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

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

This boy never ceases to surprise me.

That wasn't him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She pressed on. Right.

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

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

Do your best.

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

I'm not going anywhere.

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

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

"I do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y-Yes."

"Tell us where you were that night."

She closed her eyes. She mentally flipped a coin.

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

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

"Even so, I-I still remember what I saw, and I'll never forget it as long as I live."

Granted, that wasn't a lie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Octavia winced. I was getting there.

"But he was acting weird," she interjected suddenly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Really laying it on thick.

Shut up.

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

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

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

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

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

She shook her head. "No, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Prosecution, you may proceed with your cross-examination."

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

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

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

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

Don't think about it.

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

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

The man crossed his arms. "And what would you consider to be 'all there'? What would lead you to believe his actions to be unsound?"

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

"And this is different from Mr. Vacanti's usual behaviors?"

Octavia winced. "It's…different from anyone I've ever seen. I've never seen someone--"

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

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

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

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

Relax. Don't let him throw you off.

"In that case, Miss Ellis, you stated you've never met the defendant before, correct?"

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

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

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

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

Damn it.

What?

I think I know where this is going.

"Miss Ellis?"

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

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

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

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

Josiah?

Stall!

"Miss Ellis, please."

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

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

She gritted her teeth. "I know of him. I know his legacy."

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

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

"I-I…" she stammered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The prosecutor sighed. "No, your honor. The prosecution re--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Correct," he hissed.

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

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

"I'll testify to his character!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Viola," she spoke confidently, pausing for a moment. "Vacanti."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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