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It was a life she never wanted to live, through eyes she never wanted to steal.

It was a world of order and peace she didn't care about, deceptive in every conceivable manner. It was marked by the joys of adulthood rather than the trials of childhood, devoid of the stumbles and mistakes that came with growth. In any other context, it was perfect. It was as perfect as he could have wished it to be.

Octavia could see it on the faces of those he charmed. She could hear it in his every elated, poetic word. She could, were she more ignorant to the blood that stained his gentle hands, fall for it much the same. She'd already done so once. He didn't hesitate to dream, content to thrust his head into the clouds and fly forever more. He'd never been afraid of heights--not in the brief time she'd known him. It wasn't a dream he kept close to his heart.

And as to you, my friend, what manner of study is it which you seek to pursue?

I hope to be a historian someday. The culture of the world is incredibly diverse and fascinating, to say nothing of what we've left long in the past. To uncover what was gone and learn from it again, isn't that its own magic?

We share ideals down to the thread, my friend! I could not agree more. The treasures of yesterday are indispensable, a gift unto a world that would be cruel enough to toss them by the wayside. Does it not wound your heart so?

I wouldn't go that far. Still, yes, it's a sorry sight. There's a lot that I wish could be saved. How much culture are we losing each and every day to time and all that comes with it?

Yes, yes! And yet there are still those much like you and I, with an appreciation for what should be preserved for future generations to come. Tell me, does that not warm your very soul to know? We are perhaps two of a rare breed, we who would prioritize the past for the sake of the future.

You talk…so poetically. Has anyone ever told you that?

Call it passion, call it fantasy, call it what you will. It is simply joy brought into words.

You're an interesting person. What did you say you're studying, again?

With God as my witness, I shall dabble in business and trade before long. There is an ambition I will fulfill, even at the cost of my own life.

That's a bit dramatic. What's your dream?

Even from the peripheral she was granted, his wide and dramatic gestures weren't subtle. It would've been endearing, once. Octavia cared little for his dream. She might not have cared at all. She herself dreamed of moving her stolen hands, if not to fashion a rope around her borrowed neck and pull so tightly that her fingers bled.

I wish to create a home for such memorabilia, a place where what has been lost and ruined may be restored to its former glory. I dream of spreading the joys of works long thought to be beyond salvation to the world at large. In that way, even the youngest child may grow with knowledge once preserved only for our ancestors. It shall be grand. Perhaps you, my friend, would appreciate it just as much as I.

You mean a museum, then?

Oh, far from only that! A house of research, restoration, architecture, art, culture at large, traded and preserved in every way. I wish to begin from nothing and birth something new.

How…ambitious. I can respect your drive. You seem like a dedicated man.

With your ideals as they are, so close to mine as well, you would surely flourish in that environment! The hands of a historian would be a priceless asset in the creation of such a place. So, too, would you hold access to all of the history you could desire in this life. What say you?

He laughed. This man, plainer than her stranger in every capacity, spoke softly and gently. His smile matched, his attire more muted than that which Octavia donned against her will. He was simple, and his confidence was surely a byproduct of the prestigious environment they shared. She respected his eyes. She doubted his eyes. She hadn't yet explicitly come to hate them, nor trust them in equal measure. Their one encounter was fleeting, and he hadn't yet had the opportunity to wrong her. By virtue of association alone, he was dangerous. His gaze was guilty. In that way, it paired well with the one she'd adopted.

You ask so much of someone you've just met, yet you haven't so much as asked my name?

M-My apologies, my friend! The preservation of yesterday is a…passionate topic for myself. It seems I've gotten carried away. I thoroughly apologize for my lack of manners. Do tell, then, with whom do I have the utmost pleasure of speaking?

His face was soft, his expression warm. His arms were crossed only with endearment, if not amusement with the eccentric figure who had crossed his path in turn. He, too, had fallen for the charm that Octavia loathed. That she couldn't warn him was agonizing. That she couldn't tell him of the trap he'd stumbled into was painful.

My name is Samuel. And yourself?

The name alone, whether on his lips or not, was enough to destroy her from within.

Alessandro Drey, at your service.

Kill him.

Kill him.

Kill him.

Kill him.

She needed to kill him before it began.

She needed to kill him before he could hurt so many others first.

And still, she couldn't move. It was a Hell unlike any torture she'd ever experienced in her entire life. It put every agony she'd ever suffered through to shame.

SIAR was beautiful.

It always had been. Had he not been involved, Octavia may very well have respected it as the cultural landmark he'd wished it to be. In its early stages, there was no garden. It wasn't quite barren, still an architectural marvel in its own right. It was ornate limestone, splashing ivory, sparkling glass, and love beyond what a single heart could carry. It was his soul given form, and that much was visible with one look alone.

The interior spoke to much of the same, just as she'd remembered from moments steeped in far more misery. Seeing the floor unmarred by blood was jarring. When she seized the briefest of moments in which he'd brushed past the lobby, she could've sworn she'd found the specific spot where a Maestra's body had slumped to the floor. She could've sworn she'd found the exact two resting places of innocent hands, long discarded.

There was no joy to be found in this place. It was inescapable. He returned with Samuel in his wake so many times that she grew to memorize those spots. In a way, the shimmering marble was almost an injustice. It was a farce, the pristine splendor of a prior SIAR equally so. Blood had been spilt. She couldn't see it through his stolen eyes, and still, it was surely there forever.

It wasn't even the worst place he went.

I've only been here twice. They're strict. It's a historian's dream--or, at least, one of my own. It takes a lot of effort to get around. Even then, the locals are quite hostile. No one's entirely sure why.

Perhaps it is the preservation of culture for which they show concern?

Possibly. Don't lose that passport, now. You'll be in quite a bit of trouble if you do.

For what reason would you classify this place as a…historian's dream, you say?

It's so mysterious. They call it the Blessed City. The bell tower of the church is unfathomably beautiful. No one knows for how long this city has been here, and the historical research on it is quite sparse. There's a lack of cooperation on the part of the citizens. We have suspicions that the heart of the city may be religious in nature, if the geographical centering of the bell tower is any indication, but that's all we have to go off of. It's an archaeological conundrum of the modern times, Alessandro. The mystery of the city is fascinating in its own way.

I, too, am fascinated by such a tale. For how long has this city been of scholarly concern?

Years. Even during my studies, it was practically a living legend. Still, it's a case that has largely run cold in recent times. Even with access to passports growing easier, the difficulty of solving the mystery--or finding any leads at all--has begun to deter those who would seek to investigate further.

Forgive my bluntness, but is there perhaps business to be done in such a city? For the sake of preservation exclusively, mind you. I do not wish to tread upon an existing culture.

Yes, that's certainly blunt, alright. You're a lucky man, such that I know the purity of your intentions. Otherwise, I might even think you to be too opportunistic for your own good.

He was correct. He was correct in every way. Were it possible, Octavia would've reached out, shaken Samuel's shoulders, and told him so. She would've taken hold of his hands and dragged him as far from Drey's poisonous influence as she could. She would've untangled whatever noose she could slowly see a conservator tying around his neck.

More than that, she wanted them out of the blossom. She wanted it out of her sight. She wanted Drey out of her eyes. She wanted Drey in nothing but suffering and torment, effective immediately. Every happy word that rolled off his tongue was a luxury he didn't deserve. Every blissful memory she found was meant to be crumpled and discarded like the garbage it was.

Octavia couldn't rescind the die of fate once it had been cast. So, too, was she powerless to rescind Drey's charismatic net.

It's not real.

What do you mean?

You're a fool if you're thinking of trading for something you can't even verify the authenticity of.

I…I beg your pardon, miss, but you speak with certainty of its authenticity, then?

Give it to me, then. I'll show you.

She was bold. She was abrasive. She was crude in ways he wasn't. It wasn't an auction, if Octavia's one experience in Coda was anything to go by. She hazarded a guess at an exhibition. Handshakes, false smiles, and Gold traveling in excess between foreign palms confirmed as much. She didn't recognize the place, and she didn't recognize the time. It didn't matter, for how she recognized the gaze regardless. Samuel's soft eyes had been fleeting, and yet the hard and judgmental glare before her was even less memorable. At the very least, there was an association with Drey. For that alone, they were guilty once more.

You certainly came prepared, miss!

If you're going to be buying and selling at such a high price, this is the least you can do. Look here, then. There should be inclusions--at bare minimum, a small few. You'll find none on this one. In the hand, the weight is off. The color is too vibrant for true sapphire, the sparkle too radiant.

But to tell such even from afar, even without tools or the aid of touch, that is utterly remarkable! With the naked eye, you are able to see the difference in an instant?

It's not hard. Anyone can learn how if they gave an honest effort.

If you don't mind my asking, is this gift of yours limited solely to the world of precious gemstones?

Not wholly. I can do much the same with fabrics and linens. I've only recently begun to get a feel for identifying false silk. Once again, it's not so difficult if you bother to learn the skill.

I know I could not perform such a feat, as much as I wish I could try. I envy your talent, miss! Your keen eye is a diamond in the rough. Tell me, then, are you an appraiser?

Not at all. I've just got my own collection. Finery for finery's sake. Is that not enough?

That is more than enough. A respectable appreciation for the craftsmanship of yesterday.

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Craftsmanship of…yesterday?

Ah, but it is a cruel world in which we live that there are those who would seek only profit in lieu of a true appreciation for culture.

You're a businessman, are you not? Despite your…oddities. Who are you to scold those seeking to make a profit? It's simply the way of the world.

It is simply a philosophy with which I cannot sympathize. It is there that my path divulges with those who would disagree. Such is the nature of virtue.

You're a strange man.

I try and try again to ignore your skills, miss, but they come to mind repeatedly. You would be an asset to my greatest creation, my life's work.

If you're trying to seduce me, you're going to have to work a lot harder than that.

O-Of course not! That is n-not what I meant. My apologies if that is…how it seemed. I speak from the heart when I attest to my utmost respect for your abilities. Would you consider becoming my partner? I-In business alone, I clarify.

Business partner?

Alessandro Drey. Restorer and conservator at the Solenford Institute of Architecture and Restoration. Miss, I am much in need of the sharp, astute eyes of one such as yourself.

Is there profit in it for me?

If that is what it would take to enlist your priceless aid, then no cost is too great. I will see that it is so.

Somehow, that was enough. She wasn't plainer than him, much like Samuel had been--rather, she outdid him somewhat. It was restrained, to some degree, outside of elegant events. Even so, her adornments were more notable than his own attire, sharp femininity not caged behind lock and key. Equally sharp, Octavia agreed, were the eyes Drey had acknowledged of his own accord.

Call me Portia.

The threesome weren't necessarily inseparable. Still, they were balanced, and it did them well in the business world. Philanthropy was to follow business. It was true, ultimately, that SIAR offered charity to society, absorbing what had been broken and returning it with love. It was almost respectable. Drey wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty--ironically. The chemicals of restoration after restoration stained gloved hands day after day. He polished, he lifted, he scrubbed, he preached, he traded, he purchased, he mingled, he smiled, and smiled, and smiled.

In every facet of SIAR's existence, he was involved. He was the nucleus of the institute, the sun around which the solar system of his life's work revolved. He was blessed with the fruits of his labor.

This toll would end eventually. Octavia eagerly looked forward to the way it would finish.

How long will you swing that stupid thing around?

What better way to test its durability than this? Surely I must…be certain that the chemicals…have not eroded any…fundamental components of the…blade itself.

Alessandro, take a rest for a bit. You're going to tire yourself out.

Nonsense! Besides, exercise is good for the heart, wouldn't you agree?

He's not half bad, actually.

Have you been taking swordplay lessons?

Would it amuse you, were I to say yes?

It would.

To conserve even the movements of the past, to emulate them at the hilt of a blade once again, is that not the most perfect of preservations? It is a truly beautiful thing.

You've become your own work of art.

You've become ever more abnormal, is what you've become.

Be nice.

He should trip. He should fall and land nicely upon the tip of the blade in question, run through much the same as he would dare to curse another so much later. That would be nice. Some days, Octavia wondered if her light was too severe a retribution. Some days, she wondered if it wasn't enough. If she could smite him twice over, she would. Thrice. Four times. Five times. More. More.

Drey was, unsurprisingly, an aficionado of the arts. SIAR was his passion, and he worked until his palms were raw. Still, Octavia's stolen hands were never free, even beyond the institute's walls. They leafed through page after page of books by candlelight, or applauded joyfully for passing musicians who saw fit to grace Solenford with their song. He embraced everything from theater to sculpture, delving deep into creativity and appreciating the pleasures of life. It flashed, and flashed, and flashed.

It flashed too far. Where Drey relished the world, Octavia's screeched to a halt.

He was distant, lost in a sea of faces. He fought for the same auditory glimpse of a skilled performer, blessing a gentle wind with a melody equally gentle. Octavia had never thought she'd hear the song again, and it was through borrowed ears alone that she was granted the chance. Were her eyes hers and hers alone, they would surely have flooded with tears. Whether in her hands or not, Stradivaria's song was unmistakable. Octavia didn't need to see her. She knew she was there. That was enough.

For what would follow, that was misery. That was torture. That was Hell. It was a reminder, something relentlessly divine made bitter in an instant. Her heart threatened to shatter long before the time came.

Your performance was incredible, miss! Your skill is second to none. Truly a treat for the ears.

Don't speak to her.

Thank you!

Two words, bubbly and bursting with sunshine robbed five long years prior, broke Octavia's world into a thousand pieces. It was a voice every bit as sweet as she remembered, no less blessed and lovely and wonderful in every way. Octavia didn't exist right now. She wasn't real. She wasn't here. This wasn't happening.

I believe I may have missed your introduction. Would you again indulge me with your name, miss?

Priscilla Ellis, sir. It's nice to meet you.

Don't take her name.

What brings you into Solenford, Miss Priscilla, if you don't mind my asking?

Don't say her name.

I guess you could say I'm…on tour? Dunno how else to put it. Just looking to share some music with the world. Is that weird?

Every chipper word out of her mouth left Octavia disintegrating. She was enraptured. She couldn't function. The universe was spinning. She was right there, right before her stolen eyes. She was moving, smiling, speaking, and very much alive. If she screamed with a voice she couldn't use, could Priscilla hear her? If she called a name so beautiful, would Priscilla answer? If she warned her to run, if she begged her to flee a conservator's lethal radius, would she oblige?

Not at all, miss, not at all! What is the blessing of music if not to bless the hearts of others in turn? Your philosophy is admirable.

I wouldn't look that much into it. Are you a musician, too, then?

How I wish I had the talent. Nothing of the sort, unfortunately. Alessandro Drey, conservator and restorer.

What's that?

I am what you could call…one who preserves. I seek to restore artifacts and cultural mementos of civilizations that otherwise would crumble to dust. It is my hope that the past may be saved for the sake of the future.

That's…actually really neat. So, do you work in a museum, then?

If you could believe it, I speak with pride when I say I am the owner and founder of the Solenford Institute of Architecture and Restoration.

Sounds fancy!

Indeed! It is my life's work. It is a multi-faceted facility that serves as a destination for all aspects of restoration and conservation alike.

Is it near here? Can I see it?

Don't.

But of course! Have you the time?

Stop!

I've got a lot of it, actually.

In the worst moment imaginable, Octavia now knew how Stradivaria had felt.

For better or worse, she wasn't free of Priscilla. Priscilla haunted her. She haunted Drey, rather. Every flash bore the vivid reds of autumn. Octavia earned gorgeous dimples and a crystalline laugh. She earned a contagious smile that made Drey's shoulders shake and his head tilt with amusement.

Every moment she spent with him was one that should've been spent with Octavia instead--no matter how joyous or satisfactory Priscilla found it to be. They did business together. They ate together. He gushed to her of his passions and dreams, and she in turn blessed him with her song in excess. He opened up his life to her, welcoming her with open arms. Octavia knew his touch to be deceptive at best and deadly at worst. Priscilla was blissfully ignorant to the same.

She caught her own name more than once, spoken in honest exchanges with confidentiality. Her name on Priscilla's lips once more was equally as warming as it was damning.

In an instant, they grew close. They grew much too close.

If ever there is something that crosses your mind, be it simple or difficult to solve, then we shall put our heads together and resolve to find a solution. I will not leave you in your anguish, my friend.

There's some things out there that I think might be too tricky to ever solve, though.

Nonsense. There is always a solution to any problem, no matter how tough.

I…disagree. Kinda.

Is there something that troubles you, dear girl? I am here.

You…you'll laugh, I think. It's silly.

If it worries you so, rest assured I will not.

It's not even silly so much as it is ridiculous. 'Unbelievable' is probably a better word.

I will endeavor to keep an open mind, just for you.

Well…Mr. Drey, do you believe in magic? I-I mean, I know that sounds stupid.

She couldn't have.

Metaphorically speaking?

Literally speaking.

There was no way.

I…have not ever stopped to consider, in truth. I know I've spoken to an open mind, but I cannot stem the skeptic in my heart. I do not believe I would be one to put my faith in the supernatural, no. If this is your belief, however, of course I would respect it.

C-Can I…show you something?

Octavia was utterly helpless to watch the way Priscilla's hands trembled as she spoke. She was utterly helpless to watch the way her own borrowed nod granted permission for Stradivaria's company. She was utterly helpless to stop the song, utterly unable to cry out. She was utterly useless to beg Priscilla not to surrender her secret to the man who would be her downfall. For what purpose, Octavia couldn't even begin to process. Drey didn't simply learn--she'd outright told him.

The sweet, silky display of light that followed was the most striking memory Octavia could steal from the man. The ribbons of radiance that blessed the air before Drey's borrowed eyes were salvation in a dark place, and Octavia clung to them for as long as she could. It was a light that would be brutally snuffed out soon enough, and the eyes that sparkled now would serve to witness her demise. She envied the way he'd earned the right to her precious melody. Her one comfort was the knowledge that the same light would someday be his undoing.

Are my eyes to be believed? This is…phenomenal, Priscilla.

This is…who I am. This is what I can do.

A…breathtaking trick. How do you do it, then?

It's no trick, Mr. Drey. It's…me. You promised you'd help me with anything, right?

I-I have spoken to my word. My girl, how did you--

Promise?

Don't believe him. Don't believe him. Don't believe him. Whatever you do, don't believe him.

I will do what I can to ease your troubles, no matter what they are.

Liar.

I'm…a Maestra. With these powers, I'm trying to…fix something that got messed up. There's something ruining the world. It's hurting people, and no one can see it but me. It's awful. I need help, and I need to find others like me. I'm the Amba--

There are others, you say?

Y-Yeah. I…don't think we're all exactly the same.

How many?

A lot.

What is it you see, dear girl? What is it that startles you so?

I don't know how to describe it. It's a…force, of sorts. If you could reach out and touch pain, if you could see it with your own eyes, that's what it is. It's cruel, and it's unforgiving. It leaves destruction and suffering wherever it goes. It ruins whoever it touches.

And no one can see it, you say?

Just me. Just me and anyone like me, I think.

Were you born with such a gift?

No. It's the…violin. When we're together, that's how I can…do all of this.

'We'?

I-I…I know this all sounds crazy. I don't blame you if you don't believe me.

How am I to explain what I have seen with my own eyes, if I do not at least try? This…force of which you speak, for how long has it plagued this earth?

I don't know. A long time.

You seek to erase…pain, then? A noble goal, but how lofty indeed.

You've always been an advocate for chasing lofty goals, though, right? It's not…literally pain. You're the most ambitious person I know. If anyone could understand this dream, it's you.

Perhaps it is I who is in a dream, with what I am to believe.

Seeing is believing, Mr. Drey.

There is a…difference between a dream and a burden, my girl.

I know. That's what makes this a problem. That's why I'm asking for your help.

You would seek to change this world with your magic?

I'm just looking to get rid of what's hurting people, and then I won't need to anymore. Only that. It's not supposed to be here.

But could one not argue that all things happen for a reason, Priscilla?

What do you mean?

If such a force is to be believed--if such pain is to be acknowledged--then is that not perhaps the will of the universe itself? Is that not the natural course of things after all?

But it's not natural. Like I said, it's not supposed to be here.

To toy with such forces of nature could be of consequences unfathomable, both to society and to you and I alone. How could one vanquish the unseen, regardless?

I…I can see it. I can fight back.

Must you?

I have to, or it'll hurt people.

For how long?

Forever. Or, at least, until I…get rid of it all.

My girl, that is an incredible burden. Are you not afraid to fight for your entire life?

I don't have a choice. That's why I'm asking for your help.

You are so young.

When it's all gone, I won't have to fight anymore, though!

From where does this 'force' stem?

It comes from bad memories. Really bad ones.

Will there not always be bad memories in this world?

T-There will, but it won't make this happen anymore!

Are you afraid?

Of course I'm afraid, but it has to be done. I need to do this, for everyone's sake.

Why must it be you, my girl? Why not another?

That's just how it is.

Could you not simply lay down that violin now and return to a simpler life?

What? People will get hurt!

Priscilla, my friend, your tale is as sorrowful as it is spectacular, and I fear for your safety. I cannot attest to the legitimacy of your ambitions. I cannot, still, fully conceive of this malevolent 'force' to which you refer. Know, though, that you speak of changing aspects of the world at large that should remain beyond human interference. If a man is to change the world, it is to be done through realistic means that reshape the order of society. It cannot be done by changing the laws of nature itself.

Mr. Drey, I don't think I'm explaining this correctly. This isn't even supposed to be part of nature. None of this is supposed to be here at all! I'm trying to get rid of all of it!

But should it not be left in place, if your words are true? Think, for a moment, if a seed were to sprout between the rifts of a road built upon its land. Unnatural as it may be, should one destroy the stones, would not, too, the blossom suffer? Is what was born unnatural not now ingrained into this world?

Please, listen to me!

What you speak of doing is dangerous, perhaps more so than even the nature of this force overall. This magic, then, is equally as unnatural. There is a balance that must be kept, Priscilla!

Mr. Drey!

I cannot see you be hurt!

Octavia's shared body trembled. Her stolen voice shook with emotion. His heated words were met with the agonizing sight of the pain he claimed to detest, splashed across Priscilla's face. For raising his voice to her, Octavia found yet another reason to despise this man.

Please, Priscilla, lead a normal life befitting of a young lady such as yourself. You have been gifted the world and blessed with wondrous opportunities. Do not throw everything away chasing magic and forces that will hurt you to change. Do not drown yourself in fear and agony. Please, please do not continue down this path. If what you say is true, it will be your undoing. You will suffer. Of this, my friend, I beg you.

It was a threat. It was a plea. It was a warning. It was agony.

You said you wouldn't leave me like this. I trusted you, Priscilla murmured quietly.

Everything I speak, I speak with love and concern. I am not angry. I…I do not want this for you.

It's not your choice. It's mine.

It is, too, for the good of society as we know it that your ambition cannot be realized. In all other things, I would support you without hesitation. Know, though, that our ideals conflict. It is with yours that I cannot agree. For this, I apologize from the bottom of my heart.

You're not the man I thought you were.

Her parting words as she fled, Stradivaria in hand, couldn't resonate more with Octavia if she tried. In spite of whatever sick hand of fate had led her to speak of her secret, the disgusting truth she'd found had mirrored the Ambassador's own. It was the worst reward. It was necessary.

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