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It had been a week since she’d fought with her father, yet the wound of losing him still felt fresh and raw. It was an ache that cut deep. The kind that laid its roots down and festered, rearing up with shocks of pain right when she thought she would be fine again. Little reminders of what she had lost in that trial, and who discarded her for something new.
Octavia was beginning to think she would never really be ok, no matter how many times she said that she would be. It was a little lie she told herself in the mornings, when she felt the ghost of someone who should be present, yet lacked the warmth usually accompanied by that feeling.
“You will be ok.” She could almost hear her father’s voice tell her.
“Will I?” She wanted to ask him, “Or is that what you’ve told yourself to feel better about leaving me for something new?”
Everything in the palace just felt wrong without her father. She never truly understood how much of a presence he had in her life until she was left to live with the gaps left in his wake. It felt wrong in the mornings when she entered the kitchen for breakfast before needing to leave for school. He should be at the table to greet her like he normally did, seated comfortably in his red robe, flipping lazily through his morning paper, sipping his jasmine tea and talking about something he’d been reading. Anything to try and fill the uncomfortable silence she usually gave him.
Yet when she entered, there was a bitter chill that wasn’t entirely due to her uncle’s magic taking full claim in the place she’d once called home. Her father wasn’t here, and he would never be here again. He should have been in his study working on deciphering the prophecies he’d been given that week. But he wasn’t. He should have been in his atrium, tutting over his plants, talking to nobody in particular and speaking fondly as though he were conversing with an old friend. But he wasn’t. He should have been watching his tellanovellas in the living room, chilled wine held delicately in his hand as he focused on the ridiculous plot unfolding before him. But he wasn’t.
He wasn’t here, because he chose to be with him.
Octavia felt like she was walking through a monument to everything she’d lost in less than a day. The sound of her heels as they clicked against polished tile floors echoed across the dead space of the halls she walked aimlessly down. Each and every plant she passed by, dead, lifeless, withered. She felt a sort of kinship with them. Her father was gone, and he not only abandoned her, but them as well.
It was hard for her to describe the feeling that rooted itself deep within her as she passed them by. She glanced out through frosted over windows that cut out the warmth of the Pride sun, remembering a time where these very windows would be propped open to let in the good weather. Where these plants would be sunning and thriving under her father’s diligent care.
The bitter chill in the air ruffled her feathers uncomfortably. To combat the frost that settled into her hollow bones, she clutched her cardigan around her shoulders tighter, “I fucking hate it here.” She muttered as she passed by the empty sitting room her mother and uncle usually resided in. They were off at some stupid party, one she’d managed to weasel her way out of. She wasn’t feeling much up for parties, let alone ones celebrating her fathers fall from grace.
One was set for the palace later in the week, but for now she was granted this small mercy.
Her cadence slowed as she realized where her absent mind was taking her. Walls that at some point held large portraits of her fathers figure, covered up by sheets after her mother moved out, were now adorned with ones of her uncle. The peacock's proud stature radiated an almost artificial bravado, standing front and center of every picture displayed. To her, the fact that he was the only subject in every painting was rather telling.
“Me me me.” The artwork said without words.
With a weary sigh, Octavia continued forward towards her father’s old bedroom. She often found herself coming back here time and time again. The heavy door creaked open like the cry of a ghost escaping the room, whispering down the halls the news that Stolas was still gone.
It wasn’t as though he were dead. But he was gone. Had chosen a promise of death to save his affair partner, and was blessed with the reminder that royal blood had its perks. Stolas was alive, out there living somewhere in the slums of Pride with his precious little Imp.
And she was here.
She hopped up onto the bed and laid across the large mattress. She remembered the days when she was very little and had nightmares. The times when singing a lullaby hadn’t been enough, and Stolas had carried her into her parents bed and nestled her down between him and her mother. Back then, he would tell her that he loved her, and she could believe it blindly. But how can you tell someone you love them, promise to never leave them, and then break that promise without a second thought?
Octavia closed her eyes and took in a deep, shuddering breath. Why had her father left her here? What was it about her that made that choice so easy for him? Was there something inherently wrong that made her mother so apathetic to her feelings? What made her so much of a burden that she was as noticed as a member of the staff here? She desperately wanted to know, but was also so terrified of whatever answer she would receive. When tears began to roll down her cheeks, she let them. Fighting it wouldn’t make that feeling go away, and she didn’t have the energy for that anyways.
The young Goetic demon laid there for what felt like hours before she nodded off. When she opened her eyes, however, the palace seemed different. It lacked the frigid temperature it had taken on, and the balcony door was opened, letting in the pleasant morning air that thawed the chill from her bones.
It felt like home.
“She is just a child, I do not see anything wrong with—“ she was surprised to hear her father’s voice before he was cut off.
“You are coddling her. She is not to sleep in our bed again. Am I clear?” Her mother had responded, her voice cutting and cold.
Octavia swiveled her head over to the open bathroom door. She could see the back of her father, his red robe draped over his shoulders as he went about his morning routine, “Have you forgotten what this arrangement was for?” He asked sharply as he turned to face her mother, who was just out of sight, “Or need I remind you?”
Octavia hardly ever heard her dad speak sternly, let alone against her mother. He was usually passive, but here he had a simmering fury just barely concealed.
“I upheld my part.” Stella quipped back, “She is a princess, she needs to learn how to behave like one and not be coddled—“
“That girl is 5!” He snapped, “I do not give a single flying fuck about your feelings on the matter. She shall learn her place soon enough, but for now she is still but a fledgling who does not deserve to have that pressure forced upon her so soon!”
“I believe you forget that I am her mother!” Stella snapped, “You do not get final say in this decision!”
“I believe you forget that I am her father!” Stolas’ voice countered, “If you have an issue on that matter, you can find another bed to sleep in.”
Octavia woke with a sudden jolt, actually waking this time, back to the frigid palace with the sun finally beginning to dip past the horizon.
She was angry, she was confused, and most of all she was realizing she felt lost. It was easier to ignore it all and push it deep down, to convince herself that severing ties after what he’d done was the right choice, but moments like these filled her with a longing for things to just go back to how they used to be.
As she took in another deep breath, the cold air almost stung her throat.
With that sting came the full understanding that things would never go back to how they were. Things had been changed irrevocably, this was her new reality, and he wasn't coming back...
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