Achieving Heaven Through Hell Part 3: Only the Results

Chapter 28: Epilogue

Epilogue

Octavia stirred her bowl of Greed Seed, dimly registering the sound of the spoon clacking against the porcelain bowl, the seed grumbling as it was swished hither and thither, it all sort of bled together. The cereal, a mix of various kinds of seeds and nuts, some frosted, some not, large chunks of disparate pieces clumping together to form...

'I'm so sorry, Octavia...'

Charlie had looked like she'd been up all night, her bright eyes dim and bagged. The rest of the hotel seemed... well, tired. There was a twinge of sadness in the air, certainly, but overall the mood was that of exhaustion, of a dull, tired resignation. Even the volatile Angel Dust was simply slumped on the couch, his pig on his lap, as he watched the news with dim eyes.

Moonchild had escaped her spell. Octavia knew that should have been impossible for a Sinner, Stand or no, but that was small comfort before what came next. He had set off to rescue her, because of course he would, the bloody-minded romantic fool. They didn't know what happened to him between then and his return, only that when he returned... no, they only said he returned. Probably out of some sort of hopeless sentiment that Moonchild could one day come back, but she could see in their faces, hear in the sheer exhaustion in their voices, that Moonchild never came back. Whoever or whatever came back was... evil. Vicious, violent, and wholly different from either Moonchild or his hateful other half, and far more powerful. Whatever had happened to them at Sallos' palace had given them everything they'd wanted: wholeness.

'What was it he said? "What if I'm not strong enough to maintain my identity when we merge?" Heh...' she thought, wanly. 'I guess he wasn't strong enough.'

He was whole now, wholly evil, despite Charlie's desperate, pathetic assertions to the contrary. No part of Moonchild would allow even an initial attack. Or, that's what she wanted to think, anyway. Some bitter, angry part of her wanted to hate him, to despise him for giving in, for handing control over to that loathsome creature in his head, and revile him for his weakness. She wanted to hate him, to discard those soft, tender feelings that hurt so terribly, to be more like her parents and peers. Cold, hard, vicious. Then, her better nature would take over and she would want to scream, to cry like a useless hatchling. She just wanted it to stop. Please God, please make it stop.

So she made it stop.

Now there was nothing. A queer sort of numbness had taken ahold in her, a comforting void that was neither cold nor hot nor warm. It wasn't better than nothing, but it was better than the pain, the ache, the loss. Some days she could even tell herself she didn't sense the maelstrom behind it, waiting to break through.

She just... had to keep a cap on it, and she would be fine.

A voice filtered in from the outside world. "...offee, Highness?"

Octavia looked up to see the fastidious little imp, Francois, in his clawed hands an ornate platinum coffee urn. Octavia said nothing, merely brandishing her mug at the imp, prompting him to fill it. She drank, registering her favorite dark roast, the kind they sold at Umbric Brewhaus, but the flavor was distant, muted, numbed. She also registered that her parents despised the brew and in the past she'd had to make herself a pot to have any. But there they were, sipping it with apparent relish as they engaged in easy, chipper conversation.

Had they brewed it for her?

Since when did they engage in smalltalk?

She listened in.

"...Are up by 2 points, as are other stocks all across Greed, which will free up funds for the old estate's renovations." said Stella, wagging a crust of toast and Stolas before mopping up a streak of marmalade with it. "All the Overlords are buying Inner Circle stocks. Seems everyone's in a rush to suck up since, well, you know."