less heavy, but maybe because her dad’s sorrow felt like a caged beast, like an open maw ready to snap everything in its path—overwhelming and absolute—even if right now was at a standstill, paused, sedated. The duke was like an open wound, something still flowing, like a river, still fresh enough not to smell rotten.

“Of course,” Eligos said. “You can call Clem if you wish to do something else, get a tour, or join this pair of old men and give us fresher views on politics.”

“Octavia has views on politics,” Stolas said with a smug smirk. “She has given her input in some of my own legislations, right, my Starfire?”

Octavia shrugged, embarrassed by the sudden attention. “Just a few comments,” she rolled her eyes and pretended not to care. She did. Politics were her least favourite thing but hanging out with Loona had opened her eyes to many things. Things that needed changing.

She wanted to do things differently and she knew her dad would support her. Her influence as a precautionary heir was less impactful, but for once she saw the usefulness of her mum’s teachings and used that in her favour. Her dad had also the right words, the connections to make some small changes, but the mobile vaccination centres had been approved and that was something.

“Interesting,” Eligos said. He wasn’t humouring them now. He was serious.

Good.

-.-.-.-.-

“Please, take a seat, Stolas,” Eligos sighed tiredly as he sat as well, pouring two glasses of an amber liquid. "Oh, dark Satan. It’s truly been ages since I saw you in the flesh.”

Stolas sat across the duke and gingerly accepted the glass. Had it really been that long? They had passed each other a few times when they were in Pentagram. Dawnhall Palace was the epicentre of the Royal District, and the true ruling heart of hell. It was impossible not bumping into someone. They hadn’t talked much. Stolas only stepped foot in Dawnhall when it was necessary: cataloguing prophecies, updating books for the R.A.A.S and the B.R.S., submitting the annual budget for every major ritual he needed to perform—and it was the only time every Sin was more than available for him—among other duties. He could do most things at home, and he preferred it that way.

“Stolas, I want to apologise to you.”

“Apologise?” Stolas blinked each of his eyes. “Whatever for? I can’t think of anything you should apologise for, sir.”

“At this point, for far too many things. You talk to me as if we were strangers and, as much as it pains me, I can’t blame you for the formality. Morana’s falling out with Paimon shouldn’t have stopped us from reaching out to you.”

“Oh.” Stolas didn’t know what to say to that. What to feel. He was terrible at comforting people who weren’t his daughter or Blitz. He was too blunt, or too emotional, or he jumbled all his words and made a mess. “I always assumed something had happened between her and father, but he never elaborated, and I was soon entrusted with the grimoire and had no time for mysteries.”

“Morana disagreed with Paimon’s decision to give you the grimoire,” Eligos said humourlessly. “Although, I suppose, ‘disagree’ is quite the understatement. You understand now how critical your role is in Hell’s daily functioning; it’s a heavy weight for a child to bear. Morana thought you were too young to start studying the grimoire. Paimon thought he had waited too long and should have given it to you when you had your first prophecy. It was… nasty. Many things were said, and they took it to Lucifer who ruled in your father’s favour. Paimon refused to let her see you and I didn’t insist enough; she didn’t forgive either of us.”

The grimoire was a heavy weight. Stolas shouldered it gladly, but Octavia was still mastering the theory behind the Pink Moon ritual and the Harvest Moon ritual, and she only knew a handful of spells. Prophecy wasn’t her strongest skill; she could hear the song of the universe but had yet to connect with it, to become one with the stars. There was time. She had time to grow onto that power. Stolas was going nowhere.

“The grimoire stopped obeying him the moment I was born.” The grimoire belonged to Stolas. It wasn’t a gift; it wasn’t something that could be taken away if he misbehaved. “The grimoire is mine. It answers to me and to whoever I loan it, but it will always come back to me for as long as I live. There was no other choice.”

“You don’t…need to justify Paimon’s actions.”

“I don’t.” As a father, Stolas would never justify his father’s actions. Necessity or not, his daughter would come first.

“I’m… sorry, Stolas. I’m the least indicated to tell you off about anything when I never advocated for you, especially when I should have. I did the bare minimum sending you gifts on your birthday and Octavia’s birthday, as if that meant something. I failed you every step of your life and I deeply regret it. I’m so sorry, Stolas. You shouldn’t have to go through all of that alone.”

Stolas hummed. He was used to it. That was how it had always been. He studied the grimoire on his own. He raised Octavia on his own. He learnt to keep quiet, to keep his head down and hide the bruises. Only recently he was learning to open up, to share his burden, and even then it usually took Blitz to use his dom voice for Stolas to put his bad thoughts into words. He was good at reassuring his love, at listening to him and offering forgiveness. He wasn’t as merciful to himself, as Blitz pointed out, but communication worked both ways and they were learning. It was a work in progress, just as Stolas himself.

“It’s all right, Your Grace. You sided with me during the trial and so did King Beleth.”

“Beleth would do anything Morana asked of him,” Eligos shook his head. “It was the least I owed you, Stolas. And even so, you gathered the cursing of two Sins.”

Stolas stared at his glass as memories from the months prior to the trial resurfaced with striking clarity. He had been brought low; Stella’s accusations had taken a political angle, no wonder coached by Andrealphus, and Stolas had found himself backed into a corner with few allies. Asmodeus, who recently had made his relationship with Fizzarolli public, had reached out on his Blitz’s behalf. He was a King of the Ars Goetia as well and had some sway. Beelzebub had reached out on Loona’s behalf, who had spoken on behalf of Octavia, and the Sin of Gluttony threw in her weight and influence.

None of that was Stolas’ making. Reaching out to his own allies, to the people who owed him favours for past consultations, only occurred to him when Blitz said he would call in to collect his own. His headspace had taken a deep dive into hopelessness, as it usually did, and Stolas was just as pathetic as normal.

Duke Eligos speaking on his behalf had surprised him. Perhaps it should have occurred to him to call in for his support, to reach out to Duchess Morana and plead with her for a meeting with her father. But it didn’t. Stolas hadn’t seen them since his acceptance into the Ars Goetia, and the hadn’t spoken more than a couple of words before he was ushered away by his father. The radio silence on their end had felt as a statement of something—at the time of rejection, and later that Stolas was as much a disappointment to them as he was to everyone else—and they hadn’t attended his wedding either despite being guests of honour, or the birth of his daughter. He just assumed they would be on his father’s side.

“I thought you were on father’s side.” Stolas said as much. The words weren’t meant to hurt, but even said with kindly, they were cutting. “I wouldn’t have hold it against you. I broke tradition and made a spectacle of myself and my house, and worst of all, even now, I don’t regret it. I’m not what most Ars Goetia would consider a suitable company, Your Grace.”

“Cursed Lucifer, my sister would be so ashamed of me.” Eligos downed his drink in one go.

Stolas wouldn’t know. It seemed rather pointless. Of all the dreams and fantasies Stolas had let go with age, his mother’s impressions of him were the first to go. He had been unable to meet his only living parent’s expectations. The thought of not meeting hers, whatever they might have been, had crushed him, so he let go the craving for the approval of a woman he never met.

Maybe it should be reassuring knowing his mother wouldn’t have approved of his treatment, but that changed nothing.

“You hold the esteem of many Ars Goetia. Your words gave them pause. I appreciate that you spoke on my behalf when it came to custody. Father considered your words, Your Grace, as he said in his ruling. I truly don’t mind any past action or inaction, for when it mattered the most to me you stood by my side, and I could keep my Via with me.”

“Is it that simple, Stolas?”

Nothing ever was simple. Simplicity, as many other things, was in the eye of the beholder. Guilt too. Guilt was for the person who wronged another and not for the wronged party. Stolas would always regret reducing Blitz to a cheap transaction, damaging his beloved’s sense of worth, wrapping his perception of himself and causing him so much grief with his careless actions and words. He would regret it despite Blitz saying he was forgiven, because his little love, who could hold grudges and have words as sharp as his knives, was a forgiving soul with everyone he held dear. Stolas was lucky to have his love and trust, to have a chance to make things right.

“Nothing ever is simple.” Stolas set the glass aside. He had promised to drink less, to be constant with his meds. To do better. “I don’t hold anything against you, truly. If you want my forgiveness, I grant it, Your Grace. We can’t rewrite the past. Only the present is ours to change, to live, and to shape if we want a brighter future.”

“You have grown into such a strong and wise man.”

“No,” Stolas shook his head. “I’m neither of those things. Blitz is the strong one of the two. I wouldn’t have fought half as hard if he hadn’t been by my side. He gives me strength and has made me a better person.”

“Your assassin lover.”

“Yes.” ‘Assassin’ was a better description than ‘imp’. It sounded sincere as well.

“I don’t have a right to judge any of your decisions, Stolas. I didn’t side with you only to reprimand you in private; you are a grown man, and I was barely part of your life. Your choices are yours, and I will support them the best I can. I only hope one day you see me as a friend if not family, and to earn your trust again.”

His therapist said that ‘trust’ couldn’t be earnt. It was granted or not. It was Stolas’ choice to give it and take it, and nothing anyone else said or did would change it. It had been a hard concept to swallow—Blitz had trusted him despite everything, even when Stolas didn’t trust himself—and it was only marginally better now. Another work in progress.

“I’m not formal out of spite, Your Grace.” I don’t know what else to be. “It’s a force of habit. I have called you that more than half my life.” He doesn’t remember a time where he had called Eligos ‘uncle’ and never before was he corrected.

Formality also gives Stolas a sense of structure and safety. He knew what was expected of him when it came to protocol. He didn’t offend anyone when he called them by their proper title and manner of addressing, when he showed deference—and if he didn’t offend anyone, then he wouldn’t get hurt. Informality was…harder to navigate. Stolas never knew if he was being friendly or just a nuisance. Asmodeus and he were on friendly terms now, but Stolas wouldn’t say they were friends. They hardly talked outside their double dates and most of their conversations felt stilted when they were alone.

Or perhaps Stolas was just too scared of saying something that could anger the sin.

He still called him by his full name, only dropping the ‘sire’ because he couldn’t call him that after having Blitz encouraging the sin to eat Stolas out until they broke their record of how many times Stolas could come in one night.

“I know. I don’t hold it against you. If you ever change how you feel, I will be happy with whatever name you give me.”

Stolas hummed and nodded. They were quiet for some times, each lost in their own thoughts. It was Eligos who broke it with a sense of duty, standing up but making a sign for Stolas to stay put. He went to his desk and collected a box that he brought with him to his seat. Inside, there were several leather bound journals, a locket, and a smaller cube that seemed made of metal with an intricate designed carved on its surface. Each side had different symbols and sigils.

“This is what I called you for.  Morana and I…well, that’s not important. She found this while she was cleaning the old laboratory. It’s your mother’s research, the one she was working on before she vanished. Some of my wife’s and Paimon’s journals are also here.”

Stolas stared at the box with a sense of trepidation. He had never had anything of his mother before. He had never heard his mother mentioned so much before either, as if all the taboos surrounding her were being finally lifted. He hadn’t known she possessed magic. But he didn’t even know how she looked or what was her name. He knew next to nothing about her.

“Why?” he couldn’t help but asked. “Why now?”

“I guess we tried to protect you as much as we were protecting ourselves.” Eligos deflated on his chair. Long gone was the air of command, and in his place was a defeated, ancient lord who had fought for too long and lost just as much. “Your mother, my sister, she was…very gifted in magic, but she wasn’t careful. When she vanished…we didn’t worry at first. She tended to seclude herself and ignore everyone else when she was researching. You had similar gifts and that same tendency. We feared you would want to ‘solve the mystery’ of her disappearance; you were always a curious child. Then, later, I suppose, it felt easier to keep things as they were, you asked less about her, and when Paimon cut off communication between us we took it as a sign that maybe this was best. But you’re not a child anymore and you have a right to know her.”

“I see.” Stolas didn’t touch the box even if he didn’t sense magic coming from it. The scholar in him felt curious about the journals. Would there be a wealth of knowledge and ancient arcana he hadn’t mastered yet? The lonely child felt a spark of hope. Would there be hints of who his mother was? “Do you have a picture? I have never seen her. I must admit I don’t know anything about her. Not even her name. For a long time, I simply thought she didn’t exist, and that father had made on his own.”

Eligos made a wounded sound. “I will dig up a few pictures. I didn’t… I will look for some records. You can ask anything you want. It may be thirty-five years late, but let me try and fix this. My wife would love to help as well…once she come back from her own seclusion.”

Stolas nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace. This is…deeply appreciated.”

“Right. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

Stolas breathed. A bit late for that, honestly. He was only keeping it together because he was taking a scholar approach. At least now he could accept that his headspace wasn’t the right one to dwell on all the confessions and motives behind this taboo. It hit a bit close to home for different reasons.

In that moment, the butler knocked on the door and escorted Octavia inside. Stolas zeroed in his daughter like a grounding focus, smiling at her with palpable relief. Octavia arched an eyebrow before scowling openly when she was close enough to see the drink next to her father.

“Isn’t it early to be drinking?” she asked pointedly.

“I haven’t yet, Via.”

“That is my fault. I wasn’t aware you didn’t drink anymore, Stolas.” Eligos said with a rueful smile and vanished the glass.

“I try not to, Your Grace,” Stolas said and gathered the box in his hands. It was heavy. He would make a stop at home to leave the box before taking Octavia out for lunch. The journals could wait another two hours if they had waited thirty-something years.

“What is that?”

“Oh, some books His Grace has given me. Research.”

Octavia frowned. “Nice,” she said in that voice that meant ‘boring’.

“Well. I thank you for coming, Stolas. Our conversation has been liberating. I hope you take my suggestion and don’t hesitate to reach out. Please. Maybe next time we can arrange something a bit more…family orientated, so poor Octavia doesn’t get bored.”

“I will keep it in mind, Your Grace. Thank you for your hospitality and your gift.”

-.-.-.-.-

After a quick stop at home to left dad’s box and a change of outfit, they were finally eating lunch in that restaurant Octavia liked. It was partially empty, and the music wasn’t too loud, but the colours were bright, and the weather was less damp than in Pride, which felt rather nice. Not dry, but not humid and hot.

“Will you be busy this week with research?” Octavia took a sip from her bubble tea. She was—not sneakily enough—stealing fries from her dad’s plate every now and then. She had asked a side salad with her fried rats and was regretting her healthy choice but didn’t want to switch plates yet.

“No. I have a few meetings and consultations. I will need to go to Dawnhall at the end of the week to file in some paperwork.”

Octavia stole two more fries. Confidently this time. Stolas followed her movements, rolled his eyes, and switched plates. The princess feigned offence but immediately started digging in.

“I was thinking that we could go to a spa tomorrow,” she made a pause to say. “My neck has been hurting for a few days, stress probably, and there’s this place mum and I used to go where they have a special treatment for feathers.”

“Maybe in the evening. There was a bit of a discovery in one of the mines and Giezi will bring me some samples to catalogue. I will probably spend most of the morning with him.”

“You have been busy lately.” Octavia stabbed one of her fries with her fork. “Are you sleeping at all? You always tell me to take care and not be too hard on myself, but then you do the same.”

“Everything is fine, Starfire. Work can be cyclical. There are times when everything piles up, it doesn’t mean I’m not taking care of myself.”

Octavia frowned. “You say that, but then you stay up all night and skip meals.”

“I promise this is not like that, Starfire. You don’t have to worry. I’m being very conscious now. Besides, today is our day together. You should think what you want to do after lunch.”

“If you say so. Then, about the spa… can I go ahead and book a spot? Two is fine?” Octavia saw her dad nodding and smile at him. “Nice. I’ll do that, give me a sec—and we can hit the mall. I want to see if anything new arrived at Bespanan. I need to get some new materials.”

“Huh.”

“It’s all right. I’m still within my budget. I only need a couple of jaw sets, some wax and finishing powder because I’m running low.”

“Oh, are you? I’m so proud of you, Starfire.”

Octavia smiled, fluffing at the easy praise. As a precautionary heir the expectations of the crown weren’t as strict on her as they had been on her dad, but there were still expectations for her. The implementation of a budget had been in place from before the whole cheating-nuclear divorce debacle between her parents. She had felt accomplished writing a list of her expenses and heeding some actual useful financial advice from her father, spending time with him, and learning about the family wealth and how it operated.

Stolas had set a separate account for her and monthly transferred her a fixed amount based on her initial expenses. It was still a work in progress—she had miscalculated some expenses—but it had brought them closer, and Octavia had spent time learning how to finance large projects by watching and asking questions while her dad worked. It was a great responsibility. Octavia was expected to take over some of her dad’s minor tasks in the future and had to learn the ins and outs.

She had enjoyed that routine, at least until the divorce mess ruined everything. Things were more or less functional now. More or less. Octavia still fretted about her oncoming birthday at the end of the summer. She had first worried about the responsibilities and going to university. Now, mostly, she wondered if he would send her away, if she had tired him and he was waiting to start from fresh once his responsibility to her was completed and she had access to her trust fund.

The mood soured after that depressing thought. She wanted to believe he wouldn’t do that. Stolas had fought for her custody. He had always been there. He was never harsh on her, even when her attitude sometimes deserved more than a light scolding or lecture. But he was patient with her, understanding, and she knew he loved her. It was just hard sometimes, when the voice in her head told her she was easily discarded—mum had left her and hardly ever talked to her, after all, even when Octavia called—and dad hadn’t realised it yet.

“Is something wrong, my owlet?” Stolas was staring at her with an open and worried expression. “You got a bit quiet.”

“Nothing’s wrong, dad,” she said the words with fake annoyance, shoving a several fries in his mouth to justify her silence. She didn’t want to worry him. She just wanted him to be happy—he deserved it—and to be happy for him. “I got a bit in my head. Budgeting made me think of university and the grimoire. I won’t be able to study it as thoroughly once I’m in Envy, but you could still send me some tasks to work over the semester. I don’t want to stop and then have a hard time picking it up.”

“Let’s wait and see what your overall workload is and how you feel. I don’t want you to overwork yourself.”

“Huh, what happened to ‘Work can be cyclical. There are times when everything piles up, it doesn’t mean I’m not taking care of myself’?” Octavia said in a perfect imitation of Stolas’ previous speech. She gave him a devious smirk, enjoying his stuttering and tired sigh. “What is an all-nighter or two? Or five?”

“Fine, you got me there,” Stolas huffed and gave her sheepish smile. “Sometimes I overwork myself. It isn’t healthy. I will try not to.”

“Thank you,” Octavia said overly polite with a grin. Her good mood had come back, and she felt a little lighter with the conversation. It was nice that they could talk like normal, joke like normal, and tease each other again. She had missed him. “I’m very wise, you know? I’m an owl.”

Stolas snorted inelegantly and covered his face. “I don’t say that.”

Octavia shrugged. “I can give you the smug smirk instead. I’ve been practising.”

“I…do have a smug smirk,” Stolas accepted defeated.

“Boohoo. I wanted you to see my smirk. I’m quite proud of it.”

“Maybe when it’s not aimed at me.”

“What’s the point then? Teachers are supposed to graciously accept when their students have exceeded their expectations. Everyone always points out how much we look alike, so why not?”

“How wise,” Stolas said. “You seem in high spirits, darling.”

“Huh, I think I just needed some fresh air,” Octavia said a bit calmer. She had grown a bit louder as their banter progressed. There were obvious boundaries, but it was always refreshing being able to talk openly with her dad.

Their conversation soon shifted back to some of Octavia’s taxidermy projects. She was particularly talkative, going over and over the same details and technique-explanation that she had told him about several times before, but he still asked him questions and made some observations. They finished the rest of their meal in that light atmosphere, enjoying each other’s company.

Once their meal was gone and they were satisfied, they exited the restaurant and portalled to Envy. The fresh air of the coast and the bright skies always made a stark contrast with the wildly popular culture of the occult. While most rings only had a few shops catering to the lovers of all things spooky in their normal shopping centres, with the more specialised stores spread throughout the rings and with elevated prices, Envy had a whole district—officially, it was Theurgic District, but it was locally known was ‘the Goety’—dedicated to such arts.

Talib wasn’t one of Envy’s biggest cities—technically, it wasn’t a city but a small island on the north coast of Edin, just two hours away from Necessity—but it was certainly a hot spot for Goetic offspring to hangout away from parents and teachers. There was a ferry departing from the port every hour and it ran 24/7 with a small fee from 9:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m., when most uni students were coming back from drinking their weight in alcohol.

Other demons also hangout there. It wasn’t, strictly speaking, a royal district, but Talib was well-known as a resort town in Goetia slang. Anyone rich enough to afford the Edin Region could go there, which was mainly Goetia, and celebrities like Verosika Mayday. They had bumped on Alaïa Cobaxin a few years ago—back when Gabriella was still dating Alejandro’s evil twin and didn’t know that the real Alejandro was in a comma (twice)—and Stolas had asked for her autograph. Embarrassing, really.

They skipped the ferry and portalled directly to The Goety. The ferry trip was better at night, when they could appreciate the bioluminescent water. The Goety was a one street with the longest pedestrian path in the seven rings and several stores—from restaurants to the occult—on each side that extended from one side of the isle to the other.

They visited Bespanan first for Octavia’s materials. Their second stop was at Eztli for a few clothes and accessories. The lower floor had the tamest outfits in neutral colours, while the second floor had a wider selection of clothes and accessories. Octavia hadn’t been there in a while, not since her fifteenth birthday. Her mum had agreed to buy her a shadow palette and her dad had got her a few accessories, including a beautiful par or black boots with silver roses filigree.

“Oh, look at this, Via!” Stolas pointed at a golden masquerade mask with a skull design on the top and several flowers with small rubies on the sides. “Have you picked your outfit for the Masquerade Ball?”

“No.” Octavia looked at the mask, setting aside the pair of fingerless lace gloves she was examining. “Loon invited me to a party on the pink moon. I figured that without mum here, you wouldn’t mind.” It wasn’t as if she was required to go.

“Oh. I thought you liked the masquerade ball?”

“I like the aesthetic. I don’t like the company.” Octavia muttered. “The most fun I had was when Uncle Andrealphus got so drunk he released the fireworks half-way through Grandfather’s speech.”

“I see. This party, where is it?”

“Gluttony. It’s Beelzebub’s annual party. Loona said it was less formal but still very fun. She’ll take care of me, and I promise to be careful.”

“All right, then,” Stolas smiled at her and set the mask back in its place. “Just be careful.”

Octavia beamed in her dad’s direction and gave him a quick hug. “You know, I can still get the mask. Loona and I will pick our clothes next week, but this can help me brainstorm… oh, and this too!” she rushed back to where she had left the gloves and showed them to him. “The lace is pretty soft.”

“They are pretty.”

“We should choose your clothes. You need more clothes, dad. That’s what happen in films, right? The divorce era with extravagant clothes.”

“I don’t think that’s me,” Stolas said.

Octavia shrugged. He was already experimenting a bit, dressing in clothes that her mum would have never let him wear anywhere public. He was wearing his royal outfits less and less as well, only for meetings. He had changed into black slacks and lilac blouse with starry transparent shirt on top. No hat. He looked nice, soft, and happy. Not at all how she remembered him.

“I don’t think it’s a terrible thing,” Octavia said, going back to browsing the accessories aisle. She picked up a chocker and lift it up to Stolas’ height. He liked chocker. They bought matching ones for a concert he took her for her fourteenth birthday. This one was a pretty thing. A tassel necklace in black lace with a teal crystal at the centre. “This would look good on you.”

“It’s pretty.”

She offered him the chocker and waited for him to try it on. The personal attendant that was assigned to them was watching everything in silence—finally taking a cue after Octavia glared several times in his direction—and tapping on his tablet to keep a register of what was bought or simply examined.

Stolas looked in one of the hand mirrors, humming. “It’s delicate.”

“It’s elegant,” Octavia corrected. “You have a long neck. It looks good. I think you should buy it, and I can get this one,” she grabbed the chocker that was next to the one she’d picked. It was simpler in design. No intricate pattern. A single piece of satin with a crescent pendant that had small diamonds along its shape.

Stolas hesitated for a moment. “I don’t have anything to match it with,” he said, and Octavia thought he would return it, but instead he passed it to the attendant.

“That’s fixable, dad.”

Feeling motivated, Octavia handed her own choices to the attendant and started asking about fabrics and colours. She had always loved playing dress up with him as a child, she remembered practising make up with him, painting his face, and how proud he was every time even if his feathers were a mess after her beauty treatment. She was a lot better now. She actually could do a wicked eyeliner and shadow eye.

“I thought you wanted new outfits.”

“I like dressing you up too. Now, you have the Masquerade Ball and the Pink Moon Festival in Pride…”

“Lust. Asmodeus invited me to spend the Pink Moon in Lust this year.”

“Huh,” Octavia nodded. Her father had grown closer to the Lord of Lust as well, which was…good, she imagined. He went out more often now, but few people came over. She had the impression he still was lonely. “That’s still two outfits. Let’s see what we find, there are other stores too.”

-.-.-.-.-

They had ordered take-out and promenaded on the beach before taking the ferry back to Edin and portalling back to Pride. It was pretty late when they arrived at the palace after a quick stop for some ice cream. Octavia was beat and full. She was giggling into her hands, the tiredness fighting over the last sugar rush, while her dad was telling her about A’s latest fight with the great telescope at the top hill of the Royal District in Pentagram. It was silly. She had missed him being silly.

“I think I’m not so young anymore. Today was pretty exhausting,” Stolas stretched out his body and his bones popped up loudly. It was very improper, not at all like a prince, and her mother would have something to say. She always had.

“But it was funnier than calling the stylist to take our measurements, right?” Octavia asked around a yawn.

“It’s always fun to spend time with you, Via. Thank you for having me today.”

Despite the exhaustion, Octavia identified that tone. She had been distancing herself from her dad for a few years. It hadn’t been personal then. She wanted to taste some freedom, to experience things on her own without her dad’s overprotection. She had been angry that he kept treating her like an owlet and just indulged her instead of taking her seriously. She had given him so little grace, silently agreeing with her mum about how annoying he was at times.

She had thought they agreed on dad being overbearing. She hadn’t realised she was hurting him or that mum’s comments weren’t banter but actual jabs. Or rather, she hadn’t wanted to accept how messy they were because if it was that bad, dad would have done something. She had been angry at him during the divorce about too many things. She still was angry—at him, at mum, at herself—but…she was heartbroken too, and scared, and she hated that tone because it reminded her that she had hurt him as well. Willingly.

Octavia shrugged, grasping her arm in a grounding manner. “I don’t hate spending time with you,” she said.

“Thank you, Via.”

She gave him a quick hug, relaxing when he returned it without hesitation. “I’m beat.”

“Go to sleep, darling.”

“Night, dad. Don’t stay up too late, we have a relaxing afternoon tomorrow!” She waved good-bye and went upstairs.

It was a good day. She wished all days could be like that.

-.-.-.-.-

The week went by far too quickly. She blinked and it was gone, and her dad’s lover was back at making somewhat regular visits. Octavia still avoided Blitz when he was in the palace; she avoided the common areas and took her meals in her room. She pretended to be busy with schoolwork, the complicated equations required for her astronomy lessons, or drawing meticulously in her botanical journal.

It was a Thursday afternoon when she bumped into Blitz and Stolas. Loona was waiting for her in the van, ready to drive all the way to Envy. She stared at them and their clothes, and frowned slightly, pausing on her way to the door.

“Are you going out?”

Stolas was wearing a ruffle lace up neck, bell long-sleeved button-up shirt in a light beige with a teal corset, black slacks, and the chocker she had convinced him to buy last week. Blitz was dressed in a worn out black leather jacket and jeans, and his normal chocker and boots. They made a funny sight. Her father, all dolled up in his pastel colours, some specks of black, and his glittery make up, and Blitz looking like the male protagonist of an 80s film.

“We’re going to watch a play and then have dinner,” Stolas said almost shyly. “Am I overdressed?”

“No,” Blitz said immediately. There was…a look of something, there. She wasn’t sure what it was. “You look great, birdie.”

He wasn’t wearing his hat, cloak or any other symbol of royalty. He wasn’t wearing any of his rings, or a locket with his sigil, or an individual crown. If Octavia was to say something, he was underdressed for his normal—or what she assumed was his normal. Aside the clear contrast between light colours and dark colours, and that vibe of bad boy and fairytale princess they had, she found them strangely matching.

“I told you they would look good on you,” she said with a satisfied smirk. She hadn’t chosen the clothes, but the accessories were a highlight, and she had known he would look good.

Stolas seemed relieved. His smile sincere. “We’ll be back late, but I have my phone, if anything happens…”

“I’ll call you. I know. Don’t fret, I’ll be fine. Loona and I will have a quick shop and come back to listen some music and watch slashers,” she rolled her eyes. “Have fun, dad. Blitz,” she added with just a quick, sharp look in the assassin’s direction.

“I’ll bring him before ten,” Blitz joked-saluted her.

Octavia narrowed her eyes, giving Blitz another once over, and finally nodded. Loona was already tapping on the wheel when Octavia got in. The music blared all the way to the lift, and they really didn’t speak much until Loona parked the van in and they were walking toward the ferry.

“The weather is something,” Loona said fixing her hair. “I haven’t been to Envy before.”

“I haven’t been here as often. I only know Talib and everyone knows Talib.” Octavia rolled her eyes. “You will like The Goety. Food’s mostly okay and thematic, but they have realistic stuff. As in, dad’s approval of their crystals and ritual materials.”

“He comes here often?”

Octavia shook her head. “Stores that want to sell crystals or herbs for ritualistic purposes need a permit. Dad signs those—apparently—so if you see his sigil somewhere, you know that’s the real deal and not a scam.”

“That must be annoying.”

Octavia shrugged.

They browsed on their phones for the next five minutes, waiting for the ferry to dock. It’d take them an hour to reach Talib’s docks from Edin, but it was relatively early on a weekday and there wasn’t a crowd. They stayed on the deck and Octavia pointed at the water with a huge grin.

“Did you know the water here is bioluminescent?” she opened the conversation. By now, Loona knew it wasn’t a real question, just the beginning of Octavia sharing something she found interesting. “It’s a natural chemical process where the water glitters, like stars. The oceans in Envy vary in size, temperature, flora and fauna. This water here is warm and calm, so the conditions are propitious for an algae bloom. When I was younger I truly believed that the ocean glowed because it had trapped shooting stars.”

“Huh, the water looks pretty normal…”

“Let’s wait for nightfall. You’ll like it.”

Loona shrugged and snatched a picture of the sights. Then, she snatched one of her and Octavia grinning for the camera. She pocketed her phone then, stretching up.

“Are you okay?” Loona asked after a few minutes of silence. Normally Octavia was more talkative than this.

“Yeah. Just thinking, I guess,” Octavia sighed. “I told dad about Bee’s party. He said it was fine.”

“Oh, good. I thought you had talked with him already.”

“It was the plan, but he’s been busy,” Octavia said with a bit more bite than intended. “There’s still one week before the pink moon, so it’s fine. He’s not going to the ball either, apparently Asmodeus invited him to his own party.”

“Ah, right. Blitz said something about a double date or some shit like that.”

“I think that is best. I don’t know if mum was invited to the ball this year, but Uncle Andrealphus will be there—it’s mandatory for the Ars Goetia—and he’s been…a bit much, lately.”

“Yikes.”

“Yikes,” Octavia mirrored the sentiment.

“Do you have any theme in mind for your outfit? Tex said everything was fine.”

“Something purple or pink, I think. Maybe I’ll get some crystals as accessories too. You?”

“Red. I’ve got a new palette with metallic and glitter colours, so that’s my theme.”

“Huh. Bold. Want me to do a reading when we get back? Should’ve done before coming, to have clearer options for our clothes, but there’s still time.”

Loona shrugged. “Why not?”

-.-.-.-.-

As soon as they walked into the store, a fox demon dressed in a suit rushed to Octavia’s side, bowing their head and beaming eagerly. Octavia recognised the demon as the attendant that had helped her and her dad a week ago.

“Welcome back, Your Highness. Would you like some refreshments available while you browse the store?”

Loona stared at the fox demon, unused at the excessive attention. No one usually bothered her while she browsed the racks of clothes at Stylish Occult, much less offered her food and drinks. She suddenly felt underdressed in her ratty jeans and top, even if Octavia wasn’t dressed to the nines.

“Huh, do you want something?” Octavia turned to Loona, who shrugged. “No, thank you. We want to browse for now.”

“Of course.”

Loona didn’t expect the fox to follow them, but soon it was obvious that they were there to carry their purchases and selections. They were quiet, keeping a healthy distance, and when Loona mentioned it to Via the owlet just shrugged.

“Do you see anything you like? That top is wicked.”

“It’s more your style. I don’t do lace much. The design is nice, ‘tho.”

They browsed for a while; Loona saw a couple of items she liked, kept a whistle in after seeing the price and put them back. She had saved money but not nearly enough for those prices. In the end, Octavia got some accessories and Loona a pair of earrings that were somewhat accessible that she had truly liked. Before leaving Octavia placed the palace’s delivery unit coordinates and added a few jewellery pieces for her father.

“All of it will be delivered?”

“Yes, so we don’t have to carry any bags,” Octavia hummed.

They went to three more stores with similar results before they decided to stop by a café and eat something. They had mostly bought accessories and the odd top. Octavia was having trouble resonating with any outfit, as she felt that everything was too formal or too simple. Loona found everything far more expensive than she had expected and had decided to place an order online if Stylish Occult didn’t make the cut.

“Ugh,” Octavia groaned into her drink. They were sitting on a terrasse with a nice view of the beach. “Mum made this seem so easy. I don’t think we’ll find anything fitting.”

Loona made an agreeing sound. “We can always go to Stylish Occult. They have a new collection for the pink moon.”

“Sorry, Loona. I made us waste our time.”

“Huh. It was nice seeing different things,” she shrugged.

“You don’t have to be nice,” Octavia sighed. “You barely bought anything.”

“Well, that shit is expensive. It doesn’t mean I didn’t like them, just that it’s outside my budget.”

Octavia groaned again, flushing furiously. “Sorry. I didn’t…Dad and I came here last week, and I really wanted to come with you here. I didn’t think it through.”

“Hey, I did like it. we just have very different budgets, although on the bright side, they were polite even if we hardly bought anything. No one called me a mutt.”

Octavia looked horrified. “What?”

“I’m a hellhound, Tavi. Demons’ don’t assume I have money on the regular. I expected something worse at the first store, but they just rolled with it.”

“That’s still messed up,” Octavia sighed. “Sorry. Again, I didn’t think. I’ve been…up in my head.”

“Yeah…care to tell me what’s going on? You’re definitely stressed.”

Octavia slouched on her seat, feeling not very willing to share. Here was Loona sharing real problems while she was just making a storm in a glass of water. She hadn’t even considered that taking Loona to Envy could have been uncomfortable for her friend, too focused on mimicking the same feeling she had experienced when she visited with her father.

“Oh, I know that face,” Loona shook her own drink in front of Octavia’s face with a small frown. “Look, I’m not upset or hurt or anything. I have a thick skin, okay? It’s obvious that something’s going on and, if you wanna talk, I’m willing to listen. If you wanna do something else, I’m game too.”

“Thank you. I’m just…” Octavia took a deep breath and looked away, to the beach, and the bright colours in the sky slowly fading into pastels before nightfall. “It’s dad. Mum, too, but I think…I’m more resigned with her.”

Loona didn’t speak up while Octavia gathered her thoughts, but she looked at the owlet intently. Octavia had shared tidbits of information from her therapy session—mostly about her mum: what she missed, what she felt she couldn’t tell Stolas because it was unfair to keep forcing her dad to put up with that weight, how she thought Stella was punishing her for not choosing her—with Loona in the past. The older girl was a reliable shoulder for Octavia to vent, someone who would be honest with her and who had enough distance to be objective.

Octavia fidgeted with her hands, thoughts spinning madly in her head. She felt like taking a hundred steps back in her progress, just as insecure as in the beginning. She felt guilty for her feelings, and ashamed, and wished she could just get over things easily. Her dad had put up with his own feelings for seventeen years.

“Do you know if my dad’s kicking me out when I turn eighteen?” Octavia asked bluntly.

“What?” Loona growled. “Is he…? Has he told you anything? I will…”

“No,” Octavia shook her face. Her voice was quiet, sorrowful. “Dad hasn’t…It’s just a feeling, not even a hunch. My head is just so messy right now. Blitz’s been coming so often, and dad spends all his time with him, and I can’t adapt to that—I don’t…hate Blitz anymore, but it feels too much sometimes, you know? And I know he makes dad happy. I want my dad to be happy. He deserves it—but all I do is bringing him down. He’s always sad when he looks at me. And mum hasn’t called back even once. And everyone is moving forward and I’m the only one stuck in fantasyland missing something no one else cares about. Will he leave too? Once I’m eighteen and have my trust fund and leave for uni, will he also wash his hands of me and send me to live to one of the other houses like the spare I was designed to be?”

Loona had lost the count of how many times she’d seen Octavia cry about her parents. She had rarely had the words to comfort the owlet—what is there to tell your friend when she’s crying because her mother had abandoned her? What was Loona to do except holding Octavia tightly in her arms and let her cry herself to sleep?—and today wasn’t an exception. She didn’t know what to offer Octavia, what could console her or reassure her because Loona was just an empathetic ear, but the person Octavia needed to talk to was her father.

“And it’s just so stupid. I’m being stupid,” Octavia wiped her tears with the heel of her talons, breathing shakily with each new statement. “It’s not even a real issue! It’s not like…like I’ll be destitute or something! And he had duties when he was a lot younger than me—mum said he’d spoiled me too much—and… I just wanted to have a nice day out, shopping for the party, and I made a mess of everything.”

Loona never considered herself good with words. She had a basic schooling—better than Blitz, but basic—and all those big, fancy words royals used skipped her mind. She wasn’t soft even when she tried to be tactful, when she tried to help. Loona wanted to help Octavia so desperately.

Loona stood up and pushed her chair closer to Octavia, sitting again. “You’re not stupid, Tavi. Emotions are…complicated. Irrational, but not stupid. We can’t help what we feel and, we have to feel them or else they will rot inside us.”

Octavia leaned against Loona’s shoulder. “I’m so tired. I think…I have been tired for a while, of…everything. Of being me. I don’t want to feel anymore. It’s just…exhausting.”

Loona wetted her bottom lip. She could smell the sorrow that had become a fixed feature to Octavia’s natural, sweet flower scent. Happiness wasn’t supposed to be permanent, but neither was sorrow. All emotions were fleeting, important, yet brief, in flashes that lasted only so long before shifting into something calmer and more measured. Loona worried. How couldn’t she?

“Have you talked to Stolas about how you feel?”

Octavia shook her head, breathing heavily. “He’s finally doing something for himself. I don’t want to ruin it with my selfishness. He loves Blitz and I… I understand this his second chance at true happiness.”

Loona looked at the silly roof with fairy lights, doubting her skills for that conversation. She felt awfully inadequate and underqualified. What did she know about royals? Octavia was an okay-one. She had her moments, her slip ups, but overall, she tried. She supposed Stolas did too, in his own way, if Blitz had finally got his shit together and wasn’t running for the hills whenever the prince dropped by the office with coffee and pastries. But what did Loona know about those expectations? Nothing. Nothing at all.

“I don’t know Stolas that well. We talk now more, because he’s dating Blitz and I’m his daughter, but we didn’t speak before. Not really. I remember how angry he was when you went missing in L.A., ‘tho. He came in this…nightmarish form, with his red and black feathers, and gave Blitz a good tongue-lashing because you could be in danger. It was the first time I saw him so serious and not…flirting. He was angry at Blitz, and only calmed down when I tracked your scent.” Loona paused, letting her words sink and be processed by Octavia, then she continued in the same calm voice. “Tavi, you will… us, daughters, we do fuck up sometimes, too. We do things, say…hurtful things, and sometimes we don’t apologise even when we’re sorry… but they know. Our dads know, and they love us anyway. I don’t think Stolas would choose Blitz over you.”

“He chose him over mum.” Octavia muttered bitterly.

“That’s different,” Loona said gently, almost scared of fucking up. “The only details I know about your parents’ divorce is what you’ve told me and what the tabloids published. I think Blitz might know—he did shoot a reporter once—but he’s never said anything, to anyone. I can’t…speak for your dad, or anything, Tavi. All I’m saying is that he doesn’t come as the type of father who abandons his children. I know how they look…they don’t even try.”

Octavia swallowed hard, shifting a bit to look at Loona’s body language. The hellhound was still looking up, at the roof, but her body was taut, exuding tension. She rarely talked about her life before Blitz—Octavia knew she had been adopted when she was a week from turning eighteen, she knew Loona didn’t trust easily and treasured every time she shared something personal—and Octavia had always respected that, knowing she wasn’t entitled to Loona’s life story only because she shared her own. This tidbit felt important. A turning point.

“Blitz can be crass at times. He isn’t…the best at expressing what he feels, and he is honestly an asshole. But he is a good father. He…tries. Sometimes in ways I hate, when he is overly clingy, but he never pries, he was patient when others weren’t. I know you have complicated feelings toward him. I understand why you do. Tavi, it hasn’t been that long since your parents divorced; it’s understandable. Just…Blitz will never make Stolas choose between him and you, okay? He’s not that type of asshole.”

“Sometimes it feels like it hardly matters how long has it been. Three months, a year. Everyone has moved on; mum is happy, dad is happy—for real, this time—and I’m just… uncooperative.” Octavia said quietly. “I just… Blitz cares about dad. I know he does. He…pays attention to what dad says. He takes dad out on this…romantic dates and dad is just so happy. He never had that before. They talk. My parents never did. It was always talking at each other, but there was never a conversation. And Blitz makes him laugh… I know all this.”

“You’re not ‘uncooperative’. You’re grieving. You lost something important to you. The life you had, it was important, it was good, because your parents made sure it felt that way. You are entitled to grieve what you lost. It took me years to accept I was… when I was taken to the pound, even if it was marginally better, I missed my way of life. It was all I knew, and that familiarity made it ‘safe’ even if it really wasn’t. The pound was terrible, and still when I moved to live with Blitz I missed the routine. The uncertainty scared the shit out of me. I grieved for a place that I hated. You’re not selfish for not moving on—you’re not being cruel to your dad, you’re not demanding he doesn’t go on dates or pranking Blitz to scare him away, and shit, I would’ve done that if I were you. You are hurt, that’s all.”

“I…sorry. I’m being dramatic and…”

“Bullshit. This isn’t a competition to see how got the shittiest life. This is Hell, we all got shitty hands, some of them are just slightly less shitty.”

Octavia gave a tiny nod.

“I still think you should talk to Stolas. He might not solve anything, but I think you need to tell him, for your sake.”

“I will…” Octavia agreed.

-.-.-.-.-

Blitz and Loona had stayed the night. It didn’t happen often during the weekday, but when it did they always woke up early and had breakfast at an ungodly hour—seven or so—much to their dismay. As soon as Blitz and Loona walked out the door, Octavia and Stolas exchanged a look and went back to sleep until a much more decent hour.

It was several hours later, close to eleven or so, when Octavia emerged from her room to eat something light in the kitchen. She felt drained, too raw, like an exposed nerve, and just wanted to go back to sleep. Sleep sounded good. Not waking up in a while, a few days, so she could stop feeling so full and empty at the same time.

But she also felt the need to talk to her dad. Next week would be incredibly busy for him, he would need to prepare everything for the Pink Moon ritual, and it usually left him exhausted. He always needed a day or two to recover. Octavia remembered mum taking her to Uncle Andrealphus so dad could rest—only now she knows it wasn’t for that; they left so mum wouldn’t have to fulfil her duties and help stabilise dad’s magical core. They left him vulnerable and open to attacks—and how fragile he always looked when they come back.

She waited a few more minutes before looking for him. She needed that time to gather her thoughts.

An hour later, Octavia found Stolas pouring over the box Eligos had given him. Her dad was elbows deep in research, glowing glyphs in the air as he muttered. He didn’t even look up until she coughed to get his attention, looking sheepish and uncertain. She swallowed when he stared at her with an unreadable look; he shook his head slightly and pressed the heels of his palms on his main set of eyes. There was an air of exhaustion clinging to him.

“I can come back later.”

“No, no. It’s all right. Come in, Via.”

She approached him gingerly, taking the set across him and hugging her legs against her chest. There used to be a smaller desk on the other side of the office, with a small chair, and a stack of colourful craft paper for her to play while he worked. She had asked for her own space when she was twelve, with her own bookshelves, and they had redecorated her room to make space for her new interests. Her own set of rooms had come later, when she was fourteen, and she got her own workshop to practice her taxidermy.

She had rarely come into this room afterwards. Her magic lessons where in her room or in the observatory. She wondered if Blitz came here at all—her mum never did.

“What is it, my Starfire?”

She shook her head. “Can I watch you work?”

He was worried. Her request had made him worry. However, he nodded and offered her a gentle smile. “Do you want me to talk while I work or do you rather I keep silent?”

“Talk.”

“Okay,” he said, softly. “I don’t really know what I’m looking at. It isn’t proper research, or rather, is of a personal matter and I can’t get pass it to look at the actual information. I suppose I only want to find answers, if there is anything to fin at all. But if there was, someone would have already solved this mystery.”

“A msytery?” Octavia perked up at that. “What sort of mystery?”

Stolas looked for something on the box, a folded piece of paper, and handed it to her. It was an old photograph—the paper was discoloured, and it felt frail, where the folding marks had chipped at the material—of a lady with a familiar face. The owl had a heart-shaped face with three sets of eyes, a lighter shade than her dad, and her smile was also a familiar one. Octavia saw it all the time when her dad was happy, when he chirped in excitement.

“Your mum?” Stolas nodded. “I’d never seen a picture of her.”

“Me neither.”

Octavia looked up from the picture to stare at her father. His words had sounded like a shameful confession, and the look in his eyes was foreign. Complicated. It reminded her of herself when she had to sit and listen to every little sin committed in her parents trial. His heartbreak mirrored hers.

“Did she die?” she asked delicately. “I always assumed…something had happened. you never talked about her.”

Her father shrugged, his talons absently preening one of his arms—it was always the same place, the same arm, as if the pattern soothed him—as the silence stretched.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I never knew her. Before today, I didn’t even know how she looked like. Eligos said she ‘disappeared’, but it’s been more than thirty years. She could just be dead.”

“Oh.” Octavia caressed the picture, carefully smoothing the folding pattern, as if fixing the picture could make her dad sound less like an open wound. “That is…cruel. Keeping that from you.”

Dad smiled at her, his old reassuring mask in place. It didn’t reach his eyes. It never did. “Parents make choices to protect their children all the time. Sometimes they are hurtful, even if they come from a place of love. Sometimes they are selfish; we aren’t perfect, Via. This is an old wound. I’ll be all right.”

“Was this to protect you, then?” It hit too close to home. He had called her mum passionate when she hurled insults at him. He had justified Stella in her eyes. He still did it sometimes, and she wondered then, as she watched that damaged picture, if he still missed his mother despite never meeting her. If he felt that same gap in his chest as her, another matching scar they shared. “Is that what grandfather said?”

“Your grandfather has never talked about her. Did you know I thought I was a product of magic for a long while? It was silly, but he has powerful magic, and I had no evidence of anything else. I looked for any record at the Archive as soon as I was old enough to get unsupervised access. She is gone from every record, as if she didn’t exist.”

Octavia nodded. She was familiar know with the ache behind her eyes, with the tight feeling on her chest that didn’t let her breath. She hurt for him. She hurt for herself. She wanted to ask if he would have done the same, had his divorce concluded when she was younger, but it felt like an unnecessary cruelty. It was pointless to ask what-ifs when even now he tried his best to make her mum call her back.

“Eligos said they never mentioned her to protect me. Apparently my excessive curiosity made them worry I would use the grimoire to try and find her,” he shrugged again. “The mystery is her research. She disappeared in the middle of it. Maybe that means something, or maybe it means nothing and all I want to do is find patterns. It is…”

“Exhausting,” they said in unison.

“What is her research about?”

“I don’t know. It’s codded and I would need to crack that first. There are some clues in father’s notes, but it’s not as helpful.”

“Do you miss her?” Octavia asked with a heavy voice. “I know you never met her, but…do you?”

Dad looked at her and his face softened in sympathy. He stood up and walked to her, kneeling at her side and brushing her cheeks from the tears she didn’t know was shedding.

“Oh, Via…”

“I miss mum,” she said quietly, like a confession. She said it in terror, in shame.

“Oh, my sweet, Starfire. Come here, princess.” He picked her up with the same easiness he did when she was a small owlet. He sat in the space she had occupied, holding her in his arms as if he could shield her from the world and its harsh realities. He couldn’t. Not anymore. But he offered respite, a save place to decompress, and she clung to that safety. “Via, it’s perfectly fine that you miss your mum.”

“No, it isn’t. She hurt you. I know she did.” she shivered, her breath shaky and hard to control. “You don’t have to justify her. I know she isn’t a good person, and I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t…”

“It is, darling. Your mum…did things that hurt me, yes. But her relationship with me has nothing to do with you, Via. Her feelings for me shouldn’t influence your feelings for her.”

“She hates me. She only calls when you tell her. She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you, Via. I think she is…hurting. It doesn’t justify her actions, and you shouldn’t have to be the biggest person, but I’m sure she will reach out to you soon. She is…a complicated person.”

“Do you hate her?”

“I don’t…like her. Our marriage was…hard on both of us in different ways. She did things I won’t forgive her for, but she also gave birth to you, and I love you, Via. I love all of you with all my heart, and you are a blend of your mother and me. How can I hate her when you have her eyes, her focus, her willpower, and decisiveness? You are sharp and protective, and I am confident in your success. These are all qualities she has, qualities I am grateful you inherited from her.”

They had come along way. He was more open to talk about his divorce, he had the words to explain things even if he still sugar-coated the truth. Octavia knew her mother would have answered in the positive. The things she criticised Octavia where all the things in which she and Stolas were alike. But Octavia loved her mum, even if it was a love that hurt, a love that wasn’t easy.

“When I look at you, I see a very capable and strong young demon. Your spirit is unmatched, my little Starfire through and through. I do see bits of Stella when you get angry, when you are fighting for what you believe is right, when you don’t let tradition dictate who you should be, and I see bits of me, and bits of your experiences shaping you into a unique individual. But, if you must know,” he said in a lower voice, as if he was sharing a secret, “when I look at you, I see my daughter, whom I love and am very proud of.”

She sniffed and covered her face, feeling overwhelmed. She had been so afraid, so, so afraid. “Dad, I don’t hate Blitz. He’s…a bit much, but I know he makes you happy. I want you to be happy. I just…I don’t want you to leave me. And sometimes…I’m still scare you will. That if I don’t move on, you will get tired just…” like mum.

“My darling, you and I have all the time in the world. You will always have me, Via. I do love Blitz. He does make me happy, and he has helped me to find strength in myself. I would love for you two to grow closer, but I won’t impose that on you. He doesn’t expect that either. I would just like to make things easier for you.”

“I wish…could you…could he come a bit less…? I would like for us to spend a bit more time, just the two of us, and…please? You’re getting me out of your hair in some months anyway. I just want…to spend time together before uni.”

“Octavia,” he said his name as if he was grieving something. His voice was small, shaky, but his arms were warm and held her so tightly. “My owlet, I don’t… I would never send you away to get rid of you. No matter how old you get, no matter if we fight, no matter if your grandfather demands it. Do you understand that? I agreed to you living abroad not because I want you out. I did it because you have been craving that independence and I wanted to do right by you. I will miss you terribly, but knowing you want it, is enough. Do you still want to live at dorms?”

“I don’t know. I…don’t want to come back and find home is less of a home. Can I think about it?”

“Of course, my sweet. And I will talk to Blitz. We can do our own thing again, things you like.”

“And things you like.” She said. “Will it be okay? Won’t he get angry?”

“Blitz has a kid, too. He has his own separate activities with Loona. This is more than reasonable, baby. And I’m…sorry, if I gave you the impression you couldn’t approach me to talk about this, Octavia. You can always talk to me about everything.”

Octavia nodded, sighing, too tired now. “I think…therapy isn’t working. I feel tired, dad. Just…squeezed out, like an old lemon.”

“Oh. Maybe… we could make an early appointment, and you could talk to your therapist about this particular feeling?”

She eyed him suspiciously. He sounded like he knew but was letting her work the answer on her own. Whatever. She had reached her limit. “Mmhm.”

They stayed a few more minutes like that. Silent. Their breathings synchronised; their hearts slowed down as they grew relaxed—hurts momentarily soothed—in each other’s calming company.

-.-.-.-.-

Octavia was trying. She didn’t avoid Blitz all the time now—she greeted him, at least, and didn’t ignore him when he asked if she wanted something from BeeEats when he and Stolas were ordering take-out—and it made things a bit…easier.

She had expected him to just be nice to her when dad was around, but he wasn’t. he was kind even when it was just the two of them bumping into the kitchen. His jokes were…bad, but they were annoying as before.

“Hey, girls,” Blitz said, poking his face into the living room where Octavia and Loona had set Octavia’s console. “Are you sure I can’t bribe you two switch teams with me? Satan knows I love that owl but I refuse to lose another round.”

“Not a chance, looser,” Loona said without looking back. “Via and I will sweep the floor with your sorry asses. Again.”

Octavia was a bit transfixed in how easy those words came to Blitz. He spoke factually. He loved her dad. It wasn’t something she didn’t know per se, but it had never been that open and in her face. That unrestrained. She couldn’t keep wondering about that change—or maybe it was always there, and she had just forced them to hide it from her—when her dad walked into the room with several bowls of snacks that he floated to the dwarf coffee table.

“Did something happen?”

“Blitz is bribing us because you’re bad at this,” Octavia shrugged and grabbed a bowl with some popcorn. She saw her dad turned and gasp dramatically at Blitz, who used his tail to pull him closer-down and kiss him. She looked away. “Now he’s bribing you to forgive him.”

“Via! On whose side are you?!”

“The wining one, obviously,” she said flatly. Loona snickered beside her.

“Stop being cheesy, old men, and get here. We’re making bank tonight.”

“And shopping spree tomorrow at Envy, courtesy of our dads.”

“I don’t know who’s being a bad influence on who,” Blitz laughed. “All right. Let’s do this.”

It wasn’t…perfect. Octavia still had her days—the pills were helping, too, even if that was a whole new can of worms—but it was…better. More bearable. Blitz made her dad happy, but he wasn’t…actively trying to steal him. He came twice a week, and sometimes, like once a month or every other weekend, they did something together. Like crushing their fathers at videogames.

There were old hurts that kept hurting. Mum texted back even if she still didn’t call. Dad and grandfather had talked and there was a portrait of her grandmother hanging on the family gallery now—and she had seen Blitz holding her dad too tightly, so she had left to give them privacy—and maybe that was a sign of something good.

She would be eighteen in a month, but she felt less terrified. Mum had also promised to take her out for lunch. Maybe for the first time since her parents’ divorce Octavia was looking forward to the end of the summer instead of feeling a dreadful sense of doom as the bells rung announcing her coming of age.