On an average night, this was around the time Lucian came home.

  “Home” was subjective, granted. Even months later, they could hardly call it a home, borrowed as it was. It was a miracle they hadn’t been forcibly removed. They were practically renting, at this point. The innkeeper was kind, and they had their ages to thank for such permission. Lucian’s devotion was a strong incentive, much the same. Not once had they been indebted, nor had their payments faltered. The little room was theirs to keep, a home in its own way. It was the smallest of sanctuaries. It wasn’t meant to house one person alone, for how it came with two beds. He’d gotten used to sharing one by choice, regardless.

  He couldn’t stop himself from looking out the window. It didn’t matter that the motion was newly useless. It was a reflex he hadn’t curbed, by which Lucian would amble down the road with exhaustion veiling his face and sweat plaguing his skin. On good days, it was a byproduct of admirable labor. On days far more frequent, Theo suspected it was the other problem.

  Even now, he’d gone through the routine steps of making Lucian’s bed and laying out fresh clothes. He’d thrown together what simple foods he could possibly coax the boy into eating tonight. He’d already dampened the rags that would be necessary to cool Lucian’s skin when he was inevitably wracked with sweats again. There was a part of Theo that knew better. Logically, the knowledge was there. Emotionally, it hadn’t fully sunk in.

  The innkeeper didn’t understand the motions of his hands. It was an incredible frustration that left his heart burning painfully, for how there was no guiding light at his side to translate. Even now, the hopeful half of him swore it was a temporary absence. He’d be home soon. He’d bring along a smile he could hardly assemble, born solely for the sake of Theo’s soul. He’d gift the room with what little sparkle he had left in his eyes, and Theo would bless him with all of the love that was possible to give. It was overflowing, useless, aimless as it pooled in his heart instead. He couldn’t offer it to eyes that wouldn’t open.

  Is this your brother?

  She’d had to resort to writing. It was the least of his stressors.

  He doubted he’d screamed, empty and reflexive as the action would’ve been. The entire revelation was a blur, really. It wasn’t as though they had family left to bury him. It wasn’t as though they had a place left to bury him at all. For how carefully they’d draped opaque blankets atop most of his body, Lucian could’ve passed as asleep. His face was visible, at least. It took time to realize the coverings weren’t a gesture of respect. It took longer to find out why.

  Theo doubted he’d ever sleep soundly again, for the mental image that haunted him in turn. At the very least, it was, undoubtedly, Lucian. His face, newly scarred or otherwise, was eternally beautiful. The collar of his sweater hadn’t always been that red, if memory served. There was an urge to tear the blankets off completely, at the time, if not solely for the sake of drinking in a tragedy he’d earned the right to witness. Lucian was his, after all.

  We salvaged what we could.

  That was the only reason he didn’t.

  If he’d cried that night, he couldn’t recall. If he’d cried tonight instead, he hadn’t registered the tears. Where he was to go from here was a mystery. Theo could count on one hand the number of times he’d gone further than the immediate vicinity of the inn. Selbright was vast and unknown. Sustaining himself would be Hell for more reasons than one. The innkeeper was kind to him, to be fair. In the wake of what had come to pass, he supposed he’d earned that much pity. His age helped. His hearing helped. Something about both was irritating, and yet he indulged whatever spoke to survival.

  He didn’t dare sleep in his own bed. It was abnormal, if not outright sacrilegious. Freshly-made or not, he nestled himself beneath the fluffy covers of Lucian’s bed with care. They still carried his scent, and he stole all that remained of a light stolen from the world in turn. Eyes shut or not, Lucian’s face was there. Theo mentally did what he could to remove the scars, let alone the hypothetical disrespect a cruel death had offered him. It was as much in the interest of preserving the boy's pure memory as it was for the sake of stemming the nausea. He wondered if it had hurt. He still hadn’t entirely figured out the rationale.

  There was no stemming the rapid pounding of his heart, by comparison. Darkness brought no peace, and he grasped at what little remnants of life remained at his fingertips. He couldn’t help the way he gripped the covers tighter, his fingernails threatening to slice clean through the fabric. Lucian wasn’t the only one who hurt, maybe. Breathing was a trial, and Theo struggled more with each passing second. Lucian was just here. Lucian was just at his side. It was sudden enough to be unbelievable. Savoring what remained wasn’t helping. If anything, it was making it worse. He was fairly sure he still wasn’t crying. Whatever had taken its place was far less preferable.

  It was ironic, the way he was left numb in much the same bed as one who’d lost his heart. Granted, it didn’t come with everything else that had ruined Lucian. Theo rolled onto his side, torn between indulging in the last sanctuary of Lucian’s warmth and escaping tactile memories that had begun to burn. It left aching fingers scraping metal, and he flinched.

  He parted the covers slightly, peering beneath the fluffy warmth on his left. He’d only gotten to see the piccolo once. He stared for a solid ten seconds, one raised hand clasping the blankets alone. Technically, that was just as much of a momento.

  He’d never pressed Lucian on it, intriguing as the sight had been. He doubted he’d forget the light any time soon. Stolen sound was irrelevant, and the ethereal radiance that Lucian’s breath had offered up was inexplicable. Most importantly, it was beautiful, and that was what had mattered. For the singular experience the silent song had blessed him with, Theo was almost convinced it had been a dream. He’d never get the chance to ask. It was one of many regrets, although far less searing than the rest.

  It had still succumbed to Lucian’s touch, at some point. Theo lowered his hand, trading fabric aloft for fingers upon the cool material. It chilled his skin in turn, and the sensation was welcome. It was no replacement for Lucian by any means. It was still company in a bed far too empty. Again, his eyes fell closed. His heart still burned in the worst way. If nothing else, it was something different to focus on.

  Help me.

  His heart could’ve exploded. For a moment, burning be damned, Theo swore it did.

  Every sorrowful emotion immediately gave way to fear. It was the sharpest terror he’d ever felt in his life, and Theo recoiled with such force that he met the floor instantly. He hit his head on the way down, the throbbing pain that followed irrelevant in the face of his pounding heart. Through eternal silence came that which was new. It was, with certainty, not supposed to be there. The sensation was indescribable, by which imagining artificially would’ve been futile. It wasn’t quite literal, if that was what literal was supposed to be. He was breathless for a new reason entirely.

  He couldn’t shake the horror that came with two words, unwelcome in every way. Even outside, they would’ve been intimidating. He couldn’t decide whether to panic or pry. Theo’s eyes darted frantically around the all-too-empty room, spearing into darkened corners time after time. He had nothing to show for thoughts far too intrusive.

  Help me.

  The second time was no less petrifying, even on guard as he was. His heart once more threatened to burst, battling to escape his chest. The rush was painful, and one hand was left grasping desperately at his useless lungs. It was nondirectional. So, too, were his hands in tandem, once he found the strength to smash them together.

  Who are you?

  It was a wasted effort, probably, more instinctive than anything. It was all he had. For the four syllables he’d been cursed with in total, each had settled far too deep for comfort. There was the possibility he was talking to himself. That was even more terrifying, and he couldn’t wrap his head around the concept.

  I need you.

  It wasn’t him. It definitely, absolutely was not him. His heart would never return to a normal rhythm again. Again were Theo’s hands shouting with every frantic motion.

  Who are you?

  He was aggressive, trembling fingers falsely vicious as they shot venom at nothing. It was more than a farce. Somehow, all that returned was harmless. He’d expected otherwise. It didn’t make it any more tolerable.

  I am one who destroys what is precious.

  He earned no clarity. If anything, it was getting frustrating. Theo still wasn’t sure exactly where to aim his hostilities. Bound to the carpet, they fell solely in front of him each time. Where are you?

  Above you.

  His panic took on a new flavor entirely. Once more were his eyes chasing shadows, weakened moonlight sneaking between curtains offering little support. He was surely alone. For his peace of mind and safety alike, that much needed to be true. Theo raised his head higher, and it left only the bed above.

  Show yourself, he signed with false confidence.

  I am here.

  “Here” was debatable. He rose to his feet slowly, bracing against the mattress in the process. He’d already expected isolation in Lucian’s sanctuary. It left the piccolo, cursed with a blunted shimmer in the wake of obstructed moonlight. Again, he was staring, resting his elbows against the bed as he leaned closer.

  Where? he finally tried.

  I am before you.

  Theo blinked. Baffling as it was, the intruding voice wasn’t quite as shocking anymore. He didn’t enjoy getting used to it. With his eyes locked firmly onto the little piccolo, he tilted his head. It never stopped his inquisitive hands.

  The piccolo?

  Yes.

  He flinched. And you’re talking to me?

  It is so.

  It was extremely possible that grief had driven him insane. Theo hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly.

  Tell me who you are.

  It is as I have stated. I am one who destroys what is precious.

  Theo frowned. Every motion was tinted with annoyance. I mean your name.

  The interloping voice hesitated for a moment. I am called Mixoly.

  He raised an eyebrow. He tested the name on his fingers, strange as it was. Mixoly?

  Yes.

  With hesitation of his own, he crawled his way back onto the bed. It left the piccolo resting at his knees, and his heart calmed its rapid rush in just the slightest. You can understand me, Theo stated.

  Through your heart alone.

  He eyed the small instrument warily. What does that mean?

  You need not motion. Your heart will suffice, for what intent is to be shared.

  Every word was vague, if not confusing. That was annoying in its own way. I don’t know what that means, he admitted.

  Speak from within, and I shall hear your voice.

  He didn’t have one, really. If he did, it earned little usage. He rarely tried. Theo took a guess, forgoing his hands altogether. Like this?

  Yes.

  It was almost distressing. Hearing was off-putting enough. The idea of his thoughts being raided was its own flavor of horrifying. He earned a chill that seized his skin.

  I shouldn’t be able to hear you, he insisted.

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  I say again, it is your heart through which you receive my words.

  That didn’t make him feel any better. Still, it was genuinely easier than signing. Why can I hear you?

  We are bonded.

  Theo raised an eyebrow, prodding the piccolo with one curious fingertip. Bonded?

  I am yours, just as you are mine.

  He hadn’t exactly consented to such. He didn’t understand it in the first place. Either way, it still left a hole. Weren’t you Lucian’s?

  I was. So, too, was he my own.

  One of those made sense. I remember you.

  Do you?

  Theo inched closer, shifting forward on his knees along the sheets. He played you once. You made light.

  The hum he found in return fell somewhere between approval and endearment. His heart was pure.

  Theo didn’t disagree. The thought was painful and warm all at once. He traced each key in turn with a wandering fingertip. Can you do that again?

  If you wish it to be so.

  His eyes widened. Can I do that?

  My heart is yours.

  Why me?

  I need you.

  Theo’s fingers curled around the length of the piccolo in full. What do you need?

  I need your assistance.

  The new voice in his head--or his heart, maybe--was getting more vague by the minute. His free hand followed suit, scooping the other end into his palm experimentally. With what?

  You must free me.

  Theo raised the instrument aloft. From?

  I need--

  Whatever words were to follow were cleaved in two by blasting color. It didn’t hurt. That meant nothing, and his eyes burst into violet.

  Scathing and sudden, the veil that besieged his vision was born of a blinding flash. White gave way in an instant to a haze he couldn’t blink away, foggy and disturbingly indigo. He still tried his best, slamming his eyes shut time and time again as they watered mercilessly. It left the world no less obscured.

  Every peeking ounce of moonlight that crept past the curtains was mutilated, stained in turn by poisonous violets he couldn’t escape. There was a moment where he feared he’d hit his head too hard upon falling. Even so, it lasted far, far longer than one singular moment. At some point, the piccolo had slipped from his trembling hands, clammy palms bashing against his eyes. Theo squeezed them shut, gasping for a breath he didn’t realize he’d lost.

  Behind the black that came with a cupped touch, it was muted. He feared removing his hands. He rubbed his eyes much harder than was necessary, bordering the threshold of pain. When he found the drive to crack them open once more, it was futile all the same. His world was still marred by the sickest haze in every way. There were colors beneath, if he squinted hard enough. He could still make out the greens of the covers. He could still identify the creams of the ceiling. He still had reds, blues, yellows, and all that rested in between. Not one remained untainted, ensnared in a fog he couldn’t unsee. Blinking was useless. Breathing was useless. He couldn’t stop his fingers from tangling into his hair.

  What is this? Theo pleaded from within. If he could scream that way, he would’ve.

  Of what do you speak?

  There’s something in my eyes.

  The voice was silent for a moment. I apologize.

  His heart skipped a beat painfully. For what?

  Do you hear it, as well?

  The deflection was just as painful. He really did want to scream. Hear what? I can’t hear anything. I don’t hear at all, he clarified.

  And again, he had his unfortunate silence inside. This is the curse I bring.

  The chill that claimed him started on his skin and seeped into his blood. Blurred by eternal violet or not, Theo couldn’t tear his eyes away from the piccolo on the sheets once more. Why?

  I bring suffering. I do not wish to harm you, my child. I…harbor no malice.

  When will it stop?

  When I am free.

  He was lightheaded. Whether it was the concept or the experience, he wasn’t sure. He could always close his eyes again. Still, that would sever his murky line of sight with the little instrument. Theo couldn’t figure out why he cared. When will that be?

  You must find the Ambassador.

  Theo blinked several times over, useless as the motion was. The Ambassador?

  The one who may guide my return.

  To where?

  Above.

  Where’s that?

  The place in which I am meant to be.

  It was too much too quickly. Every word was more confusing than the last, and the endless violet clinging to his vision was of more distress than all else. Somewhere between frustrated and panicked, his patience was rapidly eroding. I don’t understand you. I don’t understand any of this.

  My child, I--

  Don’t call me that!

  Theo did what he could to make it loud, let alone stinging. Whether or not it worked was debatable. He still couldn’t figure out exactly how it worked. Screaming with his heart was a foreign concept--literally, at least. Figuratively, he’d done so all day.

  In truth, that came with a thought that left him doing the same yet again.

  You were Lucian’s, right?

  I was.

  Did you do this to him, too?

  Theo earned silence. It was damning.

  Did you? he pressed.

  And when he got nothing a second time over, it was an answer all its own.

  His shaky hand was around the piccolo before he’d realized. With as much ire as he could pour into one motion, Theo flung the instrument far across the empty room. He watched the way it slammed into the masonry, and still he felt no more satisfied. Blood once frozen now burned in the worst way. Even as it languished on the carpet, drowning in his permanent haze, he fixed the piccolo with whatever glare he could falsely concoct.

  That’s why, isn’t it?

  It was not my intent, of this I swear.

  So you did.

  I loved him.

  You’re lying.

  I speak only the truth.

  Everything ached. Theo’s eyes played only a tiny role. Then why would you hurt him like that?

  I regret all that I bring, and I lament all I have wrought. I was a curse upon him, and he deserved better. Even so, he held my heart, and I carried his. He was beautiful. He sought my liberation. For that, I owe him more than I could ever give. I am cruel, that I would seek the same from another in turn. I…know this.

  The voice in his heart paused. Theo held fast to his anger all the way through the silence. It is all that I can do. I have nothing. I need you. I should not be here. I have committed a sin, and I perhaps am not deserving of redemption. Still, child, I ask of you, please…help me.

  He thought to say no. It was more tempting than the alternative. “Sin” didn’t begin to describe it, should his assumption be correct. None of it made sense, for how a piccolo alone could do all that had been done unto Lucian. In that moment, his rage burned brighter than his curiosity. He couldn’t help it.

  You hurt him, Theo repeated inwardly.

  I do not deny it.

  There was even a part that thought to hurt it back, although wounding a piccolo would’ve been a trial. He could break it, maybe. He could put a face to it, berating the voice that plagued him in the way he much preferred. His hands could be as violent as he wished them to be. It wouldn’t bring Lucian back. It would do enough.

  Theo glared. You hurt him.

  I have wronged you, then, just as well.

  He couldn’t injure what he couldn’t see.

  You hurt him.

  I did not deserve him.

  He couldn’t see properly anyway, to be fair.

  You hurt him.

  I apologize.

  Fantasy or not, he just needed enough to rip apart.

  You hurt him.

  It was inside.

  I know.

  It needed to be outside.

  You hurt him.

  Theo never got an answer. At the very least, it didn’t come with words.

  Violet be damned, he found gold. It was the inverse, bursting and silky as it rivaled the moon beyond the curtains. He’d thought they’d fallen from the rungs, for a moment, for how the room was flooded with starlight. The shade was unnatural, and a glow meant for the night sky was born within four walls alone. His eternal haze was miserable, poisonous as it tangled with the gentle gleam. The sight was as ethereal as it was unfortunate. Theo lamented it.

  He was mostly occupied with processing the scene, by which appendages and delicate features were born of luminescence. Theo’s eyes, blighted as they were by haunting indigo, soaked in every last drop of her sparkle. She was beautiful.

  She was silent. She stared, and Theo stared back. Her feet never once touched the floor, aloft beyond the discarded piccolo. What hatred he’d harbored fizzled and scattered, replaced by something he couldn’t pinpoint. She was far from human, surely. Even so, every motion spoke to the opposite. If they were arms, they were tethered to one another. If it was a face, an eyeless gaze fell to scrape the carpet. Theo leaned forward slightly, drinking in what he could through his tainted vision. She only shied away yet more.

  His heart was irrelevant. She was right there, and signing was instinctive. Who are you?

  She was just as quiet, and the voice that touched him within was just as timid. I say once more, child, that I go by Mixoly.

  Theo tensed. His eyes flickered to the piccolo below her. You were in there?

  She nodded. That, too, was strikingly human. That is my vessel. What you now witness is what I am.

  His eyes flickered between them both. He was still more than overwhelmed, granted. Regardless, her glow was almost calming. He clung to it through hazy violet. Where he sought to pelt her with every question that raced through his head, she cut him off.

  And, that you could witness me at all, the Ambassador awaits.

  Theo rose to his feet, his steps towards her surprisingly steady in a blurring world. You said you need the Ambassador, right?

  Should I find the Ambassador, never more will I curse another. So, too, will you be free.

  Hypothetically, it would be its own revenge. Part of him would be fine banishing Lucian’s tormentor. A greater part of him struggled to recapture the same rage. As to why her visage made a difference, he was unsure. He was the one who’d asked to put a name to a face, after all.

  Did you ask Lucian for help, too?

  I have begged for the aid of many. Each time, it is I who has failed them.

  But he still tried, right?

  He did.

  Theo’s hands stilled. There was no gaze he could meet, for how her radiant face was utterly blank. He tried anyway, peering up at her from below. Did he find anything?

  He could not. It is no simple task.

  And still, wracked with a curse beyond Theo’s understanding even now, Lucian had given what he could. It was so like him. The thought was almost as comforting as the soft glow before him. If he reached out and touched it, he wondered what would happen.

  Did he love you back?

  I do not know. I had wronged him. Had I earned his hatred, it would not be unjustified.

  He knelt down carefully, somewhat hesitant to peel his eyes from the floating figure as he reclaimed the little instrument from the floor. He tried to look upon it with anger at least once more. He failed. It wasn’t intentional. Just as before, he ran his fingertips along the length of the smooth metal.

  Would you hate me, then?

  Theo’s eyes snapped to hers--or lack thereof, rather. Why would I? he asked with his heart.

  That I have hurt him, she spoke within weakly.

  He hesitated. There was no good answer. As recently as ten minutes ago, he wouldn’t have questioned it. Still, even as his vision swam and his thoughts raced, she stayed almost pitiful. When he shook his head, it was a shock even to himself. She flinched, and that was just as human.

  I don’t think so, Theo admitted.

  How? she asked. She sounded as surprised as he felt.

  You said it wasn’t on purpose. You said that none of this is on purpose. You don’t want to be here, right?

  She paused. At last, she nodded, practically curled in on herself. This is not where I am meant to be. I simply wish to return to Above. I have…never meant to--

  Then I don’t hate you, he interrupted. If I help you, this won’t happen to anyone else, right?

  I swear it to be true.

  Once more, Theo’s attention fell to the piccolo in his upturned palms. Her starry glow did the metal justice, and it sparkled wonderfully in her presence. That, too, he couldn’t bring himself to hate. Then I’ll help you.

  She was quiet, as he was learning her to be. Then, she relaxed, unfurling from her tight posture. Theo offered her his ruined eyes, and she gave him those she didn’t have. I…you have my utmost gratitude, my child. I cannot…thank you enough. I am indebted to you in every way, for what I have brought down upon you.

  He didn’t want her apologies, nor did he need them. In truth, he hadn’t entirely decided how much of his decision was driven by her pleas alone. Even now, his traveling fingertips surely crossed paths with where Lucian’s had once been. For all that had been done to him, the resplendent light born of his breath was unforgettable. Try as he might, it wasn’t an image Theo could associate with hatred. It was soft, just as he’d been. Lucian didn’t quite match poorly with the luminous voice that begged for salvation.

  Theo’s heart had ached from stagnant love, pooling and undistributed. For Lucian’s sake, he could put it somewhere else.