Murderous

Our Daughter

Three days had passed since Stella had confronted Stolas in the sitting room. Since she admitted to her attempts on his life. To her future attempts on his life. Stolas did not worry about her. He had something much more pressing to concern himself with. It was his daughter. Octavia, for three days, had not been herself. She stayed in her room for most of the day. She barely ate. Breaking down into tears was her most common pastime. All the portraits of her and her family, she had taken off the walls of her room and thrown into a pile of chipped wood frames and broken glass. Stolas, despite his immense powers and wisdom, could not, for the life of him, figure out what was wrong with his daughter. He had tried to find out what was troubling her, but she had pushed him away every time. Still, he continued to check in on her constantly. To give her food, to try to talk to her, and increasingly more common, just sit with her, saying nothing. This morning, she was still staying away. She had not come out to eat breakfast. Stolas sat there with two plates of pancakes, two forks, and two knives. One of each for him and one of each meant for her. He had not touched his food at all. He just couldn't bring himself to eat without her. It felt wrong. Enough time had passed where he decided he was going to bring Octavia her food in her room. Once again.

He stood up with Octavia's plate. Before he could leave to the hallway, Stella walked into the kitchen. She had no snarky, uptight look to her entrance. She didn't hold her head up confidently. She was still in her nightgown and not wearing her dress. Instead of her hands held together behind her back or with her hands gripped together in front of her, her arms were down to her side. She looked tired. She hadn't even tried to cover up the dark shade of insomnia under her eyes with makeup. She didn't look angry. She didn't look happy. She didn't look sad. She was emotionless. As if she had no emotion left to have. As if to experience any would exhaust her.

She stood there, motionless, and just looked at Stolas. She said nothing, but Stolas knew she was asking him a question. No. Not just a question. Questions. So many questions.

Stolas: I'm trying my best to get through to her. I don't know what else to do.

Stella: This is wrong. This is very wrong.

Stella spoke like she was struggling to bring the words up out of her throat and speak them. It surprised Stolas.

Stella: Why? Why is she like this?

Stolas: I don't know.

Stella: You're the infinitely wise one. You can read anyone like a book. Why can't you understand your own daughter?

Stolas: I'm trying. I'm trying so hard to understand, but I don't think she wants me to understand. I don't think she understands herself. Something in her is... broken.

Stella: You have to keep trying.

What did she just say?

Stolas: I... will. It's good to know you're invested in this.

Stella: I've barely slept for three days. I'm so tired. I've tried everything, but I'm so tired. You... you have to help her.

Stolas: What do you mean?

Stella: Help her. That's what you do. That's what she wants. She wants you. She's always wanted you. Help your daughter.

Those last three words hit Stolas right in the heart. He remembered Octavia's words from their day in Loo Loo Land. That she felt like home wasn't home anymore. Then all the memories of Stolas with his daughter trickled into his mind, and he saw something that spoke to him. So many flashes, images, of his family from its beginning to now, and he saw that as Octavia got older, Stella was in fewer and fewer of them. This was a situation he knew existed. But he had been content with trying to maintain the status quo. He accepted that Stella was never going to be there like she once was. He tried to convince her, when he confronted her, that Octavia needed them both. He told Stella that Octavia still loved her and that one day she may decide to reach out to Stella. Her mother. What if, this state she was in, was the right time for such a thing. Octavia was reaching out for help. She didn't know what she needed, but she was reaching out anyway, hoping someone would give her the answers. The one thing Octavia wanted was to have a family. To not be alone. Even though Stolas tried, he wasn't enough to make his daughter feel understood. To feel complete. Maybe the time was right for Stella to acknowledge Octavia. For Stella to take Octavia's hand, even if she herself didn't know what to do.

Stolas: Our... our daughter. Stella. Our daughter needs you.

Stella: She needs me for what? What am I supposed to do?

Stolas: Be there for her.

Stella: I'm right here. If she wanted me, she'd come to me.

Stolas: She doesn't know that she needs you. She doesn't know what she needs right now. She's confused.

Stolas took Stella's hand.

Stolas: We might never be together again like we used to be, but Octavia needs to understand that no matter how far apart the two of us drift, we will never drift away from her. That we will never leave her. That we will always be together with her.

Stella: What do I have to do?

Stolas: Talk to her. Please. Show her that you're there.

Stella slowly pulled her hand away from Stolas', turned, and left the kitchen without a word.