She enjoyed it, for the most part. She wasn't sure at exactly what point she'd fallen asleep in the first place. She opened her eyes several hours later to starlight rather than the oppressive sun, simmering warmth replaced with flooding moonbeams through the window. The springs of her mattress creaked slightly as she propped herself up on her elbows. The height of the moon beyond was a solid indicator of the growing evening.

It took more than a moment to reacclimate to the steady, comfortable rumbling well beneath her, briefly mysterious. Her second thought came in the form of figuring out exactly how many days she had left to go. She strongly doubted she'd managed to sleep through all three.

"You missed dinner," she heard quietly from below.

She peered over the side of the bed carefully. The absence of a little blue bow told enough of a story, replaced by a nightgown and glossy hair. Octavia winced.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up," she apologized in a whisper.

It didn't help that another pair of sleeping Maestros were opposite her bunk entirely. She was lucky her awakening hadn't been fully contagious. It took effort to inch her way towards the ladder with careful movements, the skirt of her dress sticking to her thighs uncomfortably all the way there.

"They've still got hot food left over, I think. Sorry we didn't wake you up. You seemed pretty comfortable," Viola apologized back, grogginess painting her tone. "Go wash up or something if you want."

Octavia landed on the carpet with a thump that was notably louder than intended. "I'll try to be quiet coming back in."

Viola had already rolled away from her, more than comfortable herself. "Make as much noise as you want. We've got plenty of time to sleep. If you need me, you know exactly what I'll be doing."

Octavia stifled a laugh, gathering her clothes in her arms as quietly as was possible. Already, Viola's limbs were entangled in a mess of blankets with startling complexity. She'd earned her rest, at least, questionable as her methodology was.

One hand on the handle of the door still left her hesitating. It took her several seconds to pinpoint why, given her general comfort with the atmosphere and stillness of the evening. She chanced one more look behind her over every unconscious Maestro in turn. It eventually clicked.

The last time she'd abandoned a sleeping Viola in the dark of night had ended in outright disaster. Speeding into the depths of the evening as they were, she strongly doubted lightning would strike twice. Even if it did, help wouldn't be far--threefold as it now was, although she prayed it wouldn't come to that regardless.

She still didn't feel right leaving Stradivaria in her wake. It took effort to balance the case and her clothes at once, let alone to shut a sliding door quietly with her foot. It was a necessary sacrifice.

Madrigal had been wonderfully correct about the hot water, although Octavia doubted she would've been wrong in the first place. She took her time bathing, given the way by which she was blessed with both privacy and isolation in the face of a train so shockingly desolate. She didn't particularly look forward to the process of her hair drying. Given the trade-off that was glorious steam kissing her skin for what was objectively far too indulgent a length of time, it was, once more, a necessary sacrifice.

Dinner was passable. Madrigal's was still better. The lack of company in the empty room was unnerving, for how every last movement she made echoed slightly. She ate faster than she should've, and not solely secondary to the mediocre meal. It still wasn't long enough for her hair to dry, and that was an annoyance in and of itself.

The aisles weren't as uncomfortably desolate by comparison, although she partially gave credit to their narrow size. The darkness she'd expected to find so late was shattered by the spilling moonlight, every beam bursting through broad panes beyond splashing upon the carpet. She enjoyed the glow they came with, following their guiding lights out into the vast world that passed her by.

It was largely a blur, if she were to cast her eyes straight down through the glass. Forward, at least, she caught the shaded crests of mountains on occasion. In the depths of the evening, it was hard to follow little but the stars. Even those were appreciated. Just as in Minuevera, the night sky that trailed her unsteady path was identical the world over. It was a comfort she embraced with her heart, bound to the whims of a speeding train or otherwise.

Her boots didn't touch the floor when she sank into the booth. It left her with a solid view, at least, for how she could claim the moon beyond for herself with a simple turn of her head. It left her space for yet more, by which Stradivaria's case hit the table with a thunk.

"Okay," Octavia muttered aloud.

The violin was sleeping just as peacefully as those she'd left behind, and she unzipped the case with slow movements that may as well have spoken to the same. She cradled either portion of the instrument with care, offering up a deep breath.

"Talk to me."

She got silence. She absolutely saw it coming.

It felt ridiculous. Frankly, she was lucky she had as much isolation as she did, lest she be cursed to experiment in front of three other Maestros. It would open an entirely new avenue of teasing, possibly--to say nothing of the sparse passengers who may have witnessed her outright conversing with a violin.

In her defense, she was fairly certain at least two of them didn't have the capacity to converse, either. Madrigal was, apparently, an incredible exception, if the astonishment of Eleanor Vacanti was anything to go by. If Octavia's interpretation was correct, the Maestra had somehow earned full conversations. Were it Priscilla, she probably would've long since figured out the same. Getting the magical violin to talk was going to be a puzzle in and of itself. She sighed.

"I'm Octavia," she offered nervously, patting the base of the instrument with reassurance far from necessary. "I mean, I'm sure you know that by now. We've kinda been through a bit together at this point. Sorry I haven't really stopped to actually talk to you. I'm, uh, hoping this is a good opportunity to get to know each other?"

Again, she found nothing. She groaned. She felt mildly insane.

"So, about that Dissonance," she continued, eyes flickering around the room absentmindedly. "Scary stuff. You really helped me out back there, both times. Appreciated it. I think we're a good team."

Nothing. Moderately insane.

"Oh, and, uh, sorry about--what was his name? Domino? The whole, uh, letting you get stolen thing. It was an accident. Good thing Harper was there. He's super nice, have you met him?"

Of course not. She was literally talking to a violin. Significantly insane.

"Everyone's been really nice so far. Viola is amazing, Harper is sweet, Madrigal is…well, Madrigal, and Renato is…definitely there. I guess I kind of have you to thank for letting me meet everyone."

She sighed. She hadn't yet entirely processed the way by which only several days had passed. At the moment, it still didn't make her any less insane.

"I wonder if Priscilla had anyone she traveled around with. I mean, she was always really good at making friends. I can't think of a single person who didn't love her right away. I know she was always going from city to city, but I hope she had a few people she could confide in. I assume it gets a bit lonely on the road all the time."

She kicked her feet lazily beneath the table. "I tried to play you a few times when I was little, do you remember? You were too big for me to actually hold. Priscilla was patient about it. I feel bad that I didn't have a lot to show for how much she tried to help me figure you out. At least give me credit for effort."

She stroked the neck of the violin, relishing the cool sensation of copper strings beneath her fingertips. "I guess I just never had the talent that she had. I mean, granted, you were the only violin she ever wanted, so now I wonder if she just honestly couldn't play without you. I feel like being a Maestro lets you cheat a little at being a musician."

"I don't even know where she got you from," Octavia continued, propping her elbows up on the table comfortably. Her face followed suit, cheeks settling comfortably into her hands. "Everyone found their Harmonial Instrument in their own ways. Miss Eleanor said it's a special thing, and everyone's different. I had a box. I had the same stupid box dream every day for a full month. Did you know about that? It was driving me insane."

She paused. "Were you calling me, even back then? I feel like that's the only time we've really connected outside of playing together."

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It wasn't entirely true. She still couldn't prove it. It didn't make the echo any less haunting, nor the tone any less memorable. She'd replayed that singular syllable in her head dozens of times over. She couldn't curb the thought, haphazard of a guess as it still was.

"Was that you, at the auction?" Octavia asked quietly. "Calling me?"

The silence she found was expected, if not still disheartening. The steady rumbling of the voyage into the night filled the gap where words failed her. She exhaled deeply, trailing one fingertip along the rim of the mahogany.

"I know you were with Priscilla the whole time. You saw what she saw, and you two went through the same things together. I'm sure of it. I just…want to know what it was you saw together. I want to know what happened."

To be a part of it would've been wonderful, if not for just a moment. If she pleaded aloud, she wondered if she would've gotten her wish.

"It doesn't happen overnight."

The voice she found was far from the one she'd expected, given how hard she was straining to catch so much as a syllable. She jumped, stifling a yelp as she nearly fumbled the violin in her panic. Keeping her balance was of second priority, and she scrambled to remain upright in her seat.

"God, please don't scare me like that," she begged.

Madrigal winced, recoiling a bit at the sight of Octavia's mild panic. "I'm sorry! You never came back to the cabin. I was getting worried about you."

Octavia sighed, smoothing her slightly-wet and now unfortunately-frazzled hair. "It's alright. Sorry if I worried you guys. I'll head back in soon."

Madrigal tilted her head. "Can I sit with you?"

Octavia nodded. With a smile, Madrigal settled down across from her with notable energy, bouncing slightly against the booth cushion with a bit too much enjoyment. The delicate golden sparkles that trailed in her wake were notable against the streaming moonlight. It was the second time she'd seen the little harp crowned by the lovely glow of night, actually.

"You brought Lyra's Repose?" Octavia asked.

Madrigal's smile brightened, and she nodded once again. "This is our routine. We like enjoying the moonlight together."

Octavia returned her smile. "You two are close, huh?"

She hugged the instrument, rubbing the resplendent metal against her cheek. "I love her lots," she spoke happily.

"What was it like? When you first got your instrument, I mean?" Octavia asked.

Madrigal paused for a moment, eyeing Lyra's Repose endearingly. "I was really excited when I found her, and we played together a lot. I didn't hear her right away, but the first time I saw Dissonance, I was scared. I was really, really scared, actually. That's when I heard her speak, and she showed me what to do. I haven't stopped hearing her since. She's kinda like a second voice in my head."

"So it's…something you can actually hear? Not just, like, feel?"

Madrigal nodded again, her gentle smile never leaving her lips. "Kinda. It's…hard to explain. She's in every part of me. I hear her in my head, and I feel her in my heart. It's like she's a part of me, too."

It wasn't a very simple mental image. Octavia's one syllable of reference left much to be desired.

"It doesn't happen overnight," she repeated. "When Stradivaria is ready, it'll reach out to you. You'll know when it does. Maybe it already has, and you just don't know it yet."

"Does it bother you that no one else can hear their Harmonial Instrument?" Octavia asked bluntly. It was unintentional.

Madrigal took it well enough, regardless. "Not really. If anything, I feel like it makes our bond even more special. It makes me even more excited for everyone to do the same with their partners."

Octavia cast her eyes to Stradivaria alone, shimmering softly in its own right beneath much the same moon. Madrigal's company was more than welcome. She would've appreciated yet more, ideally in her head and in her heart. The smallest pang of jealousy that bit her was unwelcome, and she struggled to stifle it as quickly as was possible. It wasn't fair to Madrigal.

She got half her wish, unrelated to the instrument as it was. Where she'd sought the company of three, she found it in the form of a gently-crossed threshold and the most subtle shuffling of a sliding door. The Maestro that met her eyes over her shoulder was quiet, his smile equally so. She returned it. It was a solid distraction from the envy, both born of his visage and the knowledge he suffered the same plight. She waved.

"Yay, you're awake!" Madrigal offered cheerfully, raising her arms aloft. Her volume was debatable, and Octavia winced.

"Did we wake you up? Sorry if we were being loud," Octavia added.

Harper shook his head. "Nah, nothing like that. I just got lonely when I woke up and everyone was gone."

"Isn't Viola still in there?" she asked.

"She's a different kind of gone at the moment. The train could crash and I think she'd sleep through it."

Octavia chuckled. "She's definitely earned her rest lately."

Harper settled in beside her, stretching comfortably. "I think we've all earned some rest," he offered. "Maybe not quite as much as her, granted, but we've kinda had a lot going on so far."

"There's a lot more where that came from," Madrigal teased, her voice bubbling with obvious excitement. "We have lots to do in Velrose!"

"Well, God, I mean, hopefully we have something to do in Velrose," Octavia corrected.

"I think this is the first time I've seen you with your hair down."

Sudden as it was, Harper's acknowledgement was enough to leave her blushing. It was the one observation she'd been keen to avoid. Madrigal had spared her, at least. "I-I didn't get a chance to put it back up yet," she stammered.

Harper only smiled, absentmindedly tangling his fingers between her still-frazzled locks. "I like it. Want me to get it set up for you?"

Octavia scoffed. "You know how to braid hair?"

"The amount of things I'm an expert in would surprise you," he answered, his voice pooling playfully with mock hurt. "You think Louise and the girls style their own hair?"

Octavia smirked. "Right. Forgot you're basically a dad."

"And," he continued, "I actually used to have long hair, myself."

Octavia choked on a laugh. "You? With long hair?"

He smirked right back, his fingers already settling into her hair comfortably with soft twisting and delicate pulling. "I would've put Holly and Ivy to shame back then."

"What made you cut it?" Octavia asked.

"Some stuff," he offered with a shrug, never halting his careful work. "Creative choices."

"Creative choices," Octavia repeated, rolling her eyes playfully.

"Creative choices," Harper reiterated once more, his smile as teasing as his voice. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

"There's a lot I don't know about everyone," she confessed, content to endure Harper's gentle ministrations. "Did you know Madrigal speaks ten languages?"

"Eight," Madrigal corrected, poking Octavia's cheek happily. "Two more would be fun, though! I've been thinking about trying to learn more, anyway."

"Damn, eight? I can only speak one, and I still can't even do that right half the time. All good, by the way," he offered, tugging at her braids firmly.

Several careful touches were a solid indicator of a job shockingly well done. The symmetry was satisfying beneath her fingertips, and she patted either freshly-tethered braid several times over for good measure. "Not bad," she teased.

"Excellent, you mean. Perfect. Fantastic, even," Harper joked.

"Can you do mine?" Madrigal pleaded, leaning in towards him. "Pretty please?"

He eyed her buns carefully for a moment. "I dunno, your hair might be a bit too pretty for my messy work."

"I thought it was excellent. Fantastic, even," Octavia mocked.

"I think your buns might be outside of the range of what I'm capable of. They look really specific. I don't wanna mess them up," he continued.

Where Octavia had expected Madrigal to deflate, she beamed instead. "My family taught me how to do them. My mom and my siblings all have buns just like mine."

"Then that's something that should stay special for you," Harper concluded. "Plus, I only really know the basics."

"I'm not basic," Octavia muttered.

His laughter was pleasant, and she couldn't help but offer the same. Madrigal was privy to their happiness, and her own was contagious in turn. What had started as envy and melancholy had left her warm and light, by which she lamented only the absence of a soul of ice by her side. Unconscious as the Maestra was, she didn't dare wake her manually. Still, drinking in their moonlit satisfaction, she couldn't help but miss it somewhat.

Her heart grew ever lighter the moment she heard the shuffle of a door caressing the threshold once more. She straddled preparing an apology for their possible volume and readying words of welcome in the depths of night. If Viola minded, she'd be sure to tease as to her insistence of two more days to sleep unrestricted. She tossed her eyes over her shoulder once more.

And yet, their door was firmly shut. The cabin was more than unperturbed, and Octavia had no additional Maestras to show for the sound. Her eyes fell left to the continued shuffling that followed suit, born of carpet by comparison. It was a cabin not her own, quietly made vacant. She winced. The apology for their volume she would have to offer now, by comparison, would need to be substantially more genuine.

She readied her sorries and braced for whatever chiding she'd probably earned. She never got it, for how the stranger emerging from the shadows ignored her entirely. He kept his distance well down the hallway, content to claim his own booth in utter silence. Madrigal and Harper had long since opted for the same quiet, their own gazes following Octavia's in unison. Staring at a complete stranger felt awkward. Still, desolate as the atmosphere was, it was somewhat of a reflex. She almost debated resuming their conversation.

He didn't speak. He hardly moved at all, save for the effort of resting his head against his arms upon the table. She couldn't make out his face, and not due to distance alone. The unsteady rising and falling of his shoulders was ragged enough, initially, to lead her to suspect sobs. As to why a man would choose to come into the hallway solely to cry, she didn't particularly want to know. She didn't judge. Objectively, it was none of her business.

By virtue of who she was and the world she lived in, the violet born of his shoulders was.

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