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Chapter Text

Moxxie frantically threw a chair, then several more, then the heavy oak desk against the office-door. His heart felt ready to explode; was there anything else he could use to keep that mountain of a woman out of here?!?

“Teeeeeddy…?”

His wide eyes snapped to the door, audibly gulping at the shadow through the frosted glass. Beyond, Saline rolled her shoulders, her long tail swished eagerly. “I’m coming iiiii-in~! Nothing you can doooo-oo~!”

Oh crumbs, oh no, oh gosh, oh Satan – the imp looked around the room, rapidly running out of objects to add to his barricade. If he could just find what he was looking for in time –

There! The mirror! The crystal mirror Baron Vidiel had on his desk! It stood atop a pile of cash and gold bricks over in the far corner – he lunged for it, hands outstretched and grasping, but –

The door swung open as though blasted by dynamite; the furniture stacked against it blew away like paper, and in a flash Saline was through. Her shadow loomed large over Moxxie, hands on her hips and bathing him in the glint of a sweet, cheeky smile. “Aha, where do you think you’re going?”

The imp turned and dropped onto all fours, scrambling like an animal towards the mirror, but Saline’s tail swiped out into his side, swatting him over. As his world spun, he had just enough time to see the bulging cetea tower over him before her perfectly-manicured hand clutched his wrist. Effortlessly, she lifted him into the air, letting him dangle at eye-level.

“Sorry, imp!” she giggled, “Nothing personal, but I wouldn’t be a very good assistant if I let His Lordship’s foes thieve from him!”

“C-Can’t we talk about – owwwwww-ow-ow-ow!” Apparently not – Saline had given his forearm a reproachful vice-grip. The killer secretary lifted him in close, close enough to see every fleck of smokey eyeshadow, every drop of light reflecting from her ludicrously-glossy lipstick.

“Did I mention what happened to that teddy-bear of mine?” she asked. Suddenly, Moxxie was chest-to-chest with her, a pair of powerful forearms clenched across his back, hugging him to her… and not in what Moxxie would call an ‘affectionate’ manner.

Arms pinned to his sides, he tugged with his shoulders, kicking out at her belly – the effort did little more than widen her smile. “…I squeezed it just a little – too – hard…”

Suddenly, her hold on him tightened. The pressure racked his torso, forcing a yelp out of him almost instantly. His captor snorted, tossing her head to flick her fringe away and maintain that manic, disturbingly-possessive eye-contact.

“I squeezed…”

Her biceps looked ready to burst out of her sleeves, crunching in either side of him.

“…And squeezed…”

Moxxie had to pull his face back to avoid being mashed into her collar, his legs stretching and writhing as his body began to creak.

“…Until his poor little head just popped right off!”

“Ha-haaaargh!” Another clench, tighter and tighter she compressed him. He felt his face turning redder and redder, a tiny island in a sea of overwhelming strength.

Saline idly drummed her fingers, perching prissily on the desk still battered from her entry. “Feeling a little faint?” she teased, resting her cheek atop his head. “Just let yourself pass out – you know you’re not getting out of this…”

A few quiet cricks and cracks popped away in his spine as Saline’s steamroller of bearhug drowned out his struggles. He had to do something – he had to get to that mirror, but if he was going to come up with a plan, it had better be quick…

Millie jumped from chandelier to chandelier, dodging jets of acid from the Baron below. It was impossible to find an entry to attack; even if she got right above him for a plunging-strike, he would simply blast her on the way down. Right now, by having to flip and leap around his repeated streams, she was using up considerably more energy than he was… but Millie had stamina in spades, and the Baron was growing visibly frustrated.

“Stay still, you little insect!” he gargled, jaws snapping between sprays. The floor was now more acid than wood, huge sloshing puddles of the stuff hissing around the disintegrating exhibits caught as collateral damage. Thankfully, the sheeted mystery-exhibit appeared unharmed; Millie didn’t want to have to deal with an angry princess after this. It didn’t appear to be an accident, either – the Baron’s value for this artefact had already been made plain as day, and he looked less willing to part with it by the second.

“What’s the matter? Can’t reach me up here, short-stuff?” she jeered. In truth, the Baron was taller than her, but he would look absurd next to an aristocrat like Stolas. Still, it seemed to work.

“Short?!?” he snarled, “You lippy little pup! Speak to me of ‘tall’ after I’ve finished ripping your limbs from their sockets!”

He pointed his minute-hand-sword up at Millie’s chandelier; in much the same way it had enlarged from his pocket-watch, it suddenly stretched out from floor to ceiling, spearing like a harpoon into that brass fixture. Millie gasped, flitting to the other side as the blade retracted back to its usual length; with the tip lodged, it pulled the Baron up with it, allowing him to jump neatly onto the chandelier with her. Face-to-face with her foe, Millie began her counter-offensive.

Striking every-which-way around the chandelier’s central column, Millie unleashed a barrage of flurrying slashes with her axe, swinging around the chain and hopping from stem to stem. The Baron clashed back, ducking and parrying with his clock-swords with fearsome momentum. Though Millie was clearly the more agile of the two, the Baron’s footwork was immaculate, taking neat dashing steps to avoid her heavier blows. His own strikes were nimble and quick, pointed blades thrusting and spinning dangerously at the imp; it took all of Millie’s cat-like reflexes to avoid being skewered.

As the two whirled around one another on the swaying chandelier, the fight began to take its toll – a cut to Millie here, a claw or kick to the Baron there. After one particularly nasty score to her cheek, Millie’s temper flared; she drove her axe towards him in a high-powered chop, one so fast and fierce it nearly caught the Baron’s flapping tailcoat as he dodged it – but the blow followed through, shattering nearly a quarter of the chandelier away. Glass and metal sprayed as shrapnel, and the fixture violently rocked on its chain. Hurtling through the air, the Baron was forced to extend the point of a clock-sword into the central column to anchor himself; an opportunity! Millie jumped up high, aiming for the next chandelier over – with a whirl, her axe severed the chain of the first, sending it plummeting.

The chandelier smashed into the ground, kicking up toxic clouds of acidic vapour from the festering floor. The Baron crashed down with it, rolling upon landing but nevertheless taking a good hard thump from the impact. Drawing a dagger, Millie hurled it at him from above, hoping to end this whilst he was staggered, but that damned third eye of his was unnaturally-fast; he spotted it and disgorged an acid-spray, dissolving it enough to dull the blade and have it harmlessly bounce off his waistcoat.

“I’d compliment you on that,” he hissed, “If you weren’t being so bloody annoying!”

He harpooned a clock-sword into the ceiling and pulled himself up onto a long lighting-bracket suspended by flimsy steel cables at either end. Seeing his trajectory, Millie jumped up to join him, the two balancing on the swaying beam. There was no time for unease – she couldn’t let the Baron use his acid whilst she could only move in one direction – so the moment their feet touched the bracket, she had charged along it to re-engage him.

Teeth gritted, she duelled back and forth with him, using the battle-axe’s superior reach to keep his shortswords at bay, but he soon found a way around that – his clock-hands would simply extend at her, lancing like stabbing pistons and forcing her to leap up and over him. In this way, she vaulted back and forth either side of him, like a gymnast on a beam. The advantage was that the Baron seemed to prefer keeping his clock-swords at a normal length; perhaps he wasn’t used to wielding them any longer than this? Either way, it meant that every time a point stretched out towards her, Millie knew she would enjoy a moment where it was retracting rather than lashing at her.

“You know – ” she snarled, “You can – end this – now, and not – suffer – losing – to an imp!”

Her axe slammed into the lighting-rig, showering sparks as it sputtered out – below, the offshoots crackled into the pools of acid, slowly setting them ablaze. Inferno opened up beneath the two combatants, a haunting under-glow to the Baron’s rage.

“An imp?!?” he cried, locking a blade against the axe-shaft and piercing forth with the other. “An imp I can live with – but an idiot?!? I don’t think so!”

He was in a frenzy, a fury – “You are the most unsophisticated, crude little simpleton I have ever encountered!”

Millie couldn’t dislodge her axe from the shaft-lock – her left hand shot up to catch his wrist as the second blade dived at her.

“You know nothing of art! Your clothes, your hideous accent, your wretched dialect and your utter lack of refinement – oho, your partner, he could pass for an erudite, but you?!?”

The clock-sword Millie was holding away from herself speared out – she was only able to change its angle at the very last moment, now utterly cornered by the piscan aristocrat.

“How under Earth must he feel, dragging a brain-dead dullard like you around? You must be a pretty face as far as imps go, because I couldn’t imagine how else you could be offsetting the sheer sodding embarrassment he must suffer!”

Millie growled, feeling her grip on the axe weaken. If this slimy snob had ever looked ready to murder her, it was now.

“And I will not have my prize taken from me by a simpleton!”

Millie dropped onto her back, kicking out as hard as she could at the Baron’s ankle – it dislodged his stance, sending him into a stagger, but the cost was steep. Millie’s battle-axe fell away from the one hand still clutching it, her weapon dropping into the flaming acid below. Unarmed, she had no choice – she launched herself at the Baron, tackling the larger demon whilst he was unsteady, and the two of them dropped from the bracket.

As they fell, Millie grappled with the Baron, trying to get in the one good hit she needed – but disaster struck. The point of a clock-sword plunged against her shoulder, then rapidly extended. Millie was thrust backwards, slamming hard into an upper-corner of the exhibition-hall by the lengthened blade. At its handle, Baron Vidiel stumbled to his feet, surrounded by the flaming ruins of his gallery.

“You… agh, it’s not often that words fail me, girl…” he panted, clenching his hand around the blade pinning her. The point twisted painfully into Millie’s shoulder, her palms bleeding as she pushed to relieve the pressure. “I haven’t been pushed this far in a long time – at least, a gentleman should thank you for showing me how sloppy I’ve gotten. Unfortunately – ” he seethed, readying his second clock-sword, “I’ve always been more of a blackguard!”

“Nnng – Blackguard and a dumbass…”

The Baron paused, incensed. “…What?”

Millie choked out a laugh. “You’ve already lost, mister! Too busy lookin’ at the pretty pictures and not the big picture!”

He seemed rattled enough to be curious. “Don’t be absurd – your partner distracted Saline so you could get me alone. Didn’t count on me being a capable fighter too, though, did you?”

“Distraction? Ha – Moxxie an’ me, we’re a team! Ain’t neither of us are a ‘distraction’… An’ that’s why your underminin’ speeches can get to shit. I ain’t ashamed in the slightest, and my Moxxie freakin’ loves me! You can get into the head of some fragile artist that way, but you’re gonna have to dig way deeper to find any insecurity in me…”

The Baron glowered. “I’ll start by digging through your forehead, then!” He aimed the second clock-sword, ready to extend it and pierce it through her like its counterpart, only this time he was going for the kill…

“Nice clock, Baron – shame it can’t hypnotise anyone!”

That stunned him for a second – “That’s right – that clock don’t do shit!” Millie pressed on, “I saw you wavin’ it around in front of Aster, but that’s all showmanship; if it’s vital to keeping everyone under your suggestion, you wouldn’t be usin’ it as a weapon! Figured it out as soon as you drew those swords from it in your office. ‘Course, it couldn’t have been the watch anyway – what, do you wave that thing at everyone who comes in here? Hell no – it’s gotta be somethin’ someone’ll see the moment they look at you, else they’d see you as a demon right away!”

Millie grinned through her wound; “It’s your eye, ain’t it? The watch is just a cover so we’ll target that instead, but I saw the security cameras. Never seen ones with a round green lens before, and you sure as shit ain’t watchin’ anythin’ through ‘em, or you’d have seen me an’ Moxx comin’ in both times! Nah, those cameras are just projections of that third eye of yours, ain’t they? Means no matter where folks look, they’re getting a top-up of your influencin’ ‘em. Must be a pretty big weakness if you’re so keen to hide it…”

Amidst the flames, the Baron’s rage had lost its ferocity, and instead turned cold. “…Clever…” he murmured. “You’re full of surprises, imp, I’ll give you that. Still, rather pointless to have discerned so much and lose regardless – oh well, you were so very insistent on stealing my prize – ”

“Leviathan’s prize.”

The Baron startled; the tip of his blade dislodged back from Millie’s shoulder by a fraction, but she braced herself in place – she couldn’t quite wriggle away yet… “What did you do?!?”

“Y’all freaked the fuck out when we said we were comin’ for that exhibit…” Millie grunted, savouring his expression melting away into fear. “Leviathan lets you keep stuff in the human-world, but if you’re shittin’ your britches over the secret exhibit, that ain’t from the human-world, is it?”

She had him. She fucking had him.

“Yeah, kinda obvious when you’re not an idiot…” she snorted, “Now I don’ know what that thing is, but I sure as fuck know you don’ want Leviathan knowin’ either, ‘cause he’ll just take it offa you like everythin’ else! And ‘cause I ain’t an idiot, I also saw you turn that fancy-lookin’ mirror face-down whilst you were talkin’ smack about him – almost like you were worried he’d hear ya through it? Too bad for you I already know that fancy-pantses can use those to talk to one another… what do you think your Prince will say when my Moxxie tells him you got something you shouldn’t?”

All three eyes in Baron Vidiel’s face were as wide as the moon. Overcome with horror, he scrambled for a discarded walkie-talkie; “Saline!” he yelled into it, “Saline, don’t let him get to the mirror! Do you hear me?!? Don’t let him – ”

The sight of the office swam in Moxxie’s vision, growing steadily hazier under Saline’s relentless bearhug. He knew the mirror was somewhere behind him, but getting to it was looking less and less likely by the moment. His whole world was one of irrepressible pressure; his bones creaked, his flesh ached, his will diminished.

“Teehee – go on, teddy-bear, give up!”

He daren’t look up at Saline; this whole affair was embarrassing enough as it was, let alone having to deal with her expression of saccharine sadism. With a resigned, strained gasp, he flopped against her collar, falling limp.

After a few seconds, Saline’s wrenching muscles ceased to shudder, the tightness slowly wearing off. “Hehe, all tuckered-out? Looks like I win, little imp…”

The walkie-talkie at her hip suddenly crackled into life – through it, the panicked voice of the Baron. “Saline! Saline, don’t let him get to the mirror!”

The enormous cetea squeaked, snapping from her crushing reverie to fumble for the device. As she lost both her concentration and one arm’s worth of grip on him, Moxxie’s eye cautiously opened.

He was a good actor.

Tucking up his knees, he curled his toes over the cinched-in waistband of Saline’s pencil-skirt – with it as leverage, he shot upwards like wet soap (possibly getting a little thinner as he squirmed loose of the mighty arm still clamping him to her chest).

“Whaaah?!? Y-You played possum on me?!?” Saline wailed, sounding more offended than anything else – but she was out of sight. Moxxie’s big, yellow eyes were locked on that mirror, his reflection therein giving him ample warning of Saline’s tail swiping at him. With a cat-like leap, he dived over it, scampering on all fours as Saline threw herself after him.

“I am not a possum!”

With a yelp, Moxxie’s left hand clutched the edge of the mirror – even to hold an artefact merely connected to one of the Seven Deadly Sins was no mean feat, as the thing simply radiated power. The imp felt as though something pulled on his hand, threatening to draw him in entirely; invisible energy rushed from it like the breath of a waking beast. Saline was reaching for his ankle – now or never!

“O mighty Leviathan, Embodiment of Envy and Monarch of the Ring!” he cried, “I report an act of treachery from your aristocrat!”

Saline’s hand seized him, but it was too late – the mirror’s surface erupted with green-tinted fire, the lights in the office snuffed out in whip-crack. As though the human world in its entirety fell under an eclipse, Moxxie beheld both his stunned expression and Saline’s melt away into an image of endless undulating coils. A great spherical knot of twisted, interwoven flesh – a single, impossibly-massive serpent, suspended in the opaque depths of a murky emerald ocean…

Leviathan.

From the centre of the mass of coils, a head emerged towards the mirror. Narrow-snouted, dragon-like, crested by sail-like aquatic frills, the great Sin’s form seemed at first to coated by scales; however, as Leviathan loomed closer, it became clear that each ‘scale’ was in fact a coin, a jewel, a precious trinket – all rotted into a vile green, and as the Baron had so eloquently put it, ruined. The sail-like fins were no flesh either, but a patchwork of deeds and other documents of ownership, their contents indecipherable, their owners erased.

The great defiled treasure-hoard of Leviathan’s body suddenly split; like a fissure ripping the ground asunder, the ruin parted, opening an aperture for a single, massive, glaring eye. A purple slit in the glassy, yellow surface contracted, narrowing at Moxxie – in his mind, the imp felt the Sin scouring his thoughts, his memories, his possessions, his insecurities…

“SPEAK.”

Oh, crumbs. “B-Baron Vidiel of the Ars Umbrix! He has something in his possession he doesn’t want you to know about!”

Even at the mere suggestion, without anything close to evidence, Leviathan’s eye widened furiously, the pupil shaking with rage.

“ELABORATE, IMP.”

Saline seemed frozen, aghast by the horror pouring from the mirror. In the eerie green glow, Moxxie chose not to question it. “He has many treasures from the human world he claims are as per your permission!” he called out over the sounds of growing tempest. “But one exhibit that he hides, and fears for you to know of! I suspect it is not from the human world, but a possession of Hell!”

Leviathan’s eye began to twitch unnervingly – then, it began to grotesquely roll back and forth, swivelling and flickering at blinding speeds. A moment later, it suddenly halted, and the Sin unleashed a dreadful, hissing shriek.

“CONCEALED FROM ME!!! AN ARTEFACT OF HELL, PRECIOUS AND PROFANE, CONCEALED FROM ME?!?”

Oh… oh, this might have worked a little too well…

“VIDIEL KNOWS MY PREROGATIVE. MY DOMINION IS UNEQUIVOCAL. I SEE HIS PRIZE. HE SHALL HOLD NO GRANDURE BEFORE ME.”

His mouth was no longer moving in time with his words – instead, they echoed into the darkened air as Leviathan’s jaws slowly opened, lightning chaining between his teeth and coalescing into a mass of molten plasma in his throat.

“I WILL NOT PERMIT THIS. I WILL NOT FORGIVE THIS. THERE CAN BE NO CONTINUANCE. I… WILL… DEVOUR…”

Moxxie looked over his shoulder at the still-frozen Saline. “…I think…” he gulped, “That if we don’t call it quits here and run, we’re probably both going to die.”

Millie flinched as the floor of the exhibition-hall ruptured from wall to wall. Bilious green light blazed up from this wound in the world, the floorboards peeling and crunching apart – the Baron was thrown to one side, the point of his clock-sword dislodging from Millie’s shoulder. The imp dropped, landing shakily – but she was ready.

“VIDIEL…”

That voice shook the whole gallery – one of utter, inarguable, incensed finality. It could only be one entity… Moxxie had done it!

The Baron pushed himself to his feet, his three eyes glistening with sheer unadulterated panic. “Y-Your Illustriousness! I – ”

“I HAVE SEEN YOUR UNSANCTIONED POSSESSION.” A surging light exploded from within the fissure, a power rising from below and spilling out as bolts of verdant lightning. “IT SHALL BE SURRENDERED TO RUIN, AS SHALL YOUR GAINS IN THIS WRETCHED PLANE OF SINNERS.”

“M-My art!” Vidiel cried, “No! No, they are earthly possessions, they are permitted up here!”

“HEREBY REVOKED.”

Millie winced. Leviathan sure wasn’t as much fun as Asmodeus – no wonder the aristocracy of Envy didn’t like him. Looking about the shattered, fiery wreckage of the exhibition-hall, she spotted the offending article – shunted into the corner during her fight with the Baron, the tall sheeted exhibit remained miraculously intact. Indeed, it seemed that the sheet was no ordinary material, apparently resistant to the splashed acid sizzling the walls and floor. Sprinting, she forced her remaining energy into reaching it.

The Baron took note – his path illuminated by flashes of erupting lightning, Millie caught him in the corner of her eye, moving to intercept. Just as she was about to seize the exhibit, the blade of a clock-sword stretched out in front of her, blocking her route with a clang and wedging its tip in the wall.

“I don’t think so, imp!” he roared, “If my treasure is to be destroyed, I’ll at least sleep satisfied knowing you won’t get your hands on it!”

Millie knew his next trick; with the clock-sword anchored in the wall, it began to shrink down to normal size, pulling the Baron in towards her as he gripped the retracting handle.

“…Envy really don’t bring no pleasure…”

He wanted to know what advantage Millie had gained knowing his powers emanated from his stalk-eye? Time he found out.

Rather than dodge him, Millie turned to face the hurtling Baron… and rammed him.

Her forehead slammed hard into the pescan aristocrat’s, pummelling the arched stalk and the eye thereon between their skulls. The Baron screamed in pain, loosing his grip and tumbling off to one side – he seemed disoriented, his two normal eyes flickering and rolling in confusion. Between his fingers cupping around it, Millie saw his third eye looking bruised and swollen, the green pupil warbling and dissolved.

“Millie!”

Moxxie! Millie’s husband clattered clumsily around the corner, almost stopping dead at the chaotic scene before them.

“No time for gawkin’!” she yelled, pulling him over to the exhibit. “Leviathan’s gonna blow this place to Wrath! Help me get this thing!”

The two imps grabbed the exhibit, running it on its little caster-wheels at breakneck speed. Though Saline pounded into the room shortly after, she ignored the two imps in favour of rushing to help Vidiel, whose blinded howls were slowly drowning out in the building thunder of plasma.

“Into the vault!”

Moxxie’s eyes followed his wife’s command. The giant metal safe stood open in the corridor beyond – by now, scorched rubble blasted this way and that, Leviathan’s rage surging towards an apex. With a shunt, they threw the sheeted exhibit inside and swiftly followed suit. “We’ve gotta close this!”

“Millie, look!”

On the floor of the vault, amongst various other concealed items, was Aster – curled up in the corner, their hands were plastered to their ears, only opening their eyes to see the two police-attired imps pulling the heavy door shut. “What the fuck are you doin’ here?!?”

“I – I came back for my art once everything went to hell!” they bellowed back over the din. “What’s happening out there?!?”

“It’s going to Hell!” Moxxie wailed. “Help us shut this!”

Aster ran over, pulling alongside the two imps. For a moment, the door looked ready to seal, but at the last minute, Saline’s hands clamped over the closing edge.

Damn, that girl was strong – even with all three of them pulling, Millie had to admit they couldn’t pull it shut in spite of the cetea! “Get outta here, ya fishy freak!”

The Baron lumbered into sight, collapsing at the ajar frame. “Aster!” he commanded, “I am the greatest artist who ever lived! You came to marvel at my work! Let me in!”

His refrain from having hypnotised Aster barely made it through the tumult outside the vault, but it was no good.

“Fuck you and fuck your art!” they roared, hauling impotently on the door. “It was never yours, you thief!”

With the realisation that his hypnotism had failed, and with his eye too wounded to renew it, the Baron seemed to acknowledge he was out of options. “Gaagh! How can anyone lack that much focus?!?”

“Four therapists and a shit-ton of teachers already asked!”

With that, Aster kicked out at him – weakened from his fight, the Baron stumbled from the door. An errant bolt of lightning struck Saline in the back; after a momentary glow, the not-so-personal assistant was blasted away, finally letting the three occupants seal the vault. Outside, an explosion rocked the building, the ground, perhaps the whole human world…

Moxxie groggily regained consciousness to the sounds of a crowd outside. Through his bleary eyelids, he saw that the door to the vault had buckled ajar – it seemed that the blast had launched the vault clear of the gallery itself. They must be on the lawn outside…

“Mornin’, sugar!”

Beside him, Millie had nearly finished drawing the rune for the portal home, and there beside her was the exhibit-sheet.

“…Millie…” he groaned. “Are you hurt?”

“Well, the stab in my shoulder sure stung,” she chirped, “But I got you to take care of me!”

Moxxie sat up, rubbing his back. “I was hoping you’d help me take care of my aching spine – guess we’ll have to see to each other, huh?”

“Jus’ like always!”

“Speaking of which, have you seen the Baron or Saline?” asked Moxxie, disentangling himself from the shattered remains of a painting he’d fallen through. “He’s an aristocrat, he can’t die by normal means.”

“But aristocrats can kill each other,” Millie reasoned. “And Leviathan’s a Sin – if Vidiel didn’t get outta there real fast when that room went ‘boom’, he’ll be slime and dust right now.”

Nodding, Moxxie approached her – and promptly tripped over a face-down Aster.

“Oh yeah, I had to tie ‘em up and hood ‘em.” Millie remarked. “Can’t have ‘em seein’ us leave through the ‘down-door’, huh?”

Moxxie brushed himself off, then patted Aster down. “Sorry about this! It’s, uh, it’s complicated! But hey – got your art back!” he said, finding Aster’s piece and propping it next to them.

“Bmff hmff wmmph unnph fffnpm unnph?”

Moxxie pulled the gag out from under their hood. “Come again?”

“But how will I find you?”

“Aww, you won’t,” Millie laughed. She finished drawing the runes; Asmodean Crystal in hand, the portal blazed into life. “‘Bout time too – c’mon Moxx, let’s cash in!”

Outside, it sounded like the human authorities were finally plucking up the courage to approach the vault. Time to go!

“But – but you both helped me so much!” Aster wailed. “If it weren’t for you, I’d still be under that creep’s spell! N-Now that I think about it, he looked kind of funny…”

Moxxie patted their shoulder. “I would really try not to think about that.”

Still, as Millie pushed the sheeted exhibit through into the familiar office of I.M.P., Moxxie had an idea.

“Look, uh, don’t show this to anyone, or I could get in real trouble, but here’s my business card – ” he mumbled, slotting it into Aster’s back pocket. “The email address will look a little weird, but put me on your mailing-list? Your work’s great, I’d love to see what you do next!”

“MOXXIE!!!”

“Ah – gotta go!”

A few hours later, Moxxie took great pleasure in slapping a great, fat briefcase of cash on his boss’ desk.

“One payment for one day’s work!” he announced, leaning forward smugly.

Blitzø eagerly cracked it open, seizing fistfuls of the money and hugging it to his face. “Ohhhh, yeah, that’s the stuff…” he groaned. “Well, what can I say Moxx, you and Millie couldn’t have had a tougher client. How was that rotten ol’ bitch?”

“Well, if that’s her in a good mood, I wouldn’t want to be around her if she ever meets you.”

“She has met me, I fell in her cake once.”

“That butler’s an asshole!” Millie called from the next room, putting dressing on her shoulder. “Gave him a big blood-stainin’ hug when I saw him the second time!”

“HA! Good one, Millie! Oh, just gimme a little longer with this caaaaash…”

Moxxie had to grab the notes from Blitzø’s hands and stuff them back into the briefcase. “Nope! I’m going to deposit this in our company bank account so we can get the wall fixed.”

Blitzø grumbled. “Gotta say Moxx, you know how to kill a good buzz…”

He’d feel better about it later – besides, the hole in the wall was right behind Moxxie’s chair, and he wasn’t going to sit through another meeting with a breeze on the back of his head. “How did Loona’s training go?”

“Oh, Loony did great! She’s like a whole new person on that phone now – aren’t you, sweetie?” Blitzø called through to the reception area.

Moxxie leaned back, peering around the doorway. Loona was sat at her desk, frantically and repeatedly curling her claws through a pile of stuffing and tattered leather which strongly resembled the punching-bag which had been hanging up when Moxxie left this morning. Her shoulders were high, her chest straining with the effort of keeping her breathing under control, her eye twitching from what looked like the twentieth cup of coffee she’d drank and discarded on the floor that day.

“Gooood afternoon, Loona!” Moxxie sang, propping his elbow on her desk. “Glad to see my notes were useful to you!”

Loona’s fur was almost entirely on end. “…Welcome to I.M.P., how may we help you today?”

She wasn’t even looking at him. “Uhh, Loona?”

“Have you booked an appointment?” she mumbled, “Please take a seat and I’ll let Mr Blitzø know that you’re here…”

Millie giggled from the couch. “Think we broke our hellhound!”

Even Moxxie had to admit, this was slightly unnerving. “She’ll be happy though – five more minutes until the office closes, and she’ll have won her bet!”

“What’s that?”

“Oh – Blitz said if she could go the whole day without being rude to someone over the phone, he’d pay for her to go to Bel-Phest.”

Millie frowned. “Blitz can afford that?”

“Company expense!” the boss snarked, emerging into the reception-area. Great… “And she’s earned it, haven’t you sweetie?”

Suddenly, a knock at the door interrupted the conversation. As though stung by a shock-collar, Loona sprang to her feet. “I’ll get it!” Boy, her face really didn’t match her tone – still, anything to get her better-behaved.

Outside stood a grouchy-looking sinner, his hand balled into a fist with an I.M.P. flyer crammed inside. “Is this I.MP.?!?”

Moxxie had seen actual corpses with smiles less ‘rictus’ than Loona’s. “It sure i-is! Welcome to I.M.P., how may I help you?”

Strangely, the sinner did not take this well. “You again?!? You prankster bitch, I already put up with your shit on the phone! Now tell me where the real I.M.P. is right-the-fuck-now before I knock your teeth out!”

What under Earth? Why didn’t he think this was the real I.M.P.? “Uh, sir?” Moxxie addressed him, “You are in I.M.P.?”

“What? Fuck you!” he snarled, “Everyone knows I.M.P.’s receptionist is some tough-as-nails, take-no-shit hellhound – you expect me to believe that this prissy-sounding skank works for an assassination-company?”

“S-Sir – ” Loona growled, battling with herself to remain calm, “I’m I.M.P.’s receptionist, a-and may I add that we do not tolerate verbal abuse – ”

“Oh hell no!” the sinner cut her off, prodding her in the chest. “I’m fucking done being tricked by you guys – lemme in, you’re not fooling anyone else into taking that company’s work!”

He barged in, Loona trembling with the effort of self-control as she followed him plaintively. “Sir? Sir, what are you doing?”

“Disconnecting your phone, trashing your internet, breaking whatever I can get my hands on! Don’t get in my way, you trashy furry – ”

The sinner’s face seemed to crumple in slow-motion as Loona’s foot collided with it, smashing into his rippling cheek so hard it was a wonder his head didn’t burst. He flew across the room, tearing up carpet with a screech before finally hitting the opposite wall.

“I HAVE FUCKING HAD IT!”

Loona was already stomping over to him, ripping out a drawer full of paperwork from her desk and holding it over her head.

“YOU TRY – AND BE POLITE – AND WHAT – DOES IT GET YOU?!?” she bellowed, smashing the drawer repeatedly down over the rapidly-pulping client. “I AM PATIENT! I AM NICE! BUT YOU – MOTHER – FUCKERS – ARE HERE – FOR A REASON!”

Mid-battering, the sinner’s mashed face perked up with realisation. “Hey – oof – you are I.M.P.!”

“DAMN RIGHT, ASSHOLE!” With a grunt, Loona pulled a wad of paperwork and stuffed it into the sinner’s mouth. “So fill this in with your details and MAKE A FUCKING APPOINTMENT!”

With one kick to roll him over and a second to his behind, Loona launched him clean through the window. Over the sound of shattering glass, Moxxie just about heard him yell something about ‘being able to do Tuesday’.

As Loona fumed her way back to her chair, Blitz shrugged. “What do you know? Turns out Loona’s way with people is an expected part of our brand!”

Unbelievable! “Only because you didn’t stop her before now!”

“Sure didn’t Moxxie, that’s because I knew Loony knew what she was doing the whole time! She’s the service our clientele both want and expect, and I think we were wrong to ask her to change that!” announced Blitz, hugging his daughter. “Can you ever forgive me, sweetie?”

The hellhound was already back on her phone. “So long as you hold up your end of the deal, now that I’ve won the bet.”

Moxxie raised an eyebrow. “But – But you just – ”

“The deal was that I had to avoid being rude to anyone on the phone, nark,” she drawled, “And that guy wasn’t on the phone… aaaand that’s closing-time. Gonna go book my tickets to Sloth – Bel-Phest here I come!”

Without another word, she sprang up and marched out of the office, leaving Blitz grinning.

“You know, I’m starting to think she’s management-material.”

Octavia allowed herself a little smile as she scrolled through the comments on her Sinstagram. Her latest post had gotten quite a bit of traction;

“Guess I play croquet now! #oldschool #gethammered #headswillroll”

Bit weird having had someone else take the photo – Octavia was used to selfies, but hey, at least Ospex’s butler was pretty good at taking these. There she was, stood by Mum on the croquet lawn, proudly holding her croquet-mallet with her ball smugly underfoot. Clustered in around them were Ospex himself – a sly grin on the thin, hunched male’s face, one hand coolly in his pocket whilst the other raised his glass of lemonade – and Augury – trying her best to look prepared despite the impromptu photo-op.

Of course, it was Mum’s appearance which put the silliest twinge in Octavia’s cheeks. Stella had no idea how Sinstagram worked, she still used that clunky old rotary-phone; as such, she wasn’t used to casually-posing for pictures – far more accustomed to portraits and the occasional bit of royal publicity. She stood tall behind Octavia’s shoulder, dress and head-feathers in full magnificence, her left hand crisply folded over the ‘pommel’ of her elaborate mallet. The weapon-like object was positioned vertically, its elegant shaft exactly centre to her whilst the massive head rested neatly on the grass. Then there was her expression – chin raised imperiously, eyes half-lidded, enormous lashes in precisely-pointed wings…

…But a smile.

A proud, possessive smile, sparkling through gleaming rose-coloured eyes and the satisfied curls of her lips. It had been such a long time since Octavia had seen Mum smile like that – and there, on Octavia’s shoulder, was Stella’s right hand.

It was strange; whilst Octavia knew that everyone had their own ‘love language’, it was fair to say that Stella’s was not one she spoke with tremendously often. Dad was the hugger in the family, it had to be said – he was so expressive with his adoration for his daughter. Mum… well, she always seemed uncomfortable with it; muted, even. There was this old photo from when Octavia was maybe nine, where she was sat on Stella’s lap; the latter had been perched in the most austere of tall, gilded armchairs, and despite Octavia’s evident exclamation of joy, Stella clearly hadn’t known how to respond to it; her arms were rigid at her sides, as though all this excitability was beyond her capacity to absorb… but she was smiling. That love for Octavia shone through that almost-nervous, slightly overwhelmed expression – you could see it in the tilt of her head, the lightness in her cheeks, the way she lifted one knee over the other to keep Octavia from slipping off her. It wasn’t the same as Dad’s, not nearly as obvious, but it was there, behind all that stiffness and endless lace.

So it had always been with Mum. This, however, was something new – something perhaps a little more mature. The way Mum stood beside her, hand on her daughter’s shoulder, was pride – not just a mother’s pride, but the pride one took in a protégé. No, it wasn’t a maternal sweetness for a little girl; this was more like a new ally, an adult, someone ‘joining her ranks’, so to speak. It wasn’t just mother and daughter – it was two women.

A new sensation, yeah, but… kind of great?

Octavia’s debut had been scaring the shit out of her. It wasn’t just being in a stupid dress; it was being an adult in the world of Hell’s politics. She wasn’t the primary heir, she was still second to Dad, but what if she said or did something wrong? What if, when representing the Goetias, she embarrassed them all in front of another aristocratic faction like the Ars Stygian or the Ars Draconis? She could start wars between them if she wasn’t careful, even lose Goetia territory…

That hand on Octavia’s shoulder, that smile on her mother’s face… it spoke of both a confidence in her and a support for her. Mum would have her back, and no-one would be able to put a knife in it whilst she was around. Before, Octavia had felt irritated at the idea that Stella, Ospex and Augury were ‘testing’ her during afternoon tea, but looking at this picture of them all, it was like they just wanted her to be ready. Yeah, she hadn’t appreciate the underhanded way they might have been sneaking those tests in, but upon reflection, she was feeling a bit more capable now…

Another ‘like’ popped through. ‘Daddy_hoothoot’.

Dad…

The ‘like’ definitely wasn’t for Mum, but he’d still bothered to show he loved Octavia having fun despite the acrimony for who she was having fun with. Quite idly, she opened up his profile.

Nothing new; just the same old photos of Dad being the dork she knew and loved (even if the pics she had been involuntarily included in suggested otherwise)… but most of them were about his boyfriend.

Boyfriend. Her brain had picked the word unconsciously, but she supposed it was true. Blitzø technically was his boyfriend, it just felt so weird using an innocuous term like that when it seemed to be the lynchpin of so much chaos in her life. Guess that was why most would use the uglier tem ‘homewrecker’, though that was still a lot nicer than anything Mum had used to describe him.

And then, there they were – the posts Mum had yelled about the day of the Loo Loo Land trip. “Bored.” “A pleasant afternoon tea with my wife (sad face)”. Fuck, these were from before the affair – in an inversion of how they, respectively, expressed affection, Mum would mouth off to her friends, Dad would put subtle stuff like this on his social media for all of Hell to see. Shit, Octavia had been the one to make the Sinstagram account for him! And here he was, using it to talk shit about her; ugh, the two of them were… were…

…A mess. Maybe it wasn’t just the affair which had made them a mess, but it had certainly made them a louder mess. Maybe they’d been a quiet kind of mess for a while before that, but at least – she noted ruefully – it hadn’t been her fucking mess to deal with.

“Princess?”

Octavia glanced over to the door of her room – the butler was back. Wish he’d fucking knock…

“Her Highness requests your presence in the drawing-room.”

She sighed, standing and sloping over to the corridor. The butler went on ahead of her, trotting pompously down the stairs – the urge to tell this prick she knew where Lord Ospex’s drawing-room was bubbling within her, but she was technically a guest, so…

The butler reached the drawing room, pushing open the door and stepping out of sight; “Your Highness, the Princess Octa-”

Before Octavia could step through, the butler was launched back out into the corridor, slamming into the opposite wall at force. “Fucking knock before your betters, imp!” Stella snapped from within, looming out of the doorway; with a start, she noticed Octavia.

“Darling!” she exclaimed, completely changing demeanour. “Come in, come in – I have something to show you, you’re going to love it…”

With a flounce of feathers, she ushered Octavia inside and shut the door. Already, the residual dread from the morning spent in here trying on dresses was returning to haunt her… and there was something which looked horribly like a clothing-stand under a sheet. Oh no, not again…

“…Is it another ball gown?” she asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep the groan out of her throat.

Stella puffed herself up, giving her a knowing smile. “Well, why don’t you have a look?”

Octavia steeled herself. The day had gone well, she really didn’t want to end it with a row; if it was just one, maybe she could get it over with quickly. At least there weren’t any seamstresses around this time to stick needles all over her, or stylists ready to turn her head into a mess of rollers.

Taking hold of the sheet, she pulled it away, to reveal –

“Wh-Whoa…”

It wasn’t a gown. They were robes. Fucking badass robes.

A slim, ankle-length garb in black – much like her casual pink dress in style – formed the core of the ensemble, and seemed to be made of some sort of feline hide. Looking closely, however, Octavia saw that every strand had a dull, metallic glint; what creature could this have come from?

Atop this was a magnificent fur cloak – whilst mostly in black, its back and sleeves bore interwoven lines in pink which glowed and shifted at her touch, gently waving like a slowed flame from the broad, billowing hem. The sleeves were broad and grand, cuffed with long bear-like claws; the collar and shoulders sported a tremendous lion-like mane in deepest ebony, shrouding around the neck of the wearer. From the mane, a semicircle of ten curved horns stretched up behind the head and flanked reverently from the shoulders.

It looked like this thing had been made for her. There was even a low open seam near the hem for her tail-feathers to protrude in a train behind her!

“What…” She was nearly lost for words, hopping around the stand and looking the incredible outfit all over. “What is this?”

Sheer smugness dripped from Stella’s triumphant gait as she came to stand beside her. “This, Octavia, is a set of robes fashioned from the pelt of a truly unique beast… one of the Beasts.”

Octavia turned with a start. “Of Revelation? Wait… Ten horns, feline attributes, bear claws – is this the Beast of the Sea?”

“Symbolising the succession of kingdoms, yes. Its hide is as durable as that of the strongest dragon-scales, and possesses powerful healing-properties. A true, undisputed, nigh-unrivalled artefact of Hell…”

“This thing should be in a museum!” Octavia gibbered, still overwhelmed. “What’s it doing here? How did you get it? Mum, this must have cost – fuck, I don’t know – ”

“Only the best for my daughter…” Stella purred, folding her arms with a smirk. “You needn’t worry – it’s spent quite some time in Envy, before falling into the hands of someone who shouldn’t have had it. Leviathan has no desire for it, he only cares about the possessions of those in his Ring – as such, the previous owner wouldn’t dare complain, let alone the fact that it was parted from him by a pair of imps…”

“The assassins – that’s why you hired them! How did you find out about all this?”

Stella laughed. “I’m a socialite, dear – I told you, information is currency when you’re as popular as I am. I always have plenty to talk about with the right people, though I admit this might be one of my finest strokes… Would you like to try it on?”

“I – I can wear this?”

“Well of course! That’s the point!”

Octavia’s mouth watered. “Yes. Yes, I would like to try it on!”

A few moments and a whirlwind of clothing later, Octavia swept towards the mirror, looking over herself. The robes fit wonderfully, but most importantly, they felt like exactly the sort of thing Octavia would want to wear – just as the slim robe was an analogue to her usual dress, the luxurious cloak was like an exaggerated version of her shawls and cardigans. It was a thousand times better than any ball gown!

“We’d still need to accessorise…” said Stella, adjusting and straightening it. “Get you a decent choker, suitable shoes, some jewellery…”

Octavia looked at her long head-feathers, wincing at the time it had taken her to get them back to normal after all the messing around this morning. “And my hair?”

“Oh, you’ll have to wear that down, darling.”

Down? What, like normal? They’d been trying to have her style it differently every time it came to trying on ball gowns, it had looked terrible! But it if could be how she usually had it, or even just close enough, that could be pretty good – “H-Hey!”

Her mother had pinched off Octavia’s beanie, holding the hat to one side. “Hold still, you haven’t seen the last part yet…”

She never went out anywhere without some kind of hat on – oh shit, was Mum about to crack out the tiaras again? But no – Stella reached behind Octavia’s head, and pulled up a hood! The robe had a hood! Hell yes…

Octavia beamed as Stella settled it over her head, tucking her daughter’s head-feathers forward around her neck so it rested over her collar. Then, with a flourish, the elder princess produced a silver tiara and neatly placed it over the top of the hood, snugly fitting it down. “There!” she trilled, whirling the beanie on a talon. “Thought I’d never see you happy to wear one of those!”

Octavia snorted; well, having it over the hood was kind of like wearing her beanie… The irony was that that particular hat, her favourite, was one she’d only bought as an act of cheeky defiance; the front had a yellow tiara-pattern stitched onto it, which she had taken delight in acquiring after one too many lengthy conversations years ago about how she never wore one. “There, see? Wearing a tiara…” she’d said. Well, looks like Mum had finally won.

“It’s so – I mean, it’s not what you…”

“Not what I would have suggested?” asked Stella, standing behind her and gazing into the mirror. “No, of course not – but it’s all about impressions, darling, you see? Your debut is a statement of who you are; this is much more ‘you’ – this is Princess Octavia Goetia.”

The young princess couldn’t have smiled wider if something was physically pulling on her cheeks. “It’s amazing, Mum. I feel fucking amazing! I feel like I could go to that debut right now like this! I look so powerful!”

“You look like an heir, Octavia,” Stella remarked, brimming with relish. “True and formidable.”

Octavia looked between the two reflections. It was so liberating, so different from what she’d been afraid of, and Stella had acquired this incredible treasure for her… “Th-Thanks Mum… Sorry I, uh, said all that stuff about what you wear, and all that…” she mumbled. “I guess I just felt a bit ‘trapped’ in it, you know? And this is just like a great big release from that, and I’m…”

A stinging sensation pricked her eyes. “…I’m just really fucking tired of feeling trapped. Does – Does that make sense? I-It’s like ever since you and Dad… you know… I’ve felt like I’m stuck with something I can’t control, and I don’t know what to do or even if I can do anything…”

Her mother’s talon tucked under her chin, lifting her falling gaze. “It’s not your fault all of this has happened.” It was emphatic, commanding even. “You are not responsible for what has happened to this family. You and I, we’re both just stuck with what your father has done to us – but you’ll learn to take control of your own path. That is what I want all those courtiers to see when you enter that ballroom, Octavia – a woman who will not be subjugated and humiliated by the wanton acts of those around her, but instead bears the strength to know what she wants and to take it. Once they see that in you…”

Stella turned Octavia to look at her, fixing her a gaze of fierce determination. “You will be able to do anything.”

The word rang hollow with her. “…Anything except give me my parents back…”

“You have your parents – ”

“No, I mean…” Octavia faltered, swallowing. “It’s just not the same… I wish we could go back to the way things were! Is that so awful of me? Am I really that childish for wanting that back? It was just so much simpler – normal people, they don’t live between two houses, o-or split their time between their parents because they can’t talk to each other without screaming – ”

She spluttered, feeling an anger well itself up into tears; “ – and if it’s not my fault, why am I being punished for it?!?”

Hands took her trembling shoulders, but Octavia was too far gone – she fell against Stella, clutching her mother tightly and sobbing into her shoulder. “I can’t be strong like this! How can I stand tall when everything under me feels like it’s giving way?!?”

After a moment, she felt Stella’s stance lose some of its stiffness – an arm wrapped across her back, another hand awkwardly holding the back of her head. “…I’m here…” Stella murmured, “Mummy’s here, darling… Oh, what has your wretched father done, hmm? What has that treacherous man done to my daughter?”

Slowly, she eased her down, holding her as the two women sat together on the chaise. “I can’t tell you if it’s childish, darling,” said Stella, running her talons through Octavia’s feathers, “Goetias do not have childhoods – usually, not even in the same way you did. Your father and I were given our marital duties when we were so young – you can imagine that I felt rather ‘trapped’ myself. But that is the strength you and I share…” she said, wiping away a tear from her daughter’s cheek. “You’ve been put through something you should never have been burdened with – but you’ve not used it to hurt anyone, have you? Have you, darling?”

Octavia shook her head, sniffling.

“No, of course not – you wouldn’t hurt anyone just because of that, and neither would I. Years of lovelessness, and I never betrayed your father – as little as we could find to love in one another – because I knew it would betray you, too. Your father could have reserved his frustrations for me – I can handle him – but what he did, he did to you too, Octavia.”

Her words plucked out a horrible, nagging feeling Octavia had been struggling with since the day she found out about the affair – since the first explosive row between her parents thereafter. Mum hadn’t chosen to throw them all into turmoil like this… but Dad had. If Dad hadn’t started sleeping with that bloody imp, everything would be just as it was before…

“I just… I just wish he’d thought about what it was going to do to me when he decided to sleep with him…” Octavia stammered, her fingers curling angrily. “And you! I-If he wasn’t happy, I mean – do you think he did?” she asked, looking up. “Do you think he did think about it, and thought it would be okay somehow? Or did he just not care?”

Stella’s expression was like slate. “We might never know, darling,” she said bluntly. “And the more we try delve into that sordid affair, the more it controls us. It’s not just the affair – you must be more than your father’s daughter, just as I have had to be more than just my husband’s wife. And we are more,” she added, drawing Octavia up. “We are much more.”

The lump in Octavia’s throat had grown sore. Everything Stella was saying was true – it played into all the thoughts she’d felt so guilty about lately. Even when she and Dad were having a good time, it felt like he was just ‘making up’ for how shitty everything was. Even that stupid bloody trip to Loo Loo Land, he’d not taken her since she was five and then all of a sudden he takes her right after a row? He wouldn’t need to try to fix everything if he hadn’t broken it…

In spite of everything, it made her snort. “You know that… that painting of us all at Loo Loo Land?” she said, rubbing her eye. “When I was wearing the apple-hat? Your smile in that – it always makes me laugh, you look like you want to die…”

Stella clucked with disgust. “Ugh, that’s because I did – your father’s idea, he always liked the circus and thought you would as well. There we were, surrounded by all those nasty little imp-families, all the grime and filth – I could barely breathe, and that dress had to be thrown out and burned afterwards.”

“…Then, why did you go?”

Stella frowned. “Because we were a family, Octavia. Because I love you, and thus I considered it my duty, as I much as I considered our marriage the same. Yes, your father looks so much happier than I in that portrait, but it’s easy to do your duty when it makes you happy. Far more difficult not to break it when it no longer suits you, wouldn’t you say?”

Yeah… Maybe thinking about Octavia’s happiness just hadn’t suited Dad anymore…

“So you see?” Stella pressed on, “I did that for you – well, for us – your father’s bizarre fascination with that circus was another thing, I don’t seem to remember you enjoying that either?”

“That fucking clown…”

“Quite…” Stella withered, “And when he took you recently, who was it he insisted should serve as your bodyguards?”

Octavia paused. “…That imp again, and his company…”

Stella picked up the nearby teapot, pouring them each a cup. “Hmm – just as it was when we went there that day. Of course, it wasn’t the same imp, but that place was full of them. Probably loved being surrounded by the creatures…”

It was too much; Octavia stood, rubbing her temples. “Ugh, Mum, I know what you’re trying to say, I just – I just can’t deal with it, okay? I don’t want to hate him like you do! He’s – he’s fucked it up, I know that, but it doesn’t make it easier just talking about him like this! If we’re supposed to be more than just what we are to him, why do you just want to insult him all the time?”

“Because I’m angry, Octavia!” snapped Stella. “Isn’t that our right? This is what I am trying to tell you – he didn’t have to do this! He might not have liked his marriage, but he could have just carried on living with it – like I did! And this is important, it’s so important, because when I attend court, his betrayal hangs over me; it’s all the others want to talk about, you can see it in their sniggering faces! Those aristocrats, they will take any opportunity to put you below them, and your father’s infidelity has given them ample opportunity. He humiliated us, Octavia. He mocked the very idea of our unity as the Goetia family – have you seen that Sinstagram of his, where he pines day after day for that loathsome imp? Where he sacrifices all his dignity to lounge about like a pathetic love-struck commoner? What do you think the others of our class do when they see that, hmm? How do you think it makes us look?”

Octavia wrung her hands, the conversation barraging her with truths she was desperate not to accept. “I – I don’t know – ”

Stella rose, crossing to her. “They laugh at us, Octavia,” she said, low and loathing. “Your father bears the title – when he disowns us like that, it is invitation for others to do the same. That is why your debut must be perfect, why you must make such an impression upon them! You must show them that you are not there to be discarded; that you will embody the title which will one day be yours. You are not the embarrassment he is.”

It all felt so clear now… everything fit together in ways Octavia had never appreciated before. It wasn’t just what Dad had done to his marriage, it was… everything. It wasn’t merely how their family felt, but what it was.

And he’d burned it all for that imp.

“…Is this why you’re so mean about him?” she asked quietly, “With your friends, and the others? I – I’ve heard you…”

Her mother drew herself up – was it defensive, or assertive? “No-one can think such betrayal is permissible,” she replied, “No-one can be allowed to believe that you or I will suffer such humiliation. He has made us vulnerable, we must protect ourselves. So, yes – I don’t dress up what he did, I don’t pretend to see virtues where there are none. I make sure that every courtier knows that his faults are not to be lain at our feet, that we neither share nor forgive them. One day, darling…” she continued, cupping Octavia’s cheek. “You may have a marriage of your own to nurture. How would it be if your husband thought that what your father did to me was acceptable?”

Octavia didn’t know what to say. “…I still can’t hate him,” she mumbled. “Is there nothing you admire in him?”

“Why do you think you aren’t yet married?”

The question struck her like a thunderbolt. All this misery, however much of it had been triggered by the affair, all traced back to the moment their marriage had been arranged – and that haunting fact intermingled all too easily with the question to which Octavia had never had a solid answer; why hadn’t it happened to her? She’d been too thankful to interrogate it, as though it was something so fragile that even looking at it might cause the situation to shatter.

Stella moved back over to the chaise, sipping on her tea and patting the seat beside her. “You won’t remember meeting your grandfather – Paimon only took a brief interest, making sure you were alive and healthy – but it only took a few years for him to start insisting on possible matches. Your father and I…”

For a moment, she almost seemed wistful. “…Well, we didn’t agree on much, but if there was ever a time he was the man he ought to have been, it was the moment we both decided that you wouldn’t go through what we did. I don’t think Paimon would have paid attention if I had been the only one to say so, but we both vowed we would protect you from that. Your father looked like he was going to collapse when we told him, but he did at least do so…”

Dad had never spoken much of Grandfather. He always seemed so… hurt. Octavia could barely imagine how awful it must have been for him.

“…Then, there’s that, isn’t there?” she tried, “He did that for me, isn’t that something?”

Stella sniffed. “And now here we are. The briefest flash of bravery, all rather paled out now… If he went to court these days, you would never know he was once capable of standing up for you like that. You know I still could, you know I have the conviction to do what needs to be done – I’m yet to abandon that, and I will never succumb like he did. Octavia…”

Her mother locked eyes with her. “…He shouldn’t be there at your debut.”

Octavia’s eyes widened. “…What? N-No, of course he should! I want Dad to be there!”

“I don’t mean out of spite, darling,” said Stella, not unkindly, “But out of survival! That evening will be about you, not him – if he is there, everything we have just discussed will overshadow you. You’ll be scrambling around under his cloud, and the very weapon all those haughty princes will want to use against you shall be right there beside you. Take it from me – just this once, it will be easier without him.”

Please don’t let her be right… but… was she? Octavia’s mind filled with visions of grinning, tittering fiends, all her best efforts going to waste. She just wanted it to go right, it was enough to inspire her with dread at the best of times… But she couldn’t imagine it would be easier with him there.

“You know…” Stella added, slowly stirring her tea, “…He went to Ozzie’s with that imp. Brought him right into the presence of Asmodeus himself – on a date, no less. I just wouldn’t trust him not to do it again…”

No. No, that couldn’t happen. She couldn’t endure that, looking at the two of them all night out of the corner of her eye to make sure they weren’t off doing fuck-knows-what in public. Even if he was just flirting with him like at Loo Loo Land…

“…Alright…” Octavia resolved. “Alright. He shouldn’t be there. I… Could you ask him to – ?”

“He won’t listen to me,” Stella interrupted her. “Oh, my owlet, you know I’d be happy to tell him to stay away, but he shan’t believe it from me. I know it’s unpleasant, but it really must be from you. Come, I can sit right beside you?”

A hollow pit formed in her stomach. He’d be heartbroken… but Octavia hadn’t put them in this position. Could she at least do something to feel less like she was stabbing him in the back?

“…You said I should know what I want.” she asserted. “I’ll talk to him, but… but I want you to lay off him. With your friends, or at least in public, in front of all those creeps. Just… Just don’t talk about him, okay? It – It still hurts…”

Her mother’s eyes widened – surprised, but not shocked. Once or twice, she seemed on the precipice of saying something, but kept calculating. Eventually, after what appeared to be considerable self-restraint…

“…If that’s what you want, Octavia.” she said quietly. “If it will make dealing with his treachery easier.”

Octavia exhaled, nodding. “Thanks Mum.”

For the first time in what surely must have been months, she saw her mother look genuinely content. “Pringles!” Stella barked, “Phone!”

A few clattering footsteps later, the imp butler tottered inside with the tall rotary phone perched on a tiny table. “Your Highness, a Mister Striker called whilst you weren’t to be disturbed – ”

“Tell him his services are unnecessary at present,” Stella dismissed him, delicately dialling a number. With an encouraging nod, she held out the receiver to Octavia. “I’m here, darling. Mummy knows best.”

Taking a deep breath, Octavia took it and raised it to her ear.

“…Um, Dad? It’s Via…”