Charlie POV
I wake slowly with Vaggie curled around me, one arm wrapped securely around my waist while her face rests against my shoulder. For a few peaceful seconds, I simply enjoy the warmth before memories from last night begin creeping back into my head. Near the end of the reopening, Vaggie and I had quietly slipped away together, only for Evelyn to catch us and send me one painfully knowing look over the rim of her wineglass. Heat immediately floods my face when I remember exactly what happened after we made it back to our room.
Our dresses are folded neatly over a chair instead of lying abandoned across the floor, which is probably the only reason Evelyn will not murder us when she realizes how early we disappeared. Neither Vaggie nor I had been distracted enough to forget that my sister personally designed and enchanted those gowns, and we both knew the fit she would throw if we ruined them. I carefully lift Vaggie's arm from around my waist, lean down to kiss the top of her head, and quietly slide out from beneath the blankets. She makes a small unhappy sound in her sleep before immediately curling into the warm spot I left behind.
The shower helps clear the last of the sleep from my head as warm water pours through my hair and carries away the remnants of yesterday's makeup. I work shampoo carefully through the long blonde strands before washing everything else and making sure to scrub properly around my hooves. While cleaning them, I suddenly remember the story Evelyn loves telling about the day I was born and how much I apparently kicked whenever anyone tried to swaddle me. According to her, Mom eventually declared that I had inherited Dad's hooves and the temperament of an angry mountain goat while Evelyn nearly laughed herself sick.
By the time I finish drying off, I am considerably more awake and ready to face whatever our first real day of business throws at us. My new fitted red blazer has subtle gold detailing along the cuffs and lapels, while the black undershirt beneath it makes the bright red bow tie stand out without becoming overwhelming. Matching dress pants fall neatly around the black heels Evelyn had specially made to accommodate my hooves, which means I can actually spend an entire day walking without my shoes declaring war on my feet. I look myself over in the mirror and reluctantly admit that my sister absolutely knew what she was doing when she updated my wardrobe.
My hair becomes the next problem because I spend several minutes staring at my reflection and trying to decide whether to leave it loose or put it up like I usually do while working. Leaving it down looks nice, but putting it up keeps it away from my face when I am inevitably running from one side of the hotel to the other later. I eventually compromise by pulling the upper half back while leaving the rest flowing over my shoulders, with my bangs and a few softer strands framing my face. I am making one final adjustment when the bathroom door opens behind me and Vaggie wanders inside wrapped completely in our bedsheet.
She smiles sleepily when she notices my new clothes and murmurs, "Morning, Charlie, you look amazing." I immediately grin, lean over to kiss her, and answer, "Morning, sleepyhead, and thank you." Vaggie smiles against my lips before pulling away and declaring, "I need several gallons of hot water before I can function like a person." I leave her to the shower before either of us gets distracted enough to delay opening the hotel.
The lobby is already awake when I reach the bottom floor, although most of the noise seems to be coming from one extremely overworked Crown Princess. Evelyn sits at one of the larger breakfast tables with her Hellpad propped in front of her, three Hellphones scattered around it, and two open Helltops displaying completely different documents. She switches between several Hell tongues so quickly that I only recognize about half of them, calmly answering one call while typing a response to another and signing something on her tablet with her free hand. Somehow, her dark gray women's pantsuit, muted red undershirt, and black pumps make the entire disaster look much more organized than it actually is.
Her horns are shaped into two elegant upward spirals today, while most of her blonde hair has been gathered into a tight bun with two curved pieces left loose to frame her cheeks. Evelyn notices me between calls and immediately gives me a warm smile before raising her coffee in greeting, only for another Hellphone to start ringing before she can actually say anything. Two of her assistants enter moments later carrying stacks of paperwork thick enough to qualify as weapons and carefully place them beside the piles already waiting for her attention. Evelyn slowly looks toward the ceiling as though personally asking Grandfather for mercy before taking a long drink of coffee and somehow beginning to work even faster.
I wince sympathetically and decide interrupting her would probably qualify as cruelty, so I head toward the breakfast spread instead. I grab a toasted bagel and cover it with scream cheese before adding infernal bananas and strawberries to my plate, then pour myself coffee with exactly two sugars and half a spoonful of creamer. When I sit across from Evelyn, she briefly looks at my breakfast, looks at me, and silently slides the fruit bowl closer without interrupting the conversation she is currently having in another language. Apparently being two hundred years old still does not exempt me from older-sister nutrition supervision.
The others begin appearing gradually, each looking like last night affected them in completely different ways. Husk arrives first and reaches for coffee before even considering food, Angel appears wearing sunglasses indoors while declaring mornings a crime against nature, and Niffty somehow has more energy than she possessed yesterday. Sir Pentious enters behind them with several Egg Boiz marching proudly at his heels, one of whom carries a tower of pancakes so tall that the poor little guy is almost completely hidden behind it. Within minutes, the breakfast area settles into the familiar comfortable chaos that has somehow become normal around here.
Vaggie eventually joins us with damp hair and fresh clothes, dropping into the chair beside me before immediately stealing one of my strawberries. "Hey, that was mine," I protest even as I push the rest of the plate closer to her. She kisses my cheek and replies, "Relationship tax." Across the table, Angel makes such an obnoxiously suggestive noise that Husk responds by shoving a piece of toast directly into his mouth.
A sudden knock against the hotel doors cuts through the conversation, and every person at the table goes still. Another knock follows almost immediately, then another, and when I turn toward the tall front windows my stomach seems to leap straight into my throat. Actual sinners are waiting outside beneath the Hazbin Hotel sign, some carrying luggage, others clutching registration forms from last night, while several nervously talk among themselves as even more people approach from the street. This is not another invited crowd or a collection of reporters coming to see whether my dream makes good television.
For several seconds, I simply stare because everything we spent months rebuilding, advertising, defending, and trying to explain has suddenly become frighteningly real. These people are standing outside because something they saw or heard last night convinced them to return this morning and actually consider giving the hotel a chance. Vaggie reaches beneath the table and squeezes my hand while Evelyn finally lowers one of her Hellphones, watching me with a small smile instead of immediately stepping in to handle things herself. My heart starts pounding so hard that I can practically hear it.
I shoot out of my chair so quickly that it nearly tips backward as I announce, "Guys, we have customers!" Angel slowly lowers his sunglasses while Husk turns toward the entrance with genuine surprise and Sir Pentious freezes with half a pancake hanging from his mouth. Niffty launches herself onto the table and shrieks, "CUSTOMERS!" loudly enough that I am fairly certain the people outside hear her through the doors. Vaggie immediately grabs the back of my blazer before I can sprint across the lobby and warns, "Charlie, breathe first, because we are not greeting our first actual residents with you hyperventilating."
I force myself to inhale slowly, straighten my blazer, and settle into the same familiar composure I used during yesterday's presentation even though I cannot suppress my enormous smile. The hotel crew begins moving almost automatically as Vaggie takes her place beside me, Husk heads toward the front desk, Angel helps Pentious control the Egg Boiz, and Niffty is firmly ordered not to greet anyone with a knife. Evelyn remains at the breakfast table surrounded by her mountain of paperwork, deliberately staying out of the way while watching me handle the moment myself. I stop in front of the enormous doors with Vaggie beside me and reach for the handles.
Vaggie looks at me and asks softly, "Ready?" I glance through the glass at the sinners waiting outside, some hopeful, some nervous, and some looking like they are already reconsidering every decision that brought them here. I grin at her and answer, "Absolutely." Together, we pull open the doors and welcome Hell inside.
The moment the doors open, the waiting sinners begin pouring into the lobby in a steady stream that becomes much larger much faster than I expected. Vaggie and I immediately start directing people toward the front desk and registration tables while trying to keep the entrance from becoming completely clogged with luggage and nervous bodies. Razzle and Dazzle hurry between groups carrying smaller bags, while several temporary staff members Evelyn assigned to us collect larger suitcases, label them, and move everything toward secure storage until rooms can be assigned. Somehow, despite the sheer number of people entering at once, the system actually works.
"Registration is straight ahead, room assignments happen after your paperwork is checked, and please keep your claim ticket if you're storing luggage!" I call while gesturing toward the front desk. Vaggie takes over directing another cluster before one particularly confused sinner accidentally wanders toward a staff hallway and gets gently turned around by Dazzle. Several of Evelyn's attendants move through the crowd with practiced efficiency, answering questions and preventing bags from piling up anywhere someone could trip over them. I silently promise myself that I am going to thank my sister again later for insisting we hire extra help before opening day.
Security is positioned near the entrance as well, mostly hellhounds hired through Evelyn's staff who check bags, confirm identities, and make sure nobody brings anything dangerous enough to turn the lobby into a crater. They are intimidating without being openly hostile, which seems to keep most of the new guests cooperative even when they clearly dislike having their belongings inspected. I thank one of them as I pass, and she gives me a short nod before immediately returning her attention to the suitcase in front of her. Then her ears shoot upright.
The hellhound lowers her nose toward the open case, sniffs once, and suddenly lets out a sharp howl that makes everyone within twenty feet turn around. She digs beneath several shirts before pulling out two tightly wrapped packages of white powder and holding them up with an expression that says this has already become somebody's problem. The sinner who owns the suitcase goes pale so quickly that I am genuinely impressed they remain standing. "THAT IS NOT MINE!" they shout immediately.
Vaggie stops beside me and slowly looks from the packages to the terrified sinner. I lean closer and whisper, "That is a lot of cocaine, right?" She gives me a flat look and replies, "Charlie, any amount of cocaine hidden in somebody's luggage is probably too much cocaine." The sinner begins frantically shaking their head while the hellhound places the packages inside an evidence container and motions for them to step aside.
"Sir, I'm going to need you to explain why approximately two pounds of cocaine were concealed beneath your clothing," the hellhound says with a calmness that somehow makes the question considerably more frightening. The sinner throws both hands into the air and blurts, "I swear on everything unholy, that isn't mine, I borrowed the suitcase from my cousin!" Another security hound immediately begins checking the bag more carefully while the first asks for the cousin's name and where the luggage had been before arrival. The poor sinner looks seconds away from either crying or passing out.
I take one step toward them before Vaggie lightly catches my arm, stopping me from charging directly into an active security investigation. "Let them handle it, babe, this is literally why Evelyn hired them." I watch the hellhounds continue questioning the sinner without dragging them away or immediately assuming guilt, and reluctantly admit, "I know, I just really didn't expect our first morning to include confiscated cocaine before breakfast was even finished." Vaggie gives my arm a reassuring squeeze before steering me back toward the new arrivals.
Angel passes behind us at exactly the wrong moment and immediately spots the evidence container. "Two pounds before ten in the morning, huh, and here I thought I used to have commitment issues." Vaggie snaps her head toward him and warns, "Angel, do not encourage the guests." He raises all four hands innocently and replies, "What, I'm being supportive of the security process."
The sinner continues insisting the drugs belong to their cousin while the hellhounds escort them toward a quieter side room where they can finish sorting everything out without blocking the entrance. I make a mental note that our guest handbook probably needs a much larger section explaining prohibited items, preferably somewhere near the front where nobody can pretend they missed it. Behind me, the doors keep opening and more sinners continue arriving with registration papers, bags, nervous expressions, and absolutely no idea about the chaos that happened thirty feet away. I take another breath, straighten my blazer, and turn back toward them with my best welcoming smile.
"Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!" I announce as another group approaches, and Razzle and Dazzle immediately hurry forward to help with their luggage while Vaggie directs them toward the next available registration table. From somewhere near security, another hellhound suddenly barks sharply enough to make several guests jump. A scandalized voice immediately yells, "Those are medicinal!" It has officially been less than an hour, and I am beginning to understand why Evelyn drinks so much coffee.
Evelyn POV
I focus on the mountain of work spread across the breakfast table even as my attention occasionally drifts toward the increasingly busy lobby. Charlie is practically glowing as she moves between new arrivals, excitement slipping through her professional composure every time another sinner willingly signs a registration form. Her new outfit suits her perfectly, polished enough to remind everyone exactly who she is without making her look like she wandered out of a royal banquet by mistake. The others have changed into the uniforms I commissioned for them as well, giving the hotel staff an actual unified appearance without stripping away any of their individual styles.
Angel eventually slips away from the registration area and wanders toward my table, probably expecting me to give him another task judging by the suspicious look he sends the paperwork surrounding me. Instead, I reach beneath my Hellpad and hold out a sealed note with a photograph tucked carefully behind it. "This is for you, and I suggest you read it somewhere private if you would prefer not to have an audience." His brows rise, but curiosity wins quickly enough and he opens the note right there anyway.
His eyes stop moving halfway through the first paragraph before widening so dramatically that even his sunglasses cannot completely hide it. He slowly looks from the note to me, then back down toward the photograph as though afraid either one will disappear if he blinks too long. "Seriously?" he mouths rather than saying it aloud, his usual theatrical confidence suddenly nowhere to be found. I simply nod.
The photograph shows two female spider angels walking together through one of Heaven's city districts beneath a clear golden sky. The younger woman bears enough resemblance to Angel that there is no mistaking Molly, while the older spider beside her looks exactly like the faded photographs I spent considerable effort tracking down from his mortal life. Both have halos, both look healthy, and Molly's hand is comfortably linked with their mother's as they talk beneath flowering celestial trees. Whatever Angel expected to learn about the family he left behind, it clearly was not that his mother and twin sister had both made it somewhere safe.
He stares at the photograph for several long seconds before one trembling thumb brushes carefully across his mother's image. Angel does not ask how I managed to obtain a photograph taken inside Heaven, and I appreciate his decision not to investigate matters that would only create more questions. The relief crossing his face is so open and painfully genuine that for once he makes no joke to hide behind. He simply folds the note carefully around the photograph and presses both against his chest.
"Thanks, Princess," he says quietly, and there is none of his usual flirting or exaggerated showmanship in the words. I smile and answer, "You deserved to know." He gives me another look before tucking the photograph securely inside his jacket, treating the little piece of paper with more care than I have ever seen him give anything expensive. Then he turns toward the stairs before anyone else can notice how wet his eyes have become.
Fat Nuggets immediately abandons whatever he had been investigating beneath the breakfast table and waddles after Angel with determined little snorts. The tiny hellpig struggles adorably to keep pace until Angel slows near the staircase, glances back, and waits for him without saying anything. I smile at the sight before movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention. Alastor is staring at Fat Nuggets with the deeply contemplative expression of a man deciding whether something would taste better roasted or smoked.
I slowly lower the Hellphone in my hand and stare directly at him. "Alastor." His gaze moves from the disappearing piglet to me while that permanent smile somehow becomes even more innocent. "Yes, Princess?"
"If you turn Angel's pig into bacon, I will personally make you explain it to Charlie." The threat works considerably better than anything involving violence because his smile tightens almost imperceptibly at the thought of enduring my sister's horrified disappointment. Alastor places one hand dramatically over his chest and replies, "Why, I would never dream of harming such a charming little creature." We both know he is lying.
I narrow my eyes until he finally lifts both hands in theatrical surrender. "Very well, the swine is safe from my culinary ambitions." Satisfied, I raise my Hellphone again and return to the trade dispute currently waiting for my signature. Behind me, I hear Alastor mutter something about wasted potential before walking away.
A moment later, Charlie laughs somewhere near the registration tables, and my attention drifts toward her again despite myself. She is helping one nervous sinner understand their room assignment while Vaggie handles another family nearby, both moving through the chaos as though they have been doing this far longer than a single morning. For months, the hotel existed mostly as Charlie's dream supported by a handful of people stubborn enough to keep believing beside her. Now there is an actual line at the front desk.
I cannot help smiling before another Hellphone begins vibrating against the table. My expression immediately dies when I see which department is calling, and one of my assistants quietly places another stack of documents beside me with the apologetic expression of someone delivering news of a terminal illness. I close my eyes for exactly two seconds before answering. "Crown Administration, Evelyn Morningstar speaking, and if this concerns another unauthorized territorial annexation before I finish breakfast, someone is going to regret being born."
Lilith POV
I watch the recording from last night with a smile as footage of the Hazbin Hotel's grand reopening plays across the enormous television in our villa. Lucifer stands behind me in a ridiculous pink bathrobe, both arms wrapped comfortably around my waist as he watches our youngest address a ballroom full of sinners, nobles, and Overlords without shrinking beneath their attention. Charlie looks radiant beneath the stage lights, hopeful as ever but steadier now, no longer sounding as though she needs everyone in the room to immediately agree with her. I smile a little wider when the recording catches Evelyn watching from her throne with such blatant pride that even our eldest cannot hide it.
Lucifer rests his chin against my shoulder and squeezes me affectionately while Charlie's final words echo from the speakers. "She's gotten really good at that whole princess thing, hasn't she?" I laugh softly and remind him that Charlie has always known how to behave when royal duties actually require it. We both know what he really means is that she has finally begun finding a way to make that training work alongside the hopeful, excitable young woman she naturally is.
The broadcast eventually changes from the reopening coverage to reports from the Greed Ring, and the atmosphere on-screen becomes considerably less celebratory. The anchor reports another sharp rise in organized crime, illegal lending operations, labor disputes, and territorial violence that local authorities have apparently allowed to fester under Mammon's increasingly careless administration. Maps of the Ring appear beside statistics detailing districts where enforcement has become little more than bribery wrapped in official paperwork. My smile fades as Lucifer's expression flattens against my shoulder.
The timing is almost comical considering our private villa currently contains the person responsible for a considerable portion of those problems. Mammon is several floors beneath us in the basement conference hall, where his siblings have enthusiastically volunteered to help remind him what governing a Ring actually requires. From below comes the muffled sound of furniture scraping, several voices speaking over one another, and Satan laughing with enough force to shake a glass on the nearby table. Mammon's increasingly desperate pleas for mercy drift upward through the floor a moment later.
Lucifer slowly looks down toward the carpet as another muffled crash sounds beneath us. "Do you think we should check on him?" I glance toward the basement door, listen to Mammon shriek something about worker protections being a personal attack, and take another sip of tea. "Not remotely."
The enthusiasm of the other Sins is hardly surprising considering every one of them has endured our lectures at some point during this tour. Asmodeus received three hours on contract enforcement, Beelzebub endured an entire evening about supply-chain oversight, Belphegor nearly fell asleep through healthcare audits, and even Satan had to sit through Lucifer explaining why intimidation does not replace functioning civil administration. None of them enjoyed being corrected by the King and Queen while Evelyn sent supplemental reports from Pride afterward. Now that Mammon is the one trapped beneath a mountain of criticism, they are enjoying themselves far too much.
A heavy thump travels through the floor hard enough to make Lucifer's ears twitch before Mammon's voice rises clearly through the vents. "I SAID I'LL FIX THE FUCKIN' LABOR LAWS, GET SATAN OFF ME!" Satan's booming laughter follows immediately, accompanied by what sounds suspiciously like Beelzebub cheering him on. Lucifer winces in sympathy for approximately half a second before bursting into laughter himself.
I turn my attention back toward the crime statistics scrolling across the television and make a mental note of several districts we will personally inspect before leaving Greed. Mammon may be one of the Seven Sins, but ruling a Ring is an obligation rather than a decorative title he can exploit whenever profits are convenient. Fatherhood taught Lucifer long ago that authority means very little without responsibility, and Evelyn inherited that lesson so thoroughly that half of Hell now fears receiving one of her administrative notices. If public humiliation from his siblings is what finally makes Mammon remember it, then I am perfectly content to let the lesson continue.
The news station loops back briefly to footage from the Hazbin Hotel, showing Charlie greeting guests while Evelyn remains several steps behind rather than taking control of the event herself. Charlie's confidence makes my chest ache with pride, while the sight of Evelyn quietly ensuring everything around her sister functions reminds me exactly how much our eldest has carried for this family over the centuries. She has spent nearly her entire life helping Lucifer and me turn Hell into something our children could actually live in without constantly fighting for survival. Whatever else changes, I will never stop being grateful that Charlie has her.
Lucifer tightens his arms around my waist and presses a soft kiss against my temple while the two of us watch our daughters on the screen. "We did pretty damn good with those two, Songbird." I rest my hands over his and smile because, despite wars, rebellions, exterminations, politics, and every other nightmare Hell has thrown at us, I cannot disagree. Somewhere beneath our feet Mammon suddenly screams, "WHY ARE THERE FUCKIN' CHARTS?!"
Stolas POV
I walk toward Octavia's room with Stella's screaming still ringing in my ears and the crash of the vase she threw at my head replaying unpleasantly behind it. The shattered porcelain is probably still scattered across the corridor downstairs, another casualty of an argument neither of us knew how to end without trying to wound the other. One of the servants had started approaching with a broom before I quietly told him to leave it until Stella calmed down, mostly because I did not want some poor imp caught in the middle again. I stop outside Via's door and suddenly find that facing my daughter frightens me considerably more than facing my wife ever has.
I knock softly instead of entering, and several seconds pass before the door opens just far enough for one violet eye to peer suspiciously through the gap. "Dad?" she asks, glancing past me as if expecting Stella to appear behind my shoulder and continue the argument inside her bedroom. "May I come in, Via, because there is something I should have told you a very long time ago." Her expression tightens with confusion, but after a moment she opens the door and silently steps aside.
Her room remains wonderfully, unmistakably hers, filled with glowing stars across the ceiling and walls alongside posters from alternative bands throughout Hell and several human groups she somehow discovered through mortal-world music sites. A guitar rests near the window beside a pile of records, while clothes occupy a chair despite an empty wardrobe standing approximately three feet away. Usually I would tease her about that, and usually she would tell me to mind my own business with precisely the correct amount of teenage irritation. Tonight I merely close the door and sit carefully on the edge of her bed.
Octavia folds her arms and remains standing several feet away, immediately making me feel as though I am the one being interrogated. "Okay, what's going on, because you look like you're about to tell me somebody died." I manage a weak laugh before rubbing both hands together and staring down at my fingers. "No one has died, darling, but I have realized that by trying so desperately to protect you from the truth, I may have been hurting you instead."
Her arms tighten around herself while I struggle to decide where nearly eighteen years of carefully maintained silence should begin. "Your mother and I were never a love match, Via, because our marriage was arranged by our families when we were children and neither of us was given much choice in the matter." She blinks but says nothing, and I can already see old memories rearranging themselves behind her eyes. "We were expected to marry, produce an heir, maintain appearances, and behave as though that was enough to create a family."
I inhale slowly before forcing myself to continue, because stopping now would simply become another version of the same cowardice. "I tried for years to make the marriage comfortable, even if I knew love was never going to grow between us, because once you were born I wanted desperately for you to have a normal home." My throat tightens as flashes of birthday parties, breakfasts, holidays, and carefully staged family outings pass through my thoughts. "I thought that if I smiled enough, ignored enough, and kept every argument away from you, then perhaps you would never realize how miserable we actually were."
Octavia's expression shifts from confusion toward something much more guarded. "You keep saying miserable like Mom was just annoying you, but I heard what happened downstairs." I look toward the closed door and feel an old familiar shame crawl underneath my feathers. "Your mother has been cruel to me for years, Via, verbally and emotionally, and there have been times when that cruelty became physical as well."
Her eyes immediately move toward the side of my head where the vase had passed close enough to disturb several feathers. "She threw that at you?" I hesitate for only a second before nodding, refusing to soften the truth now that I have finally begun giving it to her. "Tonight was not the first time she has thrown something, threatened me, humiliated me, or deliberately tried to hurt me because she knew I would tolerate it rather than let our household collapse around you."
Octavia's face hardens, but the anger in it is not simple enough for me to tell where it is directed. "So you stayed because of me." The words hit exactly where I feared they would, and I stand immediately when she takes a small step backward. "No, Via, please listen carefully, because that is the part I have explained terribly even inside my own head."
I keep several feet between us rather than reaching for her when she clearly does not want to be touched yet. "You were never the reason I was miserable, you were the reason I convinced myself enduring that misery was worthwhile, and there is an enormous difference even if I failed to understand how unhealthy that thinking became." Her eyes begin shining despite the angry set of her mouth, and I hate myself for every year I allowed her to build a childhood around a lie. "You were never an obligation, never a burden, and never something trapping me inside that marriage."
She finally sits on the opposite end of the bed while still refusing to look directly at me. "Then why didn't you leave, because listening to both of you scream at each other isn't exactly a normal family either." I lower myself back onto the mattress, leaving enough distance between us that she controls whether it disappears. "Because I was frightened, ashamed, and so convinced that keeping both parents beneath one roof was automatically better for you that I refused to see the damage the roof itself was doing."
For a while only the soft celestial lights across her ceiling move, slowly drifting through artificial constellations while I gather the courage for the part I have hidden even more carefully. "There is something else I should tell you, because I do not want you discovering it accidentally and believing I kept another secret because I did not trust you." Octavia finally looks at me, apprehension immediately returning to her face. "I take medication for depression, and I have for quite some time."
Her eyes widen before flicking toward the small bottles she has occasionally seen among my belongings without ever asking about them. "You're depressed?" I give her a tired smile and answer, "Yes, darling, although some days are considerably better than others, and the medication helps keep the worst ones from swallowing everything else." Saying it aloud to her feels strangely terrifying and relieving at the same time.
She stares down at her hands before asking the question I knew would hurt most. "Was that because of Mom, or because of me?" I turn toward her completely and answer without hesitation, "Never because of you, Via, not once, not for a single moment of your life." My voice cracks anyway, and I stop pretending I can keep every emotion neatly contained.
"You have been the brightest part of my life since the first time I held you, and there were years when knowing you were upstairs sleeping safely was what made getting through another miserable day feel possible." Tears blur my vision while Octavia's crossed arms finally loosen, though she still watches me with all the caution I have earned. "That does not mean you were responsible for keeping me happy, because that responsibility was mine and I should never have unknowingly placed that weight anywhere near you.""I only mean that loving you gave me something beautiful during years when much of the rest of my life felt painfully empty."
Octavia wipes quickly at one eye and looks irritated when another tear immediately replaces the first. "Then what changed now?" I think of Evelyn sitting beside me at the hotel, calmly offering an escape I had spent years convincing myself did not exist. "A friend finally told me that staying in a broken marriage for your sake does not protect you when you are still the one living inside everything that marriage breaks."
She knows immediately who I mean, judging by the way her brow lifts despite everything. "Princess Evelyn?" I nod and manage the faintest smile as I answer, "Evelyn has known me long enough to recognize when I am being spectacularly foolish, and unfortunately she possesses very little hesitation about informing me." A tiny sound escapes Octavia that is almost a laugh, and the tension in my chest loosens by the smallest amount.
I explain that Evelyn offered to place the marriage under royal review if I choose to move forward, protecting Octavia's inheritance and position while ensuring the separation cannot become another battlefield between our families. "I have not agreed yet because after spending so much of my life having other people decide what happens to me, I wanted to think before making another enormous decision." Octavia watches me carefully while absorbing that, and I can tell part of her is relieved even while another part remains frightened. "But I think I already know what I need to do."
"You want to leave Mom." There is no accusation in her voice this time, only sadness and the uncertainty of someone watching the structure of her family finally admit it has been cracked for years. I nod slowly and say, "Yes, but I do not want to leave you, and those are two entirely separate things." My hands begin trembling despite my efforts to keep them still.
I look directly at her because there cannot be any ambiguity in what comes next. "Whatever happens with your mother, whatever happens when the marriage ends..." My voice breaks completely as I admit, "You are my daughter, my little starfire, and the thought that you might believe I would choose freedom from that marriage if it meant freedom from you terrifies me more than remaining trapped ever did." I do not reach for her, because this time she deserves to decide whether she wants the distance closed.
Octavia remains silent long enough that every second becomes unbearable, staring at the floor while tears gather at the edge of her eyes. "I'm angry with you." I nod because I expected nothing less, and she continues, "I'm angry you lied, I'm angry you thought I couldn't handle knowing something was wrong, and I'm really fucking angry that both of you made me listen to years of fighting while pretending it was somehow for me." Every word hurts because every word is deserved.
"You have every right to be angry with me." She finally looks up, and I force myself not to hide from the hurt on her face while saying, "I cannot undo any of it, but I can stop deciding what you need without actually asking you." Octavia's lower lip trembles before she whispers, "I just don't want everything to change and then wake up one day and realize you disappeared too."
The memory of a tiny owlet crawling into my arms after a nightmare strikes so violently that I almost cannot breathe. "Then I will tell you now what I told you when you were little, and this time I will make certain my actions deserve the promise." I hold out one hand without moving any closer. "No matter what happens between your mother and me, I will never willingly abandon you."
Octavia stares at my hand for several seconds before finally reaching across the space between us and taking it. The instant her fingers close around mine, something inside me gives way and tears spill freely down my face despite my best efforts to remain composed. She squeezes once before muttering, "You're still an idiot, Dad." I laugh wetly and answer, "Oh, unquestionably."
Then she moves first, crossing the remaining distance and wrapping both arms tightly around me. I hold her just as carefully at first before she grips the back of my robe harder and I finally let myself embrace my daughter properly. Nothing about the conversation has magically repaired years of secrecy, resentment, or fear, and I know tomorrow will still contain painful questions neither of us is ready to answer tonight. For now, however, my daughter is still in my arms, and for the first time in years I am no longer trying to protect her with a lie.