Achieving Heaven Through Hell Part 3: Only the Results

Chapter 3: Archetype

Chapter 3: Archetype

The estate was quiet. The servants silently set about their work, careful not to make too much noise lest they rouse the predatory instincts of their masters. Keeping silent was an impressive feat, considering their masters' strigiform heritage, as was the quality of their service. The staff worked to the clock, ensuring that their masters' needs were seen to before the need arose.

Octavia's eyes slowly opened, the light filtering through her window was golden and soft, unlike the harsh red glow outside. This was imported morning sunlight from over a scenic mountain range on earth, the Alps, to be precise, though she neither knew nor cared.

She smacked her lips and reached out, eyes still bleary and unseeing, grabbing a cup of clear, cool water that had been placed on her bed-stand some twenty minutes earlier. She shuffled out of bed, feet sliding into a pair of perfectly placed slippers as she sipped the water. She put on her robe and made her way to her beauty station, her make-up at the ready and her ensemble for that day already assembled. Her mother insisted that she have an aesthetician to coordinate their outfits. For a while, she'd rebelled, disregarding their choices and selecting the most incongruous get-ups to her parent's meticulous style.

After a while, though, her aesthetician surprised her with an ensemble that was tasteful and stylish but also clashed with her parent's fashion. Octavia suspected her parents had no idea this servant was helping her subvert their image, and so elected to adopt the style as her own. Besides, the punishment for such impudence was no doubt worse than death. She'd never met this person, but all the same didn't want anything to happen to them. Besides, she got to look good while sticking it to her mother, win-win.

She slipped on her clothes and went about doing her make-up, a simple base with dark eyeliner, and popped on her toque, the gilded tiara inlaid on it glowing with a royal seal. She got up and set out for her father's office, she had some time to kill and knew who she wanted to kill it with.

Staff scurried to and fro as she made her way down the hall, ensuring that everything was in its proper place while the Prince was indisposed with business. Her Highness did not like to see her servants, but enjoyed the fruits of their labor. Octavia held out her hand and a mug of hot black coffee was placed in it by a maid as she ran by with an armful of laundry.

"Thank you, Merriam," Octavia said, looking up from her Hellphone to smile.

Her mother hated when she treated the staff like people.

She flicked through her instagram, watching with wry amusement at the absurdities her social circle got up to the past few hours. She was hesitant to call any of them 'friends', hangers-on, parasites maybe, sycophants definitely, and a whole host of other words her father would gleefully deem 'impish'. Still, she was forced to associate with them because, well, she was an aristocrat and so were they, no matter how vapid or cruel she found them. Because if she didn't, if she hung out with people she actually liked, her mother and father both would get on her case. She could count one hand the number of people she felt she could confide in without fear judgement. One such creature awaited on the other side of the door

"Hey, Moonie," she said, barging into the office. "How're you–"

Blitzo sat on the secretary's deck, the look on his face that of a cat in a goldfish bowl. Fittingly, under his arm, in a headlock with the imp's knuckles grinding into his scalp, was Moonchild, her father's secretary, his eyes wide and pleading.

"Oh! Li'l Owlet!" The gurning imp crooned. "Can I just say you're looking–"

"Let him go, Blitzo," she commanded, her voice flat but strong.