The skies were an endless sheet of clouds, the colors slowly shifting from soft grey to charcoal as the storms came to replace the cheery sun of the early morning. To the denizens who still worked across the city, there was no call for sunshine- too foreign for a place ravaged by war. It had not been long enough, not far enough away for their grief to have dissipated. Their time of mourning had not yet left them, so none wished the clouds away. It was nature’s way of grieving right along with them.
The dilapidated streets were pock-marked with dozens upon dozens of holes, remnants of the bombings that had taken place here only a few months before. The survivors, along with those sent to provide aid, had done their best in their efforts to clean up, but time had passed and work was slow. Lives mattered more than the state of old buildings and roads that nobody used.
The city center had been hardest hit, a place where towers once breached the sky. Now, most of it lay underneath a nigh-unbreachable pile of rubble that still held tightly onto the hundreds upon hundreds of corpses that had fallen within. The stench of death pervaded the area, forcing those who chose to sift through the debris to wear masks to help them breath. It was miserable, unbearable work. Tears were shed on this place, born from the reality of the war that had come to their homes. Worse thoughts dwelled on what they would find just below their feet.
“Horrible business, this is,” Alf remarked, tossing more rubble into the back of a nearby dump truck. “I’ve found so many shreds of clothing I’ve probly enough to work up a suit. Can’t imagine how bad it’s been for the firemen down in the thick of it.” Alf looked over as one of his coworkers, a squat boy named Ollie, came trundling over with a heavy bag of fresh debris, ready to be thrown into the back of their vehicle. “Oy, where’d you get that sack, eh?”
“Found it down in there,” Ollie replied, gesturing towards the massive hole where a skyscraper had once stood. “Not a hole in the bloody thing, thought it’d come in handy.”
“That’s not on, that’s likely a dead man’s property,” Alf chided his younger counterpart, who didn’t look remotely abashed. “That’s stealin’ from the grave, that is.”
“It helps us get done faster. Besides, no one was using it,” Ollie said defensively. “Faster we get this done the better, this job is been giving me the creeps.”
“I can agree to that, at least,” Alf replied, taking out a cigarette and setting it alight. “Never had a job like it- likely never will again, come to think of it. Certainly hope I won’t.”
The two men looked down into the pit of despair and death that lay before them, for a time awed by the sheer magnitude of what had taken place here. This had been their country’s entrance into the war, a grand invitation from the Crystal Empire itself only a few short months ago. Though the conflicts now took place on farther shores, their nation still felt rocked by the unforeseen assault. Death on such a scale could hardly be easily comprehended.
“How many you think died down there? JUST right there?” Ollie inquired.
“And what makes you think I’m gonna know?” replied the older man. “It’s bad enough just having to be working in it, I don’t want to be thinking about who’s rotted corpse I may be sorting through.”
“I was just-”
“You’re too curious for your own good, you’re gonna make someone mad if you don’t shut it,” Alf continued. “Now come on, let’s finish up so we can leave. Feels like rain out here and I don’t want to be catching cold out in this mess.”
The two men headed back into the pit, working alongside firemen and other cleanup crews assigned to the location. Miserable, fetid work that would settle into their memories for the rest of their lives. With each plunge of their hand into the mess would bring new apprehension: what would be found this time? A fragment of a coffee cup? A dusty picture of a family no longer whole? Or worse, the broken body of one who had lost their life? The stress was torture on their already tired frames, and judging by the sheer magnitude of the attack, it would be a long time before they would be finished.
Ollie paused and looked up at the precipice of the pit, something above catching his eye. “Oy, look there,” he said, pointing upwards. “What’s she doing here?”
Alf gave a growl and threw back a small sheet of steel onto the ground at his feet, turning around to look up. “Ah, it’s that girl again. It’s been a couple days since she was here last.”
“Who is she, though?”
Alf shrugged, turning back to the enormous pile of rubble. “Dunno. ‘Eard some of the workers here calling her ‘Tavi’ or something like it. Think she’s from one of the rich families living further out of town.”
“But… but why’s she here?” Ollie pressed.
“You’ll hear soon enough.”
Ollie looked like he was ready to ask what that meant when he looked back up at the young woman. She wore a conservative grey dress that went down to her feet, a perfect accent to the long dark hair that fell to her waist. She held herself with a quiet sense of purpose, a hidden agenda that had brought her to this place of death and despair. It was then that he noticed the case at her feet, from which she drew a small, elegant violin. Bringing it to her chin, the young woman took hold of her bow and began to play.
The whole area quieted as the music cascaded onto the workers like rain from above, the liquid sounds of the musician’s work ebbing and flowing as water. It was a mournful symphony, the very sound of a soft tragedy that spoke of every man and woman’s exhaustion and sadness. This young woman gave voice to their grief born from violence, allowing all who were present a shared moment of release from their responsibility. Even as some continued to work, it felt to them that the load was a little lighter, the debris less heavy. The blow of each find lessened, for their sorrow now melted away into the wind.
“Ah… gets me every time she plays,” Alf sighed wistfully, turning back to his work. “Different piece than last time, though. Like it.”
“Why… why does she come here?” Ollie inquired.
“Dunno. Maybe she knew someone who died here. All I know is she helps pick the place right up whenever she starts playing.”
“Hmm…”
“Leave her be, son. Everyone grieves in their own way,” Alf said, taking note of his younger counterpart. “Come on, let’s fix this cock-up and be done.”
The two men returned to their work as the music continued to play, a bittersweet sound that loosened their hearts with each passing moment. The work was difficult, sorrowful and filthy. It was a nightmarish job to have, but somehow, in some way, the young girl’s songs helped ease the pain… if only for a time.
The beautiful musician finished her last piece, slowly sliding the bow away from the strings and letting the last notes flow freely into the still air. Above her came the tremulous rumbles of thunder, the storm no longer hiding its intent. Droplets of rain began to fall, pitter-pattering against her instrument as she placed it gently into her case and locking it away. She walked over to a nearby cover, dozens of pairs of eyes locked onto her every movement. She was an enigma to them- a strange figure with only a song to her name. Dressed in finery many of them couldn’t even hope to afford only added to her mystique, causing some to wonder if she was some phantom from an era long gone. She had heard worse rumblings against her in her short time on this earth. This was nothing.
She walked over to an older gentlemen who sat atop a small suitcase like a guard dog, watching as its owner came walking towards him. “Thank you, for looking after it,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything to give to you.”
The older man waved his hand. “No need for gifts, love,” he said airily. “Think the head nurse here was looking for you, though.”
“Yes, I thought she might,” the girl replied. “Thank you, and good luck.”
“To you as well, girlie.”
The young woman took hold of her suitcase and walked over through the now-pounding rain to the nearby building, an office that had been converted into a response center to help with the overwhelming damage that had been spawned from the attack. Many of the first responders and workers sent in to help the city were living here alongside survivors who had been pulled from the wreckage. A horrible odor was rampant in the shelter’s doors, but it was unavoidable. There was simply no way to cope.
A worn-looking woman caught notice of her entrance and shuffled over, barking orders to a pair of her subordinates. “And bring the packaged meals to the tables so they can get sorted, we’ll be needing to get them out to the workers soon enough, they’ve been out there for hours with nothing.” The young woman said nothing as the tired nurse walked up to her and sized her up, looking at the younger woman’s garb. “A little much for a place like this,” the nurse remarked. “You didn’t change before you left?”
“I’ll change when I get the chance,” the girl replied, gesturing with her suitcase.
“So you’ll help? How’d she let you go?”
“Doesn’t matter,” the musician replied. “I’m ready to go.”
Three weeks earlier
“Are you sure you don’t want anything, miss?”
“Yes, I’m… I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Very well. If there’s anything else I can assist you with-”
“N-no, I’m good- I’m fine. Really. You don’t have to wait on me, I don’t need anything. You can go relax if you want.”
Gordon looked rather uncertain of himself, but gave a bow of respect nonetheless. “As you wish, miss.”
“Really, Gordon, you don’t have to be so serious. You can call me by my name. It’s alright to do that.”
Gordon gave her another strange look before departing, leaving Octavia in her quarters to her own devices- and to revel in her discomfort. She had never lived in a place so large, or so opulent! The last time she had been in her home country was when she had been a small child, barely five years old. Her faded memories of those years were of a small, cramped house in west London. Not anything as magnificent and lavish as where she was now. She’d certainly never had a butler.
The young girl looked around her room, her eyes covering everything from the curtains to the bed and the gigantic Persian rug that sat on the floor. None of it was hers, nor did any of it bear her style. This was her mother’s house, a place she had not seen once in her life. This was a world she had never been a part of. And one she wasn’t at all certain of now…
“Octavia? Octavia, are you there?” The heavy voice of her mother came ringing through the hallway down to her room.
“Yes, Mum?”
“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Make sure to clean yourself before coming down.”
“Yes, Mum.”
“And please, wear something nicer this time. I don’t know what you were thinking yesterday, wearing that band t-shirt, but I won’t have anything like it, do you hear me?”
Octavia said nothing for a time, letting the empty silence fill the void where her words were expected to fall. It wasn’t the first time her mother had criticized her wardrobe- nearly everything she had brought with her was “cheap” or “plebian” in nature, save for her instruments. However, the young musician let it fly, and simply set to work.
Dinner would have been a quiet affair if it had not been for her mother, Esme. Octavia discovered quite quickly that she had the tendency to do whatever she could to seal the silence, speaking about whatever came to mind so as to fill the void. Whether it be complaints about money, the neighbors, or really anything at all, Esme was quick to have a well-defined, concise opinion on whatever happened to be ailing her in that particular moment. It was almost impressive.
“Thank you, Gordon. Yes, please, take it away, I simply can’t manage another bite,” Esme said, waving her plate away before returning to scrutinize her daughter. “You certainly seem to have little to say this evening. I wonder what is on your mind tonight, it certainly can’t be the same as to what kept you so quiet the night before.”
Octavia didn’t respond, only picking at her meal of fine Atlantic cod with roast potatoes. It was lavishly done, if not some of the finest fare she’d had in her life. But it bore no sense of the familiar, nothing to stir her memory- or her appetite. Perhaps it was silly to think, but what she wouldn’t give to be eating Granny Smith’s cooking instead-
“Are you even listening, dear?” Octavia sat up straight and faced her mother, who now looked upon her with a rather sour expression. “There we are, back from the land of the dull,” Esme remarked, “Now, did you even hear a word I said?”
“I- No, ma’am,” Octavia replied quietly.
Esme gave a quick snort, but took it in stride. “While you weren’t listening, what I said was we must do something about that hair of yours. To leave it as it is- so unrefined, dear, you’re simply not using it properly at all. Just look at it, letting it simply hang there- let one of my stylists get a hold of you and just think of what a sight you’ll be.”
“But… I…”
“What is it, dear? Speak up, you mustn’t mumble, it’s unrefined,” Esme chided.
What Octavia was going to say was she liked the simplicity, but she instead chose to bite her own tongue. Yet again she wondered what was wrong with her- she had never been this quiet before, what was wrong with her?
“Yes, well… as I said, I’ll make sure to call one of my ladies and they’ll pick you up right and proper,” said her mother. “You’ll look just as an heiress should.”
Octavia really had to bite her tongue on that one, forcing herself to stare down at her plate. She wasn’t an heiress, this wasn’t even her house…
After a while, dinner came to a close and the two women retreated to the living room where the TV awaited to bring them news of the front. The war only in the beginning of its birth pains, but already the ferocity of each individual conflict was startling in this modern world. Esme often remarked upon the ‘savagery’ and the ‘filthiness’ of the sights onscreen, hardly a word about the men and women who fell right before their eyes. Nothing about enemy advancements or the loss of life. As the night drained on, Octavia found herself more focused on the actions of her mother rather than the acts of war.
Her mother had not been born in riches, but had been given extraordinary beauty. Even now, further along in years than she had once been, she still retained a sense of that magnificence that had drawn man after man to her side. Now, with five ‘spectacular’ divorces as her mother had once put it, she had amassed incredible wealth beyond measure- part of which included the house in which they now stood. It was all so, so… vapid.
“I say, I don’t know what your father did to make you so thick, but certainly you can do better at paying attention than what you give now,” her mother remarked sharply, reeling Octavia out from her own thoughts yet again.
“I- I’m sorry,” Octavia replied, giving herself a quick shake. “I’m just a bit, tired I guess.”
“What I was saying was that you never did tell me what caused you to be expelled from that school your father had you in,” Esme said, taking hold of her wineglass and rubbing her finger across the rim. “Your father mentioned a panic in the one miserable call he deigned to give, but he never said much else. I was hoping you’d be able to explain yourself.”
Despite her efforts against it, Octavia’s cheeks flushed a bright red at the memory of her actions. It had all been so thought out in her head, such a masterful plan- and all it had taken was a can of spraypaint to cause an incident that nearly cost people’s lives. If it hadn’t been for his intervention…
“I… there was a boy,” Octavia said hesitantly.
Esme gave a drawn-out groan. “Dearest, you were expelled because of a boy?” she replied. “No common boy is certainly worth such trouble, especially in a classless place such as that school. I did my research on that place, and it certainly has had its fair share of vile dealings- what your father was thinking, sending you there…”
“No, it- it wasn’t like that,” Octavia stumbled. “Y’see, he was… we didn’t get along, he and I, and his girlfriend was- was- she was…” There was no good way to explain away Sunset Shimmer, to explain the jealousy that had driven into Octavia like an iron stake. Jealous of Sunset for so many things-
“Well, Lord knows that if I’d had a hold of you we certainly never would have had any such disturbance,” Esme remarked. “I told your father as such when I called for you, but he was quite adamant that you stay where you were. But then again, he never had anything but his own self-interests in mind.”
“And you don’t, right?” Octavia could’ve slapped herself for letting it slip out, but she didn’t show any emotion. She simply waited on bated breath for the hammer to fall…
Her mother didn’t even suspect the sincerity of her words. “Of course I don’t, all I have done was for the betterment of… it was for the good of others. I tried to do my best with your father, but he was simply a deadbeat and a waste, letting all that talent go to dust on frivolous things. I always tried to find men with potential, but it seems they’re all the same- shiftless and lazy, all the lot of them. What I had to endure through my years…”
Octavia awoke early that morning, watching as the sun seeped through the silk curtains and onto the marble floor that she knew would be icy to the touch. The very thought of cold made her want to do nothing but crawl back under the covers and retreat into the warmth. After all, it wasn’t like the rest of the house was to be any warmer- in any way whatsoever.
Fate, however, was not to be on her side, as there soon came a knock upon her door. “Miss Melody, are you awake? Your mother has summoned you to breakfast.”
The young girl gave a groan. “Yes… Yes, I’m awake,” she slurred.
“Are you well, miss? Do you require assistance?”
“No, I don’t need-” Octavia paused for a moment before grabbing a suitable nightgown from beside her bed. “Actually, Gordon, would you come in, please? I- I would like to have a word…”
“Very well miss. Are… are you- decent?” he inquired.
Octavia couldn’t help but give a small smile. “Yes, you’ll be fine, Gordon. Please, come in.”
The door opened and in came the butler, who gave a polite bow and stood eerily still at the foot of her bed. “What were you needing, Miss Melody?”
“Gordon, it’s quite- it’s OK, Gordon, chill out,” Octavia said finally. “I don’t care about the whole shtick, you can relax.”
Gordon looked a little perturbed by her words, and he became stiffer than ever, saying, “I’m- I’m sorry, miss, but I am rather unused to-”
Octavia gave a sigh, burying her face in her hands. “Gordon, it’s alright. I’m not rich or sophisticated or any of the other idiotic stuff my Mum pretends to be. I’m a girl who only got here a few months ago and this is not my world. I’m not your master, you’re not my servant, take a chill pill. Please?”
Gordon held tight for a moment before relenting somewhat, taking a seat in the nearby chair and reclining, relaxing as much as he would allow himself. “As you wish, miss,” he said calmly, though still looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I can’t say I know much of what to do with myself like this.”
“How long have you been working in this house? You had to have been before since before my mother moved in,” Octavia inquired.
“Hmm… I would say it’s likely I’ve been at this house for over twenty years now,” Gordon answered. “I served the Holliday family until your mother married into them. She won the majority in the divorce, and now I serve the Melody family.”
“Do you- do you like working for my mother? Do you even enjoy your job at all?”
Gordon paused to ponder that question. “I have always been told that dwelling within me was a heart for service to others,” he replied. “And I have striven continuously throughout my life to serve those I came across, whether it be the lowest man on the street or the noble. My opinions on their origin or their character should not come into question in regards to that.”
A very polite and respectful answer- and also a very political one. Octavia realized he likely didn’t want to talk ill about his employer in front of her own daughter. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. It wasn’t very fair to you, was it?”
He waved his hand airily. “Think nothing of it, miss. There was no harm meant, I am sure.”
Octavia gave a bitter little laugh. “You think too highly of me,” she said, “Trust me, I’ve been foul enough to mean a lot of harm.” She gave a sigh and looked around the room that wasn’t hers that was part of the house that wasn’t hers in a world she didn’t belong in. “I have no idea who I am anymore,” she confessed. “I mean, I thought I knew, but then- but then I caused all sorts of trouble and it made me realize that maybe who I thought I was… I guess it wasn’t worth being anymore. Now I’m here with my Mum and in a country I haven’t seen in years- this isn’t even the same house I grew up in! It’s like everything I knew and thought was real just got all- stripped away. And here I am, not sure what to do or where to go, and completely lost.” The silence fell between the two for a time as Octavia’s passionate words sunk in. She gave a great huff and wrung her fingers until they were red. “I feel like an idiot,” she remarked.
“I certainly don’t see why, miss,” Gordon replied. “You’re a young girl who’s being forced to experience culture shock in the worst of circumstances. War breaks out mere weeks after you arrive, yet you believe you should adjust quickly? I’m sorry, miss, but you are asking too much of yourself. Time is the only answer for the discovery of one’s identity. Do not let your heart be troubled, your place in the world will reveal itself.”
“Do you think I even have one? The last time I got offered a chance by someone, I threw it in their faces and I ended up getting myself expelled for trying to spite them,” she added. “That can’t be a good sign.”
“Perhaps it was only a sign of who you were, not who you are,” Gordon countered. “I certainly hope you made amends before you left.”
“Yes, I- I sought him out, he was willing to forgive me…”
“Then you are allowing yourself to be swept by the tide of time, alongside your emotions. In a time such as this, make the choices that will define your life. Do not wait for it to be defined for you.”
Octavia wasn’t sure to make of that, but she found herself unable to think of anything else to say.
Gordon glanced over at the window. “You should be heading downstairs to meet with your mother,” he said, rising to his feet. “A good breakfast will pick up your spirits.”
“Yes, yes. Of course,” Octavia agreed, getting to her feet herself and beginning to plunge through her wardrobe.
Gordon began to exit but paused at the doorway. “I will be having to enter into the city this afternoon,” he remarked. “If you are in need of company –or simply some fresh air- there is ample amounts of each in that direction.”
Octavia gave him a smile, a genuine one unlike which she hadn’t felt in an age. “That sounds perfect,” she said kindly.
The countryside was painted gold with the sun, the dawn cascading across the fields and the farmlands that dotted the landscape. Octavia looked out into the grassy hills and let herself get lost in the scenery, her every thought and emotion focused on those gently rolling fields of green and yellow. It was the most peaceful thing she had seen in weeks, a fresh sight that cleared her head of the gloom and emptiness she had felt since she had returned home. Beside her in the driver’s seat was Gordon, his usual server’s grab traded for a pleasant brown suit and Man U scarf, his eyes focused on the road before him. He would occasionally steal glances over at his young traveling companion, asking whether she needed anything. The answer was always the same.
“Surely this isn’t the first time you’ve seen the British countryside, miss?” he asked.
“I’ve always lived in the city,” she answered. “Before I moved with my Dad, all I ever saw was London. This is all new to me.”
“Then I shall drive slower, if you’d like,” he offered. “After all, every countryman should know the beauty of their homeland.”
“It’s OK, Gordon- I don’t want to slow you down,” Octavia replied.
“No problem at all, miss,” he countered. “I dare say that if I didn’t have to concentrate on the road I’d want as much time as possible.”
Octavia let her concentration fall back onto the outside world, her mind drifting comfortably as the fields of green and gold spread out before her and beyond the horizon. It was a lovely view, really…
The first clue of their return to civilization was the sound of vehicles moving: Octavia looked ahead to see a large fleet of cleanup equipment being taken to an unknown location, massive construction vehicles heading through the streets, trucks filled with workers, even military crews in full uniform walking along behind the convoy.
“What… where are they headed?”
“Likely to aid with recovery efforts,” Gordon surmised. “The reconstruction from the Crystal Empire’s bombing runs has been slow here, unfortunately- it seems we Britons are a bit behind the mark on this one.”
“They’re still working?”
“And still finding people trapped in the rubble,” Gordon replied grimly. “It’s not a lovely sight, miss. Much of the western boroughs are still severely damaged…”
She felt her stomach twist, watching as the men and women ahead of her walked towards their destination where the remnants of death and destruction awaited. They strode as though they were already exhausted, worn down and broken by just the mere journey towards their task- it finally clued in to her that they had likely been making this journey for weeks now. An older man walking ahead of one of the construction vehicles paused and glanced over in her direction and Octavia wondered if she had ever seen a more haunted soul in her life. To have to continually witness the brokenness he was forced to endure, to quite literally plunge his hands into…
“Are you alright, miss?”
“Yes, I’m- I’m fine,” Octavia said distractedly. A lie- even as the traffic finally relented and they moved on ahead, the young girl’s gaze followed the trail of lives and equipment headed towards the heart of destruction.
“Well, here we are,” Gordon said, departing the vehicle and straightening his scarf. “I’ve plenty of business to attend to, unfortunately, but that certainly shouldn’t mean that your time is dampened.”
“I can… I mean, I can help if you-” Octavia began but Gordon waved her down.
“Somehow, I doubt that meetings with banks have much appeal for you, miss,” he responded. “I believe I will be done by… oh, sometime in the late afternoon, perhaps four o’clock. If you would kindly return here by then, it would be most satisfactory.”
“Oh, um…” Octavia was left hanging as Gordon gave a polite wave and departed for his own work, leaving Octavia to her own devices- or to just stew in her own discomfort. The roaring sounds of a bustling city felt comfortable and familiar to her, though they had rarely included the muffled sound of construction overlapping through it all. The site of the bombings must have been massive to get such a response.
She wondered if she should go take a look.
The streets were less frantic in this direction than she had expected, the emptiness of normal life being replaced by security teams and construction crews. She watched as trucks raced by, filled to the brim with debris and massive bars of steel that had once been skyscrapers. EMT crews would walk along with the air of complete exhaustion, weighed down with the burdens of their experiences- or, Octavia saw with a chill, weighed down by the bodybags they carried. A few glanced at her as they walked by, all carrying that haunted countenance she had seen before. as she came closer, the air began to thicken with dust and the horrid stench of human sweat, waste, and a sickening rot that she hardly dared to name-
Octavia couldn’t help but gasp at the sight as she rounded the corner: utter devastation so vast and sprawling that it was as if she gaze upon the end of the world. Massive craters where shells had found earth dotted the apocalyptic landscape in overlarge, broken holes. There were no streets or sidewalks, simply a vast plain covered in rubble and stone and whatever contents of the buildings that had survived the explosions. Hollowed frames that had once been buildings hung limply in their foundations, hovering over the empty holes where skyscrapers had once stood and were now no more. Firefighters worked alongside military and civilian units to dig their way into the carnage, searching for any of the dead and dying that may still lurk beneath. Poster boards had been set across the expanse, some denoting various work points while others were covered in phone numbers and pictures of the unrecovered, pleas from their families that begged for their loved ones to be found. On and on it went, across city blocks and on for what seemed like miles until all Octavia could see was this endless destruction.
“Hey- hey, kid!” She turned around to see a fireman headed towards her, a look of concern on his dirty face. “What are you doing here, it’s not a safe place to be walking around! Not everything around here is stable.”
“I-” Octavia faltered. “I just had to see-”
The man shook his head, his expression pained. “You’ve seen more than you’ll ever want to see again for the rest of your life,” he replied. “Are you looking for someone? Is someone you know missing? Best place to ask for help about that is over at the aid center.”
“Where’s that?”
“Office complex over there,” he answered, pointing to one of the nearby buildings that looked remarkably untouched. “See the tents outside of the place? The whole thing’s a big relief shelter, got food and medical- and a lot of the brains running this slog. You’ll find what you’re looking for there.”
“Alright… thanks.” Realizing she had nothing else to lose, Octavia walked over to the complex. The smell of food flowed from inside the tents, perhaps a volunteer group had brought fresh meals for the workers here. Though she felt her stomach twist with hunger, she thought it would likely be in poor taste if she took some herself, and walked past and into the complex.
The violent odor was a punch to the gut, a horrible mixture of blood and sweat and human waste that sent her senses into overdrive, drawing tears from the musician’s eyes and sending fresh waves of nausea streaming through her body. The walls bore faded stains of red, medical equipment could still be seen, pressed up against the walls, a few souls still bore bandages and fresh scars from their work out in the destruction. They sat quietly amongst one another, silenced by the disaster and left with nothing but their grief. It was such a sight to behold…
“Oh… who are you?” a softer, gentler voice met her ears and Octavia turned to see an older woman walking towards her, dressed in a doctor’s uniform. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here yet. Are you looking for someone?”
Octavia started fumbling again. “Oh, I- I’m just- I’m sorry, I should just-”
“No, it’s alright, love,” the woman said, holding out her hand. “My name’s Diane Cook, I’m the one in charge of this facility. I can help you find anyone you’re looking for.”
Octavia took the woman’s hand, feeling the layers of sweat and grime that caked her fingers. She looked up into the older woman’s eyes and saw they were ringed with dark black circles born of exhaustion. She had likely been here right after the disaster, working nonstop.
“I’m- I’m just here on my own. I don’t know anyone here,” Octavia finally mustered her voice quiet. “I just wanted to see… I’m sorry-”
“Don’t be, we could use all the help we can get,” Diane replied airily. “Thank you for coming down and offering to-”
“Wait, what?” Octavia gave a small jump, her eyes wide. “I- I don’t know, I just-”
Diane gave a confused grimace. “What’s wrong? You’re a volunteer, aren’t you?”
Octavia bit her lip and looked away. This was a huge mistake, she never should have come down here. She’d been caught sightseeing like some ignorant tourist…
Diana studied the young woman for a bit. “Come with me for a bit,” she said. “Maybe I can help you get unsorted.”
The two women walked down the halls through the maze of cots and equipment and supplies that dominated the area. Some relief crews were fast asleep on mere boards or just sprawled on the floor, strewn this way and that in an effort to get some rest. Others sat huddled against the wall, overwhelmed by the violence in which they worked that they struggled to find the most meager portion of rest for their souls. All the way through, Diana would call out orders and encouragement to her fellows, doing whatever she could as she went past.
“It’s horrible,” Octavia whispered as they walked. “It’s- it’s like…”
“It’s like it’s the end of the world,” Diane finished. “I’ve heard it before.” The two women stopped outside the hallway, overlooking the destruction outside with obvious distaste. “Go on, then. If it’s what you need to see, then look. God knows I did at first when I got here.”
Octavia looked out into the chaos, watching human lives work through the wreckage and brokenness. “It’s unreal,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“We have,” Diane replied. “My grandfather lived through the Blitz- he was a butcher living in west Liverpool when the war began. He said he’d hear those planes rolling over and the sirens would start and it’d shake your teeth loose the world would shake so hard. He’d talk about how the world was all broken, about all the destroyed houses and the dead bodies they’d find and he’d always finish his stories by telling me, ‘God help us, girl, so we never let it happen again. I don’t want us to ever forget.’ I guess some of us should’ve taken my grandfather’s advice.”
“I guess we should’ve…” Octavia said softly. “Why are you telling me this? Why are you even talking to me?”
Diane shook her head. “I guess to talk about something,” she mused. “Maybe because I want to believe this isn’t the way it’s always going to be. And maybe to convince you of just the same thing.”
“That’s not why I came here.”
“Then why did you? I doubt you came to look for nothing.”
“I don’t know, I really don’t. I just kept seeing people come this way and they all looked so scared of what they were going to see, I just- I don’t know.”
Diane regarded the young girl, studying the dark hair and sharp features, examining the smoothness of her skin. Octavia knew she was being measure up, compared to. She’d done nothing truly hard in her life, nothing that could compare to this.
“Why don’t you come help us, then?” Diane offered. “If you don’t know what you’re looking for, then I doubt you’ll find it where you’ve already been.”
“I- I can’t,” Octavia said flatly.
“And why not?” Diane asked.
“I’m- I haven’t been- I’m not a good person, really,” came the answer. “I don’t think you want someone like me helping anyone.”
Diane gave a snort. “I don’t give a rip what you’ve done and I highly doubt anyone else here would, either.” Octavia gave her a shocked glance. “What’s your name, child?”
“Octavia, ma’am.”
“Well, let me tell you something, Octavia,” Diane said, “We’ve all got our skeletons in the closet. Everyone’s got a story, we’ve all done shameful deeds. And right now, when it feels like the world’s ending, I can promise you one thing- no one cares.”
“But, but how-”
“No one cares,” Diane insisted. “And we don’t care because it doesn’t matter anymore. Look outside, look at what’s happening in the world. Millions of people across the entire world are dead and we’ve got a war ahead where millions more are going to join them. It doesn’t matter whether you’re angel or devil when bombs drop. But we’re here, we’re alive, and we still get to choose which one we want to be. So you can either stay stuck in your bad decisions and rot or you can get up and get over it. A starving child isn’t going to care that the person handing him food is a bastard- all they’ll care about is that someone’s giving them food.”
“But I can’t just say what I’ve done is OK-”
“And nor should you,” Diane countered, “But that’s the past and this is what’s here and now. Care about that, instead- after all, it’s the only thing you can do anything about.”
Octavia pondered that for a time, looking out into the ruins of the city. “I don’t know how to answer that,” she said. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Then take the time you need to think it over,” Diane replied. “If you do decide to help, though, ask for me next time you’re around.”
Octavia nodded, wondering if she’d ever get a chance for a next time. After all, the drive here had been a long one, and not exactly a common occurrence.
Diane gave a stretch and said, “There’s fresh food out in the tents- a couple of the local churches dropped by to help cheer up the place with a hot meal. I’m going down there, if you’d like to join me.” Octavia tried to protest but was immediately waved down. “They’re for anyone who needs one- not just the workers here,” Diane said gently. “Besides, there’s nothing quite like hot food to restore your spirits. God knows I need all I can get.”
A little reluctantly, Octavia followed along behind the older woman, feeling still somewhat ashamed of the gesture. She had no right to this, really. But nevertheless, about ten minutes later she was sitting at a makeshift table with a small bowl of beef stew before her, tantalizingly tempting as the aroma filtered into her nostrils.
“Ah, that always hits the spot,” Diane sighed pleasantly, dropping her spoon into an already empty bowl. “We could’ve used them here earlier on, truthfully. The payment of a free food got a lot of folks onto the site when we desperately needed it.”
“Do people simply come and try to help?”
“Sometimes. Lots come looking for family members that never came home. They keep holding onto the smallest chance that they’re still alive down there.”
Octavia picked at her food, taking a small spoonful. It was quite delicious, really, for something so simple. “Erm… have they found… you know..?”
“Occasionally,” Diane answered. “Enough to keep the hopes of others alive. It may seem a bit grim, but it’s hopeful in a way. There’s always a reason to keep believing this isn’t how it all ends.”
Octavia took another spoonful as the pleasant sound of strings met her ears, the liquid notes coursing through the air like water in a stream. With speed capable of breaking her neck, Octavia looked over her shoulder to see a scraggy, unkempt man hesitantly playing with a small, battered violin. It was a shabby instrument- not particularly well-cared for, by the looks of it. The strings needed tuning and the wood look maltreated as if it had been dragged around. The man attempting to play looked unaware of these things as he tested out the strings, uncertainty and hesitancy in his every motion. But still, the sounds it could make…
“Eh? What’s got your eye, then? Diane asked, turning around to see for herself. “Ah, seems they found one.”
“You don’t mean-?”
“You’d be surprised what turns up in the rubbish.”
“If- excuse me for a moment,” Octavia said hurriedly, getting off her seat and walking over to the man, who was looking down at his newfound instrument in relative disappointment. “Sorry, I hope I’m not bothering you…”
“No, not at all, love,” he said wearily, plucking at the strings with his dirt-covered fingernails. “Just- I found this down there in the pit and it reminded me of the one me old Mum taught me how to play when I was a wee lad. I want to give it a play but all my lessons seem to have up and took off from me.” He gave a sigh, adding, “Would’ve been nice to hear a few notes.”
“No, it’s not your fault, really- it’s out of tune,” Octavia said, examining the instrument with longing. “And really, it’s just a bit too battered to have the perfect sound, so it’ll never be just right-”
“Well, you certainly haven’t forgotten yours,” he said with a chuckle. “Here, love. Take it, it’ll certainly do more good in your hands than mine right now.”
“Give me just a minute,” Octavia replied, setting to work on the strings with gusto, tightening them and feeling them out for a good several minutes until she felt satisfied with their sound. “It’s not perfect, but it’s as close as I can get.” Feeling inspired, she looked over at her companion. “Is there anything… anything you’d like to hear? Anything special at all?”
The old man looked positively delighted at the thought. “Oh, I never knew their names… Mum always had me playing classics, as she called them. I wouldn’t mind hearing one of them again…”
Octavia didn’t hesitate, putting the instrument beneath her chin and bringing the bow to the strings, picking up an old tune from her earliest days of practice. It was comforting, soothing motion- an awakening from her slumber that she had entered ever since she had left her home across the seas. Like the greeting of an old friend the notes came to her and brought her happiness as she played, calming her heart and assuaging her grief- just like the outstretched hand she had never taken just a few short months ago.
If I could go back and make that choice again, she thought, I would’ve shook her hand. Hers… and his.
The last note came pealing out and flew into the air, the silence returning and arousing Octavia from her reverie. She suddenly realized she had been playing for several minutes and that not only were the eyes of the old man set on her, but those of the entire tent. She felt her insides freeze as the sound of appreciative applause came from somewhere in the far back before echoing off the canopy. This had not been her intention at all…
“I’m- I’m sorry,” Octavia mumbled, quickly pushing the instrument back into the old gentleman’s hands. “Here, you can keep it, I’ve got my own sitting at home.”
The sight of tears in his eyes took her aback. “I haven’t heard that in so long,” he said wistfully, a voice tinged with both sadness and joy. “Thanks for the song, love.”
Octavia could barely look him in the face and hastily made her way towards the exit in an attempt to disappear. It was time for her to go, she was probably already late-
“Wait, hold on a second,” said Diane behind her, running ahead to catch up with the young musician. “Where did that come from?”
“I- I didn’t meant to-”
“Don’t apologize for it!” she protested. “That man lost his wife and mother in the attack, he’s been coming to the site every day in the hopes of finding something of theirs. You probably did the single nicest thing you could’ve done for him.” The older woman scrutinized her companion. “Do you really think you have nothing to offer now?”
Octavia said nothing, glancing over at the horrific devastation once more.
“Please, if you get the chance, come by again… I think you’re on to something.”
The next fortnight saw the emergence of a double life in the daily goings of Octavia. From time to time she would simply disappear, her presence no longer able to be found in the halls of her mother’s acquired home. Esme would look around and call for her, but she had becoming more and more difficult to find, much to her mother’s chagrin. Little did she know that the young musician would return to the city again and again, her violin in hand just in case. Some days she would work, others she would play music to soothe their spirits. Whether she returned with Gordon as her chauffeur or by hitchhiking, it didn’t matter to Octavia- the result, the simply being there, was enough. The more she worked, the more she found she was becoming lost in it- a therapy to distance herself from her old life…
“You simply can’t disappear like that, darling!” Esme would chide, whenever the two were together, having grown tired of her daughter’s constant absences. “A lady does need her time to be alone, that’s true, but that doesn’t give you the right to flaunt your disrespect for me!”
“It’s not disrespect, Mum,” Octavia replied, her eyes focused on the TV before her. Another segment on the war- the Crystal Empire had lost ground in Africa and was slowly being pushed back, but the rest of Europe was still a massive battleground. A lot of worry was focused on the eastern front, where the Empire had made ground in claiming St. Petersburg-
“Do not ignore me like that, child!” Esme said angrily, cuffing her daughter across the head. “Just because your father was a total loss does not mean you have to be- honestly, the influence he’s had upon you! You were once so quiet and demure… As I was saying, one my ladies- a woman named Eliza, dumpy sort of woman, really- she’ll be coming by on the weekend to help fix you up just right. You’ll look the part of an heiress once and for all!”
Octavia did her best not to pull a face, her blood starting to boil as her mind went back to her earliest years when her parents had still been together. Her father had ignored her mother a great deal, that was true, but it was more often to avoid the nagging and the constant complaint of their poverty. It’d gone on for so long…
“As the eastern conflict spreads deeper into the city, a proclamation was sent by the Crystal Empire from King Sombra, demanding the total surrender of Russian forces,” came the voice of the newscaster, talking over the footage of a city on fire, countless soldiers and military equipment moving through its streets as bombers roared overhead. “The remnants of the Russian government have threatened the use of its nuclear arsenal as a last-resort maneuver in the attempts to slow the progress of Imperial soldiers, but as more territory continues to fall, the likelihood of a ceasefire between the two nations dissipates all the more.”
Esme gave a snort, watching as a transport aircraft took incoming fire and fell to earth in a fireball of gasoline and munitions. “I must say, if the rest of the world is truly so incompetent in protecting themselves, then the Empire may as well control it all,” she said derisively. “They almost remind me of myself, in a way- trying to push people into the proper place, making things run the way they should…”
Her mother fell into a reverie, her eyes glowing with the enthusiasm of a newfound idea that consumed all her focus. A good thing, too, as Octavia’s jaw had fallen off the couch and onto the floor in absolute shock.
“Now that I think of it, the Crystal Empire does still have real royalty,” she remarked quietly. “If things were ever to go sour, perhaps if I made my intentions clear, I could very well be looked after when all this nasty business blows over.”
“What on earth…”
“You must think of it, dear, you simply must!” Esme said excitedly. “By the looks of things the Crystal Empire certainly will have this whole messy affair sorted right out in a year or two- you and I must think about how we are to look after ourselves! I am quite beautiful, as you know, and you would be as well if you’d ever put some effort into it-”
“Mum, please…”
“Yes dear, even you could look lovely if you ever tried,” Esme continued, “Just imagine it- the Crystal Empire, looking through their newfound land for love, and they come here and find a beautiful mature woman with a lovely daughter, waiting to welcome them into their home! We could be part of an Empire, Octavia- absolute royalty!”
Octavia could do nothing but gawk at her mother, who continued on in the same vein for quite some time, unaware of her only child’s complete silence. She is utterly, utterly, mad, Octavia could only muster.
She excused herself a few minutes later, unable to withstand her mother’s stupidity for a moment longer. Octavia found herself in her room, positively shaking with rage. She didn’t even have a good explanation why just yet, all she knew was that she was absolutely sick of her mother being a complete moron, a pompous, vain, arrogant, self-absorbed, brainless-
“I would be careful, if I were you, miss,” Gordon said unexpectedly, popping into her room with what dignity he could muster for eavesdropping. “Your mother may not be the most self-aware of creatures, but your voice has a tendency to carry in these empty halls.”
“Does she even understand who they are?” Octavia snapped, her long hair sailing through the air as she turned to face him. “Does she even clue in to reality at all- does she not care that people are getting killed every damn day?”
Gordon said nothing, allowing the young girl time to vent as needed. He was careful, measured in his approach, always remembering the measures of respect required from him. Though Octavia appreciated his tact and politeness, today it was an annoyance. He wouldn’t dare speak out against his employer.
“All she thinks about is- is her money that isn’t even HERS- and stupid, pathetic, vain things like it’s all that matters- and total disregard for anything else at all!”
Gordon still remained silent, only causing Octavia’s anger to grow. She was rather sick and tired of his lack of assertion in the matter.
“And how can you be so complicit with all of it?” she demanded of him, her anger turning to him next, the nearest target she could find. “She won’t listen to a word I say, I can’t get through to her at all, but she at least respects you! How can you let her simply say things like that? Why won’t you stop her?”
“Because that is not my duty,” Gordon replied simply. “No matter the circumstances, my goal is, and always will be, to do my work to the best of my ability-”
“Then you’re no better than her!” Octavia yelled. “You’re just as oblivious and stuck up as she is- wake up, Gordon! This isn’t the 1800’s or some other god-forsaken era, this is now! There’s no rank or status any of that crap- it doesn’t matter anymore. If someone’s wrong, call them out!”
“Miss, it is not compliance or obedience- it is respect,” he said firmly, a toughness to his voice that she hadn’t heard before. “I am her butler, nothing more. If anyone has the right to correct her, then it is her sole flesh and blood that Madam Esme has left- which is you.”
“I can’t get her to listen to me, she just ignores me!”
“Have you truly tried to reason with her? To make her grant the attention and respect you desire?” he queried. Octavia bowed her head, unable to meet his eyes. “You do not see yourself for what you are- no longer a girl, but afraid to grasp the adulthood that awaits you. Whether it is your self-doubt or your regret over past sins, it does not matter. It is time to present yourself to your mother as who you truly are- whatever that may be is up to you.”
“And if she doesn’t want to listen?”
Gordon gave a sigh, rubbing his worn temple. “Then at least you will understand yourself.”
“You want me to what?”
Diane nodded, confirming her words. “My team of workers is heading south to Wales. The military is requesting our support in preparations for- whatever it is, they’re not telling us. But a mass influx of hospital workers and civilian support is being pushed to as many coastline installations as possible. If you’re willing, I can push through paperwork so you can join us- you have the talent for it.”
“But, but I-” Octavia hesitated, looking down at her dirtied latex gloves, covered in medical liquids and sticky on contact, she look rather grimy. The two had been working together to clean up as much as possible, sorting through myriads of medical equipment and disposing of it into the proper receptacles. It was gross, filthy work, but necessary as well.
“What’s the matter? Certainly nothing’s stopped you from helping so far,” the older woman said. “What could keep you from coming with us- are you of age?”
“I- well, it’s- it’s my mother,” Octavia said hesitantly, the two heading towards a trash can to dispose of their gloves. “She never knew I was coming down here- I’ve sort of been skiving off without her knowing.”
“Does she disapprove?”
“She’s- she’s deluded, really,” Octavia confessed. “Completely deluded. And self-absorbed, and vain, and arrogant beyond belief- and very, very rich.”
Diane laughed. “One of those better-than-thou types, I guess? So what does that have to do with you?”
“She’d be furious if she knew I was here, and- and I don’t know if she’ll let me leave…”
“But you’re an adult, you can make that choice yourself,” Diane pressed.
“I know, I can, but- but I- Oh, this is so STUPID!” Octavia snapped. “Why can’t I just make the choice myself and get this done? I don’t even want to be near her for more than a moment, I barely acknowledge her as my own mother! I shouldn’t be so afraid like this!”
Diane watched the younger woman seethe, letting her anger flow out from her and into the open air. After a while, when she seemed certain that Octavia’s outburst was over, she put a hand on her shoulder.
“If it would help,” she said slowly, “Would you like me to come by tomorrow and see if I could be there with you? Maybe it would help you to relax.”
Octavia bit her lip. “She might yell at you, I don’t- I really don’t know.”
Diane gave a gentle laugh, a bit worn down by exhaustion. “I’ve endured far worse, rest assured on that much,” she said pleasantly. “I doubt a few unpleasant words would be enough to break me down now. Not after… after all this.” The tired doctor gave a long, stringing sigh as she turned to look out into the destruction, the sight seemingly draining her of her years. She was not an old woman, but suddenly she appeared to have endured centuries of a cold, brutal world.
“How do you handle it so well?” Octavia asked. “You never get tired, or lose control- you just keep going…”
“I do my best to endure, as I’ve been trained,” Diane said, her voice croaking like an old maid’s. “I try my hardest to throw all my emotions into my work, to use it as a drive to succeed. If I can save enough lives then there’s- more.”
“More what?”
“More stories to tell. More people to warn those who come after, so that we’ll never do this again… because God knows I wish this was all there was going to be.” She turned to the young musician, a pained expression clouding her gaze. “I’m asking an awful lot of you- maybe I wasn’t aware of that. If you do decide to come with us… you’ll see things the likes of which you can’t even imagine. What you’ve seen here is just the beginning.”
Octavia mulled that over- the dire words, the small plea for it all to end, and the dire warning that true horrors were yet to come. It was a terrible, terrifying thought, but so was who she had once been. The life she could no longer lead was as empty, soulless, and dreadful as the bloodshed that lay in store. “I’ll try to talk with her.”
[dr]
Octavia went home late that night, her voice sapped by exhaustion and anxiety for the coming day. Her mother would not be one so easily convinced, she was sure of that. But perhaps she’d be willing to listen to Diane’s quiet logic- after all, she hardly ever listened to a word from her own daughter. Gordon was rather somber as well, taking note of his young charge’s disquieted mood. Whether or not he knew of her intentions he didn’t say, but the lingering presence of his reedy frame around her was difficult to ignore.
She thought that sleep would escape her throughout the night, but the physical and mental toll of that past few weeks were enough to steal her into the dreaming world, and the next thin Octavia knew was the curtains being thrust open and a burning light blaring into your eyes.
“Wake up, darling, you’re going to be late already!”
“Mum… Mum, what’re you doing?” Octavia asked angrily, shielding her eyes from the stunning light of the morning.
Her mother was a sight, dressed in finery for some strange manic reason well beyond Octavia’s reasoning, capped off with a smile so wide it had left the realm of cheerful behind for the creepy. “Wake up, child, I have wonderful news! Eliza will be dropping by any minute now, we’ll finally have you looking proper and not as some unrefined girlish thing that your father turned you into- and also, we will be having guests tonight!”
“Mum, I need to talk to you,” Octavia began.
“I’ve had the luck of recently locking arms with one of the local politicians, dear, who seems to have some well-placed friends in the world,” Esme continued, ignoring her daughter’s words. “As it turns out, he was friends with the devastatingly handsome Lord Sunwreath of Parliament- and Lord Sunwreath will be our guest of honor!”
“Mum, seriously, I need to talk to you-”
“Oh, can you imagine it, darling? I, draped in my finest dress and pearls as I sashay amongst politicians- and maybe even royalty!”
“Mum, I know we’re going to have guests, but if you’d just listen to me for a moment-”
“So Eliza will help you look the part- after all, we can’t a single thing go wrong tonight,” Esme added, taking out a simple grey dress and laying across Octavia’s footstool that wasn’t truly hers- beautiful enough to take Octavia’s breath away, but just another sign of how deftly her mother ignored her. “So you’ll allow her to clean up that silly hairstyle of yours as well as set you with the perfect look for tonight- Oh, I’ll be so happy tonight, I’m certain of it!”
She left before Octavia could manage another word, leaving her daughter in a state of anger and distress. She checked the clock- 9:30. Diane had promised to be here a little after ten…
“What are you doing not dressed? Hurry, girl, we have an important day ahead of us!” Esme chided a few minutes later, walking back in and finding Octavia still in her nightclothes. “Eliza will be here any minute now, you simply must get dressed.”
Octavia tried to hold her ground. “Mum, I’m not going to until you and I have talked, I need you to listen-”
“No time, no time!” Esme scolded testily. “Honestly, with you dilly-dallying like this, I can scarcely imagine what would’ve happened if I’d left you in the care of your father… now hurry, get dressed and be ready for Eliza to get here- we have so much to do!”
“No we don’t, we really, really don’t,” Octavia said anxiously as Esme raced out of the room yet again, leaving Octavia no choice but to get dressed. She bit her lip hard enough to leave a bruise, worrying about what would happen if Diane came here with zero introduction.
Octavia soon found herself under the care of Eliza, a rather ugly woman no matter the standard. A double chin, overly frizzy hair, and a noticeable pair of overlarge buckteeth- but her eyes possessed a small happiness there. “Alright, love, let’s get to work, shall we?” she said, her accent thick and heavy, a stark contrast against Octavia’s. “Where would you like me to start? We can go over the bangs first, or start with the hair in the back-”
“Wait, please,” Octavia said desperately, hearing the sound of the doorbell ring, followed by Gordon’s footsteps to answer it. Her heart clenched, knowing that her time had run out.
“Is something wrong, love?” Eliza said uncertainly. “I know sometimes it’s a wee bit of a shock to have a makeover, but I promise I’ll make you look right lovely- even more than you do now…”
“I- I can’t do this,” Octavia said hesitantly. “I can’t do this. I won’t!”
“Please, dear, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, if that’s what I did-”
Octavia leapt from the chair, starting to fill with determination. “Thank you very much for your kindness, but I’ll have to decline the offer,” she said firmly. “I need to talk to my mother- now.” And with that she raced out of the room and into the long hallway, heading for the stairs that would lead her to the main doors were Diane was likely to still be located, and where at all likelihood-
“You what?!” Esme shrieked. Her voice reached an octave typically reserved for calling dogs of shattering glass, but in this case it worked well to make a young girl halt at the top of the staircase. Esme was standing at the door, arguing with a rather harassed-looking Diane while Gordon stood to the side, looking severely displeased with the entire affair.
“Look, ma’am, if you’d just let me explain, I’m sure you’d at the very least understand what I am asking here-”
“How dare you come to this place! You and your foul- eugh, the stench of you! There is no place on this land for something like you!” Esme shrieked again, looking absolutely aggrieved. “Get away from this place at once, you are making a scene.
“She’s making a scene?” Octavia countered, finding her will once more. She rushed down the stairs towards her mother, who had turned about on point to face her daughter.
“Octavia, this is not the time nor the place- you know what is at stake tonight-”
“At stake? Are you stark raving MAD!?” Octavia fired back, feeling her cheeks starting to flush. “What time in the world do you think this is?! How dare you talk to my friend like that!”
“Your friend? Octavia, so this is with whom you’ve been sneaking off!”
“Madam, if I may,” Gordon said hesitantly, “There is much a fuss being made about very little here-”
“Away with you, Gordon! This is a matter between my daughter and I alone!” Esme bellowed, beginning to lose her cool entirely. “And you,” she hissed, whirling back onto Diane, “Get away from this premises at once or I shall call the authorities. Away with you!” And just like that, she slammed the door in the doctor’s face before turning back around to face Octavia.
“So all it takes is some social faux paus to make you finally listen to me?” Octavia said tauntingly.
“You- you brought such a senseless, sloppy madwoman onto this grounds,” Esme seethed, “The very air reeked because of her-”
“Because she’s been working in the city every day for over a month now to save human lives- something you care absolutely nothing about!” Octavia replied angrily.
“You have been slipping into the city to socialize with- with these common ilk?” Esme gasped.
“You are completely raving! There isn’t any difference between you or me or the rest of the world anymore! This could be the end of the world, it doesn’t matter anymore- it never did! Especially for you- how can you act like you are better than anyone else?”
“How dare you speak to me in such a manner! I am your mother and I will not tolerate such behavior!”
“You foul hypocrite!” Octavia yelled. “You met Dad in a local pub and you were drunk out of your mind- you’re not noble in the very least!”
Esme gave a small squeak of anguish before reverting to anger. “Why did he- I should have known he would be the kind to tell such tales about people, the vile little creature-”
“Enough! Stop trying to look down on Dad! Stop trying to live like this is all your wealth or your house or anything of yours! Stop living your mad-cap delusions and wake up- we are at war and I don’t want to stand by and do nothing- I can’t be that kind of person anymore, I don’t want to be!”
“Octavia, you pathetic, misguided girl, your father certainly ruined whatever chances you may have had, but-”
The final straw. “I HATE YOU!” Octavia screamed, her emotions finally giving way and bursting forth like a dam. “You ruined my life- you ruined all our lives! You were always needling Dad and criticizing him to where he simply couldn’t take it anymore! You left us high and dry, taking all his money and even the house and if Dad hadn’t tried to find a job overseas we may well have died! You didn’t care about my well-being then! You abandoned us! And what’s worse- you broke him, forever!” she added. “Dad was never the same because of what you did to him- you caused him to turn cold and bitter and every time he saw me he’d get angry because he’d tell me he saw you and- and what he did to me- how he’d- he was happy before! But you killed him, and you took my only father away from me! You were never my mother- not then, and certainly not now! I was a hindrance to you then, and now you’re trying to use me as a bargaining chip! Stop trying to hurt everything around you because I can’t take it anymore!”
The silence finally fell between the two, tears swimming in the eyes of young Octavia whilst her mother looked on in shock.
“Is that what you really feel?” Esme asked.
“YES!” Octavia said painfully, her chest heaving and her legs beginning to feel weak beneath her…
For a moment, perhaps Esme’s heart was stirred. Perhaps the motherly instincts –dormant within her for so long- had been roused by the pain and the hurt within her daughter’s words. Perhaps there was a longing to fulfill her duties, to bring comfort and the security she never had. But they only flickered for a moment and died. Esme’s eyes hardened and she said, “I was never your mother, was I?” she asked coldly. “Then keep it that way, if that’s what you want. Get out of my house, you ungrateful child, and never see my beautiful face again.”
“It’s what I’ve always wanted,” Octavia said thickly, her tears beginning to fall from her eyes and down her lovely face. She raced back upstairs and into her room, heaving out the small suitcase she had brought with her and stuffing it haphazardly with whatever clothing she could get her hands on- a few pairs of underwear here and there, some shorts and t-shirts, a skirt and even a worn pair of jeans, as well as an old band shirt that her mother had hated. She slammed it shut and was about to leave when she noticed, propped up against the wall, her tiny black case- the violin case she had brought from her time in high school, the last memento of a bittersweet memory with a young boy who might have been her friend if she had given him the chance.
Octavia rushed past Gordon’s distressed form, suitcase and violin in hand as she ran down the driveway and onto the main road. It was painful, brutal to her body- unused to such intense punishment from emotion or physical duress, but on she went until she began to reach semblances of civilization again. She caught sight of a construction truck heading towards the city and begged for a ride, taking a seat besides the driver as the vehicle came to a halt.
“What on- what’s the matter with you, girl?” the driver asked, his beard bristling with the peculiarity of the situation.
“Just drive to the relief shelter near the bombing site, please,” Octavia said, her voice trembling.
“But- girl you look truly awful, are you-”
“Just go, please!” Octavia said, her voice threatening to break under the weight of her freshly born tears. She looked out of the window and onto the countryside of a land she was born to but was not her own- the land of a family that had disowned her, mistreated her, and thrown her aside in its cruelty and hatred of one another, lost and forgotten in the midst of war.
No father, and no mother, Octavia thought to herself. I can take it- I can do this. Nothing’s really changing, anyway. They were never there, save for the very start of it all.
No family, no heritage, no past at all. I am not Octavia Melody any longer- until this tale of war comes to an end, I have no name.
In the fierce melee of a world at war,
In the throes of the endless fray,
A soft hand to heal the wounds of the soldier,
Or a gentle guide to the light of day-
She, the Woman in Grey.
Author's Note
Well, look who's back after a massive hiatus. Sorry for the overlong wait, I've been exhausted here. Whether it's been a PT test or preparing for the field or BEING IN the field or prepping for half a billion other things, I've been worn out and depressed. I'm a wreck right now-
And not very satisfied with this story. I liked the conclusion, but I feel like it was messy and overlong. I was trying for something different than the result and it sort of annoys me. Oh well, I may as well live with it now.
And so you have it, Octavia's tale has been told, let me see, who's left...
Rarity
Rainbow Dash
Applejack
Those three before we get a sequel to She's Gonna Kill Me! and I assure you it'll be some time. A lot of effort is going into it, because I want it to be done as well as I can possibly manage. Some work's already been done, but I won't reveal anything yet.
As usual, comments and corrections below, and thanks for reading!
