Octavia spat at her reflection.

The image of what should have been a princess sat before her. She wore a black dress with heavy diamonds that pulled her towards the floor. Heavy makeup ornamented her face, to the point that she didn't recognize herself. Deceptively, the scent of an herbal perfume danced along the edges of her nose, meant to appease whatever twisted guests Octavia's mother had invited to dinner that night.

Hours had been wasted that morning trying to perfect her appearance. The day had started with a thorough shower and an assault of makeup from their servants. After that, another three hours had been spent trying to tame her hair. Octavia had asked to wear her signature beanie. Her mother denied that request, and after Octavia tried to plead her case, an additional layer of blemish was added to her face to cover a newly-formed bruise.

Resting on a purple pillow decorated with jewels was her mother's final gift of the day: A crown. Typically, they were worn only by the prince and princess, but her mother had insisted one be made for her as well. Octavia had learned not to question her mother. Questions led to anger, and anger was a heavy breeze against their house of cards.

Their family image was on the ropes. There was no doubt about it. Her parents had been divorced for the better part of six months, but were still keeping up appearances and doing everything that they could to keep the Goetia name above water. On some days she would eat breakfast with her father and find herself dragged to a royal dinner with her mother. It had been months since their last family meal.

Octavia's mother had hinted at a special guest for the night. Coming from her mother, that could mean anything from a new butler to Lucifer himself. She placed a white glove on her hand, ready to go through the series of handshakes and pleasantries that were expected of her.

"Octavia!" her mother barked through a closed door, "The guests are waiting for you!"

Octavia sighed, "I'm coming!"

The crown rested uncomfortably atop her head. Four large rims of gold wrapped around a ruby-encrusted spiral in the center. The space between the gold and ruby had been ensnared within a web of velvet. The Ars-Goetia coat of arms sat engraved in the center of the crown's bejeweled rim.

To anybody else, it was beautiful.

All Octavia saw was a head of snakes.

Her corset kept her from taking a deep breath to calm herself down. Octavia had to avert her eyes, no longer wishing to face the stranger in the mirror.

A single beam of moonlight crept in through her bedroom curtains. She drew them apart and took in the serenity of the full moon against the star-filled sky. There were times that Octavia envied those stars; so far away and detached from mortal problems. Where some saw beauty in shiny jewels, she found beauty in the endlessness of the cosmos.

That night, however, she found their presence taunting.

She was eventually forced to close the curtain and make her way down towards the dining hall. Her eyes followed the floor while she passed the mirror. Dinner awaited her, and there was no use in making herself nauseous before that.

A purple, ornate rug ran along the path to the kitchen. Imp servants stood at attention and nodded to her as she passed by. Octavia cringed at the sight. They treated her just like her mother: a stuck-up royal. The crown wasn't helping her image. Her neck began to ache the longer she walked, as if Atlas's globe was on her shoulders.

"Good evening, princess," one of the servants said, extending a hand and offering Octavia a glass, "Care for a drink?"

Octavia gave a dry nod, "No, thanks."

The droning of royal chitter-chatter soon assaulted her ears.

"There you are! About time! It's rude to make people wait."

White feathers jutted from beneath her mother's crown. Octavia had to strain her already weakened neck to face her, narrow eyes conveying a condescending glare. Her mother's dress was a royal shade of lavender with jewels around the neck and large sleeves decorated with gothic embroidery. Octavia detected a hint of red wine in her mother's breath as the woman bent down to face her.'

"Now," the woman insisted, "You are going to sit down at that table and behave like a princess, got it? We have a very important guest tonight."

The sharp vowels of her mother's British accent were like nails on a chalkboard. Octavia knew that the accent was exaggerated, only brought up when there was company around. The royals didn't see the side of her mother that Octavia saw. She wore her second face as if it had been molded to her head.

"Whatever," Octavia grumbled, "Can we just get this over with?"

A feathery hand landed on Octavia's shoulder.

Octavia's mother spoke through gritted teeth, "I'm not playing games with you. You're lucky I bothered prettying you up. All the makeup in the world couldn't make that face attractive. You got your looks from your father. Everybody can see it."

Realizing that her battle was not yet won, Octavia bowed her head and took a seat at the dinner table.

The Goetia Manor was home to one of the most exquisite dining halls that the wrath ring had to offer. Lively plants lined the walls and gave the room a natural flare. Ornate crystals decorated a large chandelier that hung over their mahogany dining table. The wood had been painted purple in order to fit the color scheme carefully crafted by her mother. Silk napkins rested beside every plate, complementing the platinum silverware that had been given to them by the Von Eldritches.

A variety of opulent dishes lined the table from one end to the other. Octavia caught sight of a beef wellington on one end of the table. On the other rested a plate of finely-roasted vegetables resting atop a bed of au jus. Other dishes that Octavia could not identify were passed back and forth. Many of them smelled of spice and smoke, indicating that they were fresh out of the oven. Octavia recalled passing through a kitchen awash with frantic chefs shortly after her makeup had been applied. If nothing else that night would go well, Octavia could at least look forward to the food.

Octavia took the only open seat that remained. Her mother sat on her left while her father was seated at her right. Directly across from her was a man with a vague resemblance to a moth. Octavia tried to avoid eye-contact as she directed her focus towards the food.

"Stella," her father said, rising and adjusting his cape, "Shall I pour Octavia a glass of wine?"

Her mother spun around, "Are you kidding me? I'm not wasting my wine on her. She can have it next week. When she's twenty-one."

"Very well."

A small sigh was all that escaped her father's mouth after that. Octavia had expected a bit more vivacity out of him. Even with his recent falling out with his impish lover, Blitzo, Octavia had always seen her father with a smile on his face. Sure, his presence annoyed her at times, but to see him suddenly stone-faced set off an alarm. She likened it to a quiet forest where all of the animals had gone into hiding. In the shadows, something lurked, waiting to leap from the treeline and chow down on the soul that dared to make a noise.

Diagonally to her right, Octavia spotted a familiar face. Another moth-looking figure smoked a cigarette with red smoke, the trails forming a heart as they were soon scattered about the breeze. He was Valentino, a notorious overlord from the pride ring that had gained fame after the recent death of the Radio Demon. Octavia couldn't help but shiver in his presence.

It was only then that Octavia noticed that the first figure across from her had a striking resemblance to Valentino, although not exact. Octavia assumed him to be a relative, perhaps a son or a close cousin.

Her mother returned to the table with a plate for Octavia. Next to it was a glass of sweet-smelling juice.

"Thank you for coming," her mother said as she placed a napkin on her lap and took her seat, "I know that traffic from the Pride Ring can be a bit difficult."

Valentino let out a light chuckle, "We've dealt with worse. People tend to get out of our way."

"Octavia, this is Valentino, overlord in the Pride Ring. With him is Anthron, his son."

Octavia took another moment to examine Anthron, who hadn't taken his eyes off of her since she sat down. Octavia had done her best to avoid looking at him. There was something violating about his gaze, as if they pieced her clothes and flesh to pierce her soul.

Shuffling around uncomfortably did nothing to draw the figure's eyes off of her.

"Dad," Octavia asked, leaning over towards her father, "Why is he here?"

Her father remained silent. Octavia watched him swallow hard.

"I'm sorry," he choked, voice barely above a whisper, "Just listen to your mother. I tried to stop it."

Things with her father had always been a bit rocky. Since the divorce, and a little bit before, he had been seeing Blitzo. Octavia, unfortunately, had been dealt the displeasure of meeting him. The man was a self-centered, arrogant prick. Her only interaction with Bitzo had been a series of sex jokes involving her father, which made her uncomfortable for obvious reasons. She had never liked the man. Octavia was appalled that her father would care for such a rude and obnoxious creature.

In spite of their newfound distance, Octavia sensed her father's unease. He notably avoided eye-contact with her. No matter how many times Octavia tried to meet his gaze, his head faced the tablecloth.

The dinner droned on. Octavia finished the appetizers, although she found herself lacking an appetite. Her father seemed to share that sentiment. They ate only to keep up appearances.

Everything was loud. The clanking of silverware on plates, chewing, the footsteps of their servants, and at times, her own heartbeat. It created a cacophony of distress and anguish that had no end. All the while, Anthron's brown eyes stared at her, a sly grin spreading across his punchable face.

"I don't like the way he's looking at me," Octavia whispered to her father, "Tell me what's going on."

"Octavia!" her mother scolded, "It's rude to whisper."

"It's also rude to keep secrets," she spat back with a sharp whisper, standing up and staring her mother right in the eye, "What's going on? You bring me out here, dress me up like a doll, and bring an overlord to the house."

Her father placed a hand on her shoulder, "Via, I-"

"Don't."

The sharpness of her tongue surprised Octavia. Her father shrank back, a solemn frown over his face.

"Well," her mother said as she brushed her hands with a napkin, "I was hoping that we could get through dinner first. You must all excuse my daughter. She doesn't know her place."

Those last words were spoken through gritted teeth.

Octavia sat back down with anxious anticipation.

With an exaggerated groan, Valentino was the next member of the table to stand up. He was taller than Octavia had remembered him, at least eight or nine feet. The collar of his velvet coat nearly brushed the sides of the chandelier. A glass of red wine rested in one of his hands while he carried a cigarette burning red smoke in the other. The smoke took on the shape of a heart as it drifted towards Octavia's face.

Her chest burned as she inhaled the fumes. A few seconds later, however, that burning turned into a comfortable warmth. Octavia's posture began to drop. Her muscles felt loose, as if a river of serenity were running through her veins. At the same time, her heartbeat picked up.

The hostility of Antrhon's gaze, for a moment, became endearing. Octavia rubbed her eyes and tried to straighten herself out. Valentino grinned as she inhaled more of the smoke. Octavia began to grow dizzy. She quickly realized what was happening and pretended to cover a sneeze, giving her a discreet excuse to cover her mouth.

"Do you mind not smoking around my daughter?" her father asked.

Valentino chuckled, "She'll come around to it."

There was a moment of silence as Octavia tried to clear her throat again.

"Anyways," Valentino said, his voice silk-smooth, "Recent events have opened up a power vacuum in Pentagram City. We're in a very good spot. Better than we've ever been. The Vees have more influence than ever before."

"So what does this have to do with us?!" Octavia asked sternly.

Her mother shot a glance across the table that could kill. Recalling the bruise under her eye, Octavia decided to keep her mouth shut.

"You'd be interested, wouldn't you?" Valentino said.

The moth-overlord-demon-whatever reached across the table and rubbed Octavia's head as a father would. She resisted the urge to throw up, his hand cold and foreign against her forehead. He let out a chuckle as his index finger brushed the top of her crown. Like the hottest flame of hell, it branded her forehead with an endless ignominy. She wanted him to take the cursed adornment and cast it into the pit forever. He could sell the damn thing for all she cared.

"A pretty little thing, aren't you?" Valentino whispered into her ear.

His warm breath smelled of fruit. The aroma, although sweet, filled her with nausea.

Valentino's eyes scanned her up and down. She felt exposed, and Octavia tried to keep a royal smile on her face all the while. It was what her people did. Their lives were nothing more than houses of cards, with a thin smile protecting their lies from the light of the sun. All she could do was stand still and take it.

After an eternity, Valentino retreated towards the light of the chandelier again. Anthron gave a silent nod in response. In comparison to his father, Anthron suddenly felt like an angel, at least having the dignity to keep his hands off of her through the appetizers.

"Thank you," Octavia sighed, "But you haven't answered my question."

"I'm getting there," Valentino responded, "Just needed to get some…exposition out of the way."

The whole time, Anthron remained silent. Octavia would have expected him to leap to his father's defense, but it seemed that he was apathetic to the cause. Either that, or he had the best poker face in the nine circles.

Valentino continued, "My family is in a very good spot. We're not in the greed ring, so I don't see any problem in sharing our good fortune. A royal consultant met with both our families to discuss our futures. Your name came up quite a few times, Octavia."

Why would her name have come up? Her parents were the royals, not Octavia. All Octavia did was make appearances. As long as her family was alive, she could continue her life of shying away from the spotlight. Valentino had already violated her personal space once without knowing her. Something wasn't adding up.

"Octavia," her mother said, raising a glass, "You're almost twenty one. It's about time you step up and start helping our family image. Our reputation is hanging by a thread. This might be the most important thing you'll ever do."

Octavia shook her head in confusion, "But what is it?"

Her makeup was soon coated with sweat as the anticipation ate her alive. Her mother's mouth was its own Pandora's box. Any plethora of terrible things could fly from that woman's beak. Octavia could only wonder.

"Valentino went through the trouble of dragging his son out of the house to see us," her mother said, face contorting to form an unnatural smile, "And you two are about to get to know each other very well."

Octavia spilled her drink, "What?!"

"I have arranged for a marriage between you and Anthron. The future of the Goetia name rides on you."

What?

Octavia's face grew warm as she tried to process what she had just heard. The sound of her own heartbeat drowned out anything from the outside.

Had she heard her mother right?

Marriage?!

At that, her mother raised her glass to a toast.

Anthron and Valentino clinked glasses in response. Her father hesitantly followed.

The sound of the clinking of glasses felt like a gunshot. How could they smile at such a terrible thing?

She didn't believe it. She refused to.

Octavia no longer had a glass in her hands. The words hit her in the chest.

"What?" Octavia asked.

Her face grew hotter. Nothing felt real. It must have been a setup for something else. Not even her mother would do something so twisted.

"Did I stutter?" her mother asked.

No…

Gripping the table like her last lifeline, Octavia almost lost her balance as she stared her soon-to-be husband in the eyes. Anthron's dark, almost apathetic yet intrigued pupils continued to scan her, seeming unphased by the news. Of course he was unphased. He was the son of an overlord. He had probably known about the marriage months ago.

"You seem excited," Valentino remarked, lowering his toast.

Octavia quickly snapped her head around a full two-hundred and seventy degrees to face her father.

Years of family time had taught Octavia to expect the worst from her mother. Her father, however, in spite of his flaws, had always been the empath of her parents. Octavia, when given the choice, would much rather take her problems to her father. She had trusted him. He had his flaws, yes, but in the end, she had counted on him to step up to bat when it mattered.

So where was he?

"Dad?" Octavia asked, trying to hide the fear in her voice through gritted teeth, "Did you know about this?"
"

Yes, he did," her mother replied.

She clapped her hands.

Covered in a blue-and-green suit, a tall hellborn with a variety of badges adorning a blue-and-green jacket entered the kitchen carrying a stack of books. His eyes glowed blue and almost outshone the chandelier. He walked with stiff posture, balancing a top hat on his head with excellent precision, above even Octavia's skill level.

"Octavia," her mother said, seating the man at the table, "This is Tralix. He is a royal consultant that suggested we arrange the marriage. He's saved a lot of families, just like us, and I paid a heavy price to get him here tonight. You're going to stop acting like a little brat and listen to what he has to say."

Octavia only half-listened. Her main focus was on her father.

"You knew about this?" Octavia asked him.

Her father slowly turned his head.

"I tried to fight it, Via. I really did-"

"Don't call me 'Via' anymore," Octavia spat.

"You're my daughter. You know I love you-"

"No parent sells off their daughter."
Her world was burning down. Octavia clutched her stomach as her dinner threatened to decorate the dinner table. Tralix moved across the table to sit next to her.

"If you're done with your little outburst," the man said with a faint British accent, "I'd like to get on with the proceedings."

Octavia opened her mouth to speak. Her mother sprang into action before the air could escape her lungs.

"Octavia, you will sit down and listen to this man," she said, "He knows what's best."

Her mother's back was rigid and her eyes narrowed. She was pulling at straws to try and keep the meeting under control. Valentino had a sly grin on his face while Anthron only continued to stare at her. A red stain crept across the tablecloth from Octavia's spilled glass.

Octavia's death stare was met with a cocky smile from her mother.

"Now," Tralix interrupted, "Octavia Goetia, birthday August third, height five foot ten, Diablo Security Number 116-02-4601. Daughter of Stolas and Stella Goetia. Am I correct?"

Octavia didn't respond.

"Miss Goetia, this will be a lot easier if you respond-"

"Fuck you."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think that's a valid response."
Was he intentionally being dense? It took all of her willpower to keep her fist at her side and not into his face. She was talking to a damn robot!

Tralix shook his hand and motioned for Anthron to join them. He took Stolas's seat as the man she had once revered left the table.

"Anthron Interitus," Tralix said, "Born October fourth-"

Anthron shook his head, moth-like teeth escaping his mouth along with his baritone voice, "We don't need to go through all of that."

"Very well, then."

Valentino and Stella sat across from the trio. Octavia dared not to look at them.

Stella motioned to one of the servants as the air in the room began to clear, "You! Bring out dessert!"

The servant nodded and scurried away into the kitchen.

"Very well, then," Tralix said, "First things first. You two need to have some alone time. You've got a wedding next week."

"Next week?!" Octavia interjected.

Stella nodded before leaving the room with Valentino, "One day after your twenty first birthday. Can't get married if you can't drink!"
Before she knew it, she was alone with only Tralix and Valentino, neither of whom brought Octavia any comfort. She would have felt safer in the dirtiest slum of Pentagram City than in her own kitchen. What kind of a backwards world was she living in?

The numbness came in waves. Occasionally, Anthron would place a hand as she picked away at the skin and feathers on her fingers. She had thrown her gloves off at some point after the announcement. Each time he touched her. she recoiled, despite his attempts at selling her a sympathetic gaze.

Octavia scanned Anthron in return. He wore a velvet-encrusted suit with a maroon color, a bit darker than the one that Valentino wore. Far less opulent than his father's dress, Anthron pulled himself together like a businessman at a meeting that he didn't want to be at. Most of his resemblance to his father came with his face. Purple, moth-like skin coated his head, only broken up by a forced smile and black pupils. His father wore a constant sensual grin that seemed to violate whomever it fell upon. Anthron held himself in a far more serious and expressive manner, almost as if trying to sell a persona to Octavia like a used car salesman.

One of the servants stepped out of the kitchen and placed a pair of chocolate cakes in front of Octavia and Anthron. Tralix declined a plate.

"I will be back in a few minutes to discuss logistics," Tralix said, standing up and walking away, "You should both be very excited."

Octavia was anything but.

The door closed behind him. Before she had time to process what she was seeing, she and Anthron were the only two left at the table.

Her head was spinning. She tried to take a sip of water to soothe her frayed nerves, but only found the glass spilling onto her lap as her hand trembled with each movement. Arranged marriages happened with other royal families. Never in a million years would she have imagined her own family selling her off like a feathered commodity. Not only had they sold her, but they had sold her off to the son of a notorious predator. Who was to say that Anthron was any different from his father in anything but appearance?

She brushed a bead of sweat from her forehead, her fingers grazing the gold of her crown in the process. Octavia's breaths were constricted by her dress. Any attempts at running would be thwarted by the four-inch heels her mother had insisted that she wear.

Nothing on her body that night was hers.

"Hey," Anthron said, reaching a hand over once again with a soft voice, "You look worried. Are you doing alright?"

Octavia sharply withdrew her hand and shouted back, "What the HELL do you think?"

A drop of melted chocolate ran down the side of one of the cakes. Anthron leaned back while Octavia stared at him with anger and took a bite.

How could he eat at a time like that? There she was, drowning as the burdens of her life finally dragged her below the surface, and he was eating dessert. If he was going to fake sympathy, he could have waited a few more seconds to stuff his face.

A whiff of her mother's perfume entered the room thanks to a draft. Octavia burned with rage at the simple thought of it. The thought of seeing her "family" brought nothing but waterworks. Her mascara had already started to run thanks to the poorly-concealed tears that clung to her eyelids.

"The dessert is good," Anthron remarked blankly, "Your servants do a fantastic job."

"Thanks," she replied, matching his dryness.

She had a difficult time reading Anthron. His eyes were expressive yet his tone flat. Whenever Octavia enthusiastically replied to him, his eyebrows would raise and his pupils would lose a twinge of vivacity. There was a mismatch between his expression and his words. Octavia found herself both intrigued and confused by his expressional dexterity.

Waiting for her family to enter the room again and put an end to the terrible silence, Octavia still wondered if it was all a terrible joke.

Anthron took a sip of wine as he leaned back in his chair. Even his relaxation had a royal flare to it, not daring to move his arms or legs in a way that would be considered improper.

"So," Anthron said, his deep voice suddenly upbeat, "What do you like to do for fun? Who is Octavia Goetia?"

She sighed, "They're really trying to make this happen, aren't they?"

"For better or for worse, yes."

"You don't seem very excited. Shouldn't you be? I mean, I'm your mail-order bride. It's not like I have a choice here. You're getting everything that you want."

Anthron shook his head, "Not everything."

"Hm?"

Octavia looked him in the eye for only a second. The weight of her crown forced her to rest her head on the back of her chair as she waited for an explanation. His eyes flickered again, small shimmers of light dancing around his pupils like stars against a clear sky.

"My father was insistent on keeping this marriage going," Anthron sighed, "He met with Tralix last month. That's when he told me. He seemed…excited."

As always, Octavia was the last to know.

Octavia rubbed her eyes, "At least they told you."

"I wanted to be happy. You know, marriage is a big thing. I tried my best to prepare myself to meet you," He motioned towards his suit, "This thing cost six thousand souls. My dad might be an overlord, but that money doesn't trickle down."

"Your point?"

"Well, looking at you now, you don't seem very happy. It's a shame, too. You're a beautiful woman, Octavia. I want to see those eyes light up and see a smile on your face. What's the point of getting married if the other half isn't happy?"

Her gaze softened.

Octavia, for a second, wondered if she had preemptively judged Anthron.

A small blush reddened her face at the thought of being called beautiful. It only lasted for a second, and Octavia quickly collected herself, not wanting to be caught off-guard by flattery. The words lingered in her mind for a few fleeting moments. It was a rare sight for a royal to be called beautiful without the conversation immediately taking a turn towards vulgarity. The fact that he had made it more than three seconds into the conversation without bringing up sex placed him above most.

The angry blur disappeared from her vision. Clarity returned, if not only for a moment.

"Thank you," Octavia replied, attempting to add a bit more bounce to her voice, "And you're right. I don't want to do this."

Anthron sighed, "I understand that. I really do. This whole thing must be a nightmare to you."

She sympathized with his attempts to understand her, but he had no idea what she was feeling.

Octavia faked a laugh, "That would be an understatement. I don't know what to do, if I'm being honest."

"Well, it doesn't look like they're going to call this off. But I think you need a bit of time to process. We both do."

At that, she raised an eyebrow. Anthron's empathy came off a bit too strong. It rubbed her the wrong way.

That being said, Anthron seemed to be the only person left that would listen to her. Octavia's desperation eventually pushed her tongue to speak.

"I'm with you there," Octavia said, picking up a fork and running it along the sides of her cake, "I don't think either of us want to be here."

Anthron took a moment to clear his throat before talking, "Well, I wouldn't say that. I mean, I think I'd be quite a lucky man to marry somebody like you, royal name or not. I had been told about you by my father. Not trying to sound over-the-top, but I thought he had oversold you. Only now do I see that everything he said was true. And then some."

By that point she was forced to crack a smile. Anthron had a way of speaking that managed to make her discomfort disappear.

She almost didn't trust it. His words were perfect, as if he had spent months practicing for that night anticipating her reaction. His eyes remained focused while his tone finally changed to match it. Small movements in his pupils implied that Anthron was deep in thought. Octavia had to shove his flattery to the back of her mind in order to get a better read on him. Anthron was a hardcover book with a flattering cover. He distracted her with pleasantries to keep her from reading his contents.

"Once again, thank you," Octavia replied, "But I don't think we're getting anywhere. You seem like a good guy, but I don't want this marriage to happen."

"You and I seem to disagree there," Anthron said, "I want you to be happy. Believe me."

"Do you? Because I don't feel like you're listening to me. Being married won't make me happy."

"Well, you don't know that. I think we can make this work. It's not just about us. It's about our families too. You know that."

"Weren't you the one that said a marriage didn't work if someone wasn't happy? Well, I'm that someone. I'm calling this damn thing off."

Anthron's eyes flickered again. A split-second later he sprang to his feet.

"This wedding is happening," Anthron said with a stern voice, pointing angrily at Octavia, "It has to. For us. For our families."

Anthron pushed his plate to the ground, causing it to shatter into pieces and attract the attention of the other guests.

"What's going on?!" Stella asked, rushing into the kitchen and stopping next to Anthron.

Octavia wanted to open her mouth and protest. To scream her lungs out and tell her family to call off the marriage. She wanted to take the shards of that plate and throw them into her mother's face.

Her lips moved, but nothing came out.

"Nothing, nothing," Anthron said, once again adopting a calm demeanor, "I get my clumsiness from my father. I'll clean it up. Don't worry."

Stolas, Valentino, and Tralix emerged from the hall not long after.

"I'm sorry that we couldn't give you more alone time," Stella sighed, "I think this is a good time to break. Come with me, Anthron. Your father and I have a lot to discuss."

Stella turned her head towards Octavia with narrowed eyes, "Consider this your birthday present. I'm finally giving you what you want: A chance to be useful. I would have killed for a chance like this when I was younger. Don't squander it."

Octavia tried to hold back tears.

Stella bent down again, "You have seven days to make yourself presentable. Don't let me down."

With that, Stella and Anthron disappeared. Trailx followed them a moment later with a large stack of books in his hand. Stolas stared at the ground for a moment before disappearing into his study without once meeting her gaze.

Octavia collapsed. Her legs felt like jell-o. It was as if she was an outside observer to her own life; another force controlling her body.

She was no longer safe in her own house. She had to find somewhere else to go.

The next thing she knew, she was in her bedroom hastily packing a leather suitcase. Time was of the essence. She was able to pack clothes, some extra food and water, and her headphones. The palace guards would be making their duty shift soon. Octavia's window of opportunity was rapidly shrinking.

Just before booking it out of her bedroom, Octavia removed the crown from her head and set it on her nightstand. The light of the full moon caught the jewels and projected flashes of red and purple around her darkened bedroom. The moon could take it for all Octavia cared. She prayed that its nocturnal luminescence would turn it to dust.

Octavia wiped the tears from her eyes as the mascara ran. Appearances be damned. She had to find a way out.

The last thing she took from her bedroom was a handful of souls from her wallet. She quickly flagged down a guard as the passed down the darkened hallway.

"Princess," the guard started, "You cannot be here right now-"

"Here," Octavia said, shoving the bills into his suit jacket, "Don't tell anyone I was here, okay? I'm just going on a walk."

"With a suitcase?"

"Do you want the money or not?"

The guard nodded and sent Octavia on her way, having sold their soul for a soul.

She passed the lounge where Stella and her constituents were discussing the details of the marriage on her way to the front door.

"...yes, yes. We must invite the Von Eldritches," Stella's muffled voice said, "They're one of our strongest supporters."

Of course she was worrying about appearances. What else was there for Stella to worry about? She had just sold off her own daughter some extra money and power. Everything was a-okay in her book.

Stella was no longer her mother. No parent would treat their daughter like a bargaining token.

A middle finger as she silently passed by was the only protest Octavia could offer.

Dark windows stretched ahead of her as she approached the end of the mansion. She turned around to take a final look at her shell of a home. It was a quick glance. After all, there wasn't much worth missing.

Octavia breathed a breath of fresh air when she opened the doors and found herself free of her magenta-painted prison. Anybody else would have called her insane for running away from such a lavish lifestyle. They would have told her to stay home, but why would anybody want to stay home when their home had become a black hole, sucking away every bit of light that tried to enter it? Octavia had escaped the plastic walls of her doll-house. No longer would she be dressed up and paraded around like a toy.

The night was fresh. A light sprinkle of sulfur rain accompanied her as she wandered into the eternal darkness.

She glanced up at the moon. A large cumulus cloud obscured it from her view.