At the mention of her name, Madrigal's face fell. The hostility towards Lyra in the same sentence didn't help. With eyes turned upwards, she folded her hands in her lap, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Lyra?"

The Muse was silent, avoiding the girl's gaze. Madrigal winced, her expression pained.

"Lyra, what's wrong? Please, talk to me. I won't be mad, I promise," she pleaded.

"Stradivaria?" Octavia asked quietly, flicking her own gaze aloft.

"It may not be my place to say," the latter answered. "Even so, she may not speak at all."

"And how could you attest to such, boy?" Brava practically growled.

"This is your last warning," Josiah breathed. "Either you tell them, or I will."

"Josiah, you're really makin' me nervous, here," Renato muttered. "You're hyping this up pretty hard."

"Lyra, what is he talking about? Is there a…drawback to Madrigal's gift?" Viola asked, her own voice small and uncertain.

Orleanna raised one hand in the slightest, extended just barely in Lyra's direction. "Would you…wish that I should--"

"My Magical Madrigal," Lyra spoke at last, her voice hardly above a whisper. "At that time, I warned you that your choice to save that child would not be without consequence. Do you remember this?"

Madrigal nodded in silence, her curls bouncing delicately.

Lyra paused, her next words slow and precise. "The boy speaks the truth. Know that there are…limits to what may be done. There is a balance that is to be maintained. The gift of the Spirited in the hands of a human is far different than its blessing within our grasp, and must be acknowledged as such. It, too, could be seen as…different than even those of your companions."

Harper blinked. "Where are you…going with this?"

To Octavia's surprise, Lyra seemed to glance briefly at Josiah before continuing. The latter showed no mercy, pinning her relentlessly with a gaze born of hate.

"Where something has been unnaturally restored," Lyra murmured, "something, too, must be claimed to compensate. It is for this, my beautiful child, that I apologize from the bottom of my heart."

Madrigal offered a weak, wobbly smile, her voice trembling much the same. "W-Whatever you could take from me, I still love you just as much, and I always will."

Lyra nodded. "Your words are kind. I--"

"She stole your lifespan!"

Josiah's fists hit the table hard enough that Octavia wondered if he'd left a dent. With a booming voice packed with unbridled rage, he finally snapped. Four words exploded with such venom that Octavia herself wondered if she'd be poisoned from afar. The boy's breaths were labored, his shoulders heaving with the impossible effort of attempting to remain stable. With his enraged eyes level with Lyra alone, he didn't bother to gauge the reactions of the others--Madrigal included.

The former could hardly move. The latter couldn't move--nor breathe--at all, her expression falling blank as she froze completely still. What breaths Octavia could salvage of her own were impossibly loud in her own ears, each and every other inkling of noise in the dining room absolutely lost. It was all she could do to raise her head to Lyra, forcing her dry tongue to manifest what few, confused words she could remember existed.

"How much?" Octavia murmured.

Lyra, too, refused to meet her eyes, turning away altogether. With her attention cast somewhere far from any place meaningful, her once-confident voice, gentle and smooth as it was, now came meek and humble.

"For what wounds were healed, and the severity of their pains," she spoke ever so softly in return, "approximately two years."

There were no words more that could be scavenged by any Maestro in the vicinity. Even the Muses, for all of their usual bluster, were silent in tandem. The room ground to a complete halt as the suffocating atmosphere strangled them collectively. Madrigal, most of all, was broken, her head tilted downwards as she stared aimlessly at her feet dangling from the chair. Her eyes were wide and hollow, her expression as listless as she was. Her steady breaths were simultaneously remarkable and unsettling, unhindered by the wandering eyes in the room that settled upon her in unison. She was practically lifeless.

"That's not possible," Viola attempted to say, her whispered voice cracking almost instantly.

"Maddie?" Renato murmured, his own voice trembling. His empty inquiry was fruitless.

"You never told her," Josiah growled, low and vicious. "Just like you never mentioned these 'gifts'. How much are you lying about? What else are you lying about?"

Brava faced him unflinchingly. "Curb your tongue, boy. There is naught about which we have refrained from speaking the truth--"

"Lying by omission is still lying!" Josiah yelled, leaping to his feet. "You're hiding something, all of you! You've been hiding things since the start! These rules? These extra little tidbits and detriments that keep coming out one by one? You're vague, and you're unclear, and you're doing it completely intentionally, because you think no one can tell that you're covering something up!"

When his eyes suddenly shot to Harper, the boy practically jumped, flinching under a gaze so hostile. "Harper!" Josiah demanded. "Look at them and tell me if they're lying!"

"You will not use the gifts of our blood against us," Orleanna spoke firmly, her voice sharper than average. "Nor could you do so, even should you desire."

"Screw you!" Josiah snapped. "I don't need a damn thing from you to know you're full of it!"

The sight of Josiah berating his partner served as Harper's breaking point. "That's enough, Josiah!" he shouted, narrowing his eyes.

"They've got all of you fooled!" he shouted back, sweeping his hand in one accompanying, illustrating motion across each Maestro. "I don't know what, and I don't know why, but they're hiding something! Don't you get it? Haven't you felt like things aren't adding up?"

"You're being paranoid," Viola scolded firmly.

"You're being naive," he snarled.

Viola leaned over the table in the slightest, her words jagged. "If you wanna take your new situation out on someone, that's your problem. You're aiming at the wrong crowd."

"Oh, is that what you think this is about?"

"We can circle around it aaaaall damn day, but it doesn't change anything. You're a Maestro now. I don't know what the hell is going on with you that's making you sulk about it, but leave other people out of it."

"You really, truly think that's what's important right now?"

"You're deflecting!" she shouted. "We're not gonna just brush it off! Acknowledge that you're a Maestro now, for better or worse! It isn't something you can just ignore! You didn't even have the decency to bring out your own partner with everyone else? Have you even talked to him yet? Have you even cared enough to do anything besides sit around and feel sorry for yourself, for whatever reason? You. Are. A. Maestro. Deal with it."

For a moment, he stopped, his brutal words evaporating from his lips. It didn't stop his voice from quaking with ire, his chair screeching with a deafening squeak against the floor as he shoved it against the table.

"Oh, I've spoken to him. And I'll tell you what, he knows a lot more than any of you do."

Josiah didn't give room for retaliation, verbal or otherwise. Visibly radiating rage, he stormed out of the dining room, flinging his bag over his shoulder haphazardly. He was out of sight quickly, rounding the corner down the hallway until all that was audible was a distant, distinct slam. Octavia didn't have the heart to follow up on his words, pointed and ominous as they were. The silence that followed, all too familiar, continued to pain her ears in its own unique way.

"Ah," Mente began, "that would clarify the situation somewhat, wouldn't it?"

"He has never been one to keep his mouth shut," Aste continued, crossing their arms.

Brava shook his head. "Perhaps the Descent has made him bitter."

"Such is not like him," Lyra murmured sadly. "Of this, I am certain. He is not himself."

"You think too highly of him, then," Brava retorted. "Of this, little has changed."

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"Hush!" Lyra snapped.

"I don't understand," Octavia said, unable to resist the urge to implore Stratos with her eyes.

Even so, it was Brava who stole what words Stratos could've given her. "He who claims that arrogant boy as his own is…somewhat eccentric in his own right. He is skeptical and cynical, his legacy no less than the same on average."

"Those are harsh words," Stratos countered. "His legacy is irrelevant, undefinable as such. Still, Brava stands somewhat correct in his…description of this Muse alone. He is one to question, to encourage curiosity beyond that which is natural."

"And now he enables the boy," Brava added disdainfully. "What foolish motives press him to speak of matters that would only confuse and distress elude me."

"Did you really take two years off my lifespan?"

Madrigal hadn't moved. In truth, she'd grown ever more still, glued to her seat as her whole body trembled. She didn't have the capacity to look at Lyra--or anyone, really, her eyes instead boring holes into the table. Lyra's gaze upon her did nothing to reassure her in any way. The Muse's words were equally useless, much the same.

"I…I apologize. In the heat of battle, with crisis imminent, there laid no time to clarify the consequences in question. I could…only warn of the pain to follow in more uncertain terms. You must understand, I meant no harm--nor would I wish harm to befall you, my beloved child."

"I forgive you," Madrigal whispered. Even so, her hollow voice was haunting, particularly given her continued lack of expression. "I don't regret it at all."

Renato didn't bother with words. Swiftly, he rose from his seat as well, not bothering to push in his chair as he made for the hallway himself. With a flash that stung Octavia's eyes in the slightest, Mente and Aste were no more, forcibly dismissed by his hurried exit. Madrigal, nor anyone, made any attempt to stop him. Loaded emotion was audible in every distant footstep, with or without his stolen face. It burned.

"I…think we should stop for now," Harper murmured. "That's enough. I'm…tired. This was a lot."

Octavia wasn't particularly inclined to disagree. Her singular regret was the bitter taste left splashed upon her tongue as they parted. "You should…get some rest, for sure."

He didn't bother with a smile, rising to his feet quietly. "I'm gonna go lay down for a few hours. Wake me up if you need me, okay?"

She nodded. He hadn't waited for a response, verbal or otherwise, before turning away. Her answer mattered little, and something about it stung.

"Ugh, what is wrong with him?" Viola growled, burying her face in her hands with immense aggravation. "Who does he think he's talking to like that? What an idiot!"

Octavia winced at the sharp edges of her words, trailing the girl uncomfortably with her eyes as she paced. "Viola?"

When the Maestra freed her face from her own grasp, she was no less agitated. "I just…he…he's so…ridiculous! I mean, did you hear him? And he's got the nerve to talk to the Muses like that? He's awful! He's probably in his room sulking again right now! Am I supposed to feel bad for him or something?"

When her words finally calmed somewhat, her breaths following suit, Octavia weighed the idea of laying a comforting hand upon Viola's shoulder. She ultimately decided against it. "Do you…want me to talk to him?"

Viola pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation. "No, I just…I'm…gonna go talk to my grandmother. I need to calm down, I'm sorry. I need something that isn't this."

There was something almost hurtful about the implication that she wasn't enough to ease Viola's pain. She kept the feeling to herself. Octavia nodded slowly, against her better judgment. "I…yeah. I get it. Tell her I said hi."

Viola, at least, had the decency to give her a nod in response--curt or otherwise--before fleeing the room. She was the only Maestro to venture in the opposite direction as those who had opted to return to the solitude of their rooms. Octavia couldn't particularly blame them, burdened as they were with much to process in their own ways.

The dining room was as suddenly imposing as it was dim, for how each Muse had long since surrendered their radiant hues and glows. It left her with only awkward silence and crushing discomfort to fill the void. She wondered if they'd since learned how to properly read a room. She doubted it. Octavia, too, initially thought she was isolated. The illusion was shattered only by a lone Maestra, still unmoving in her chair.

Madrigal, much the same, was utterly silent, her gaze cast downwards at a plate littered with discarded crust. The scattered crumbs and residual aspects of what had moments ago been a comfortable meal amongst friends now served as melancholic signs of life. They bothered Octavia tremendously, and her stomach twisted into a thicker knot than she would've liked. The absence of joy--or emotion at all--from Madrigal at any given point in time always carried a somewhat similar effect.

"Madrigal?" Octavia asked hesitantly.

Madrigal didn't so much as bother to raise her head, eyes firmly glued to absolutely nothing. "I think I…want to be alone for a little while. I'm sorry."

Octavia sighed heavily. "That's okay."

There was nothing else the Maestra offered to her, immediately returning to her bubble of quiet. Being shut out felt almost as awful as being left behind. That, too, stung.

She wanted to talk. She needed to talk. The urge to doff the crushing weight from her chest was agonizing, and every opportunity for relief had been stolen. Talking to the Muses--Stradivaria included--was absolutely not an option at the moment. Crying was an option instead, miserable as it would've been. Her anger at her companions was misplaced. Octavia was aware of that much. She couldn't help it, and it followed all the way to her room.

She had to pass Josiah's own room on the way there. His shouting was impossible to ignore, and her footsteps stilled of their own accord. The eavesdropping, too, was natural in more ways than one. Muffled by the sanctity of a presumably-locked door as it was, at least half of the dialogue was somewhat too clear. She'd heard the other voice once before, albeit in a moment of only panic and pressure.

"What is even the damn point? I feel like I'm going friggin' crazy! Maybe I am! Who knows?" she heard, capturing his padded cries of anger. Octavia wondered if anyone else could hear the same. She doubted it. It was her fault for practically pressing her ear to the door.

I assure you, I gain little from speaking falsehoods.

There. She knew that voice, masculine and silky as it was.

"But can I even be sure of that?"

You are not wrong to doubt me. I do not fault you for such. Your experiences speak to your worries in excess, and rightfully so.

"I just…this is insane! Why doesn't anyone listen to me? No one has any qualms about this crap?"

It is as I have stated. There is much that was not intended to be shared, particularly with your kind.

"So the solution was just to lie forever? To keep stringing us along?"

There is a reason.

"I don't believe you."

There is far more that I risk through honesty than that which I gain through lies.

"Then tell me!"

In due time.

The sound of something slamming inside his room startled Octavia fiercely. She jumped, nearly banging her head against the door in the process.

"Damn it!" she heard Josiah yell.

Calm yourself. Consider this a promise, one upon which I tread a difficult path by making to you.

"You owe me! You owe me for even giving you a chance!"

I am of my word. Should I lie, do as you see fit. I will do what is within my ability.

The sound of Josiah's heavy footsteps moving a bit too close for comfort to the door led Octavia to back away rapidly. If he caught her eavesdropping, the icy glare she'd witnessed previously would perhaps be the least of what he'd curse her with. He never did end up exiting the room, and yet the shock was enough of a deterrent.

As to the content of his conversation, she didn't dare begin to attempt to unpack a single sentence. It was her fault for overloading herself with information today. Once more, she lamented her inability to verbally process her overstimulation with any of the five who would listen--Viola, if she had the option. She'd be a solid candidate for rational processing in tandem. The sound of her voice would be of equal benefit to Octavia's pained heart.

As such, when she did spot Viola ambling through the foyer, her back turned to the Maestra, she wavered between blessing her good luck and hesitating with apprehension secondary to atmosphere. The girl's steps were slow and aimless, her bow bobbing in the absolute slightest with every tiny shuffle forwards along the tiles below. So delicate were her movements that her feet hardly made a sound against the floor, not so much as a simple clack greeting Octavia's ears.

Octavia resisted the urge to run to her, desperate for some semblance of human interaction in the midst of her despair. She ended up settling on the "good luck" conclusion, particularly if Viola was involved. It took effort to walk slowly, the heavier sounds of her boots against much the same tile serving in contrast to Viola's silent shuffling.

"Viola?" she offered.

Viola didn't budge, aside from her continued forward movements. Octavia winced. Being ignored was beginning to make her feel ill. If it was Viola, it was perhaps worse.

"Viola, what's up? Do you want to talk?"

Still nothing. Octavia drew closer.

"Did you…talk to your grandmother?" she tried.

"Yeah."

Monotone and devoid of any semblance of emotion, Viola tossed one singular word behind her. It was unaccompanied by so much as a glance, and her gaze fell strictly forward. She made no attempt to turn and face Octavia. If the latter so chose, she could reach out and claim her attention by force, shaking her shoulders or spinning her around violently. She wouldn't dare.

"Do you feel any…better? Compared to before?"

Only now did she grace Octavia with her own eyes. Slowly, she faced the Maestra, quietly offering an empty gaze. Between her slender fingers, motionless and stable, rested the thin, white edges of a flimsy envelope long since opened. Hastily stuffed--at least, given appearances--Octavia could spot the outline and shading of neatly-folded paper behind the translucent confines of the envelope itself.

Viola did little in the way of speaking, let alone emoting in any capacity. She made up for it, somewhat, with the labors of her breathing, rattling in the slightest on every exhale. If Josiah's behavior today had been unlike him, then this, too, was far unlike the Viola that Octavia had long since grown accustomed to.

Octavia's eyes barely flickered to the envelope, content to do so one simple time for the sake of acknowledging its existence. Instead, they couldn't help but be sucked into the black hole that was Viola's hollow gaze instead. The sight was disorienting enough that it took her a moment to find her words. Even then, the one word she did find was as predictable as it was necessary.

"Viola?" she tried.

Viola blinked slowly, the emptiness in her eyes unchanging when they reopened. Even with her shaking breaths, the steadiness of her words far, far betrayed the gravity of their content.

"My father," she answered quietly, "they changed his sentence. They've sentenced him to death."

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