It felt better than he could have expected to let it out this way. His throat burned and he could feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through his system, and he went on, letting the pain and the hurt and the frustration that had built up for so long out. Oliver was dimly aware of her voice joining him, chiming in with his exclamations, soon to be replaced by the sound of a flute.
He tilted his face to the sky, letting out a roar of anger, arms held straight at his sides, hands curled into fists, and he let that final scream drain him until he had no air, his voice long since gone rough. When the sound finally finished, he felt deafened by the silence that held around them, the people out that afternoon all staring in silence. He couldn't bring himself to care, to even notice them. Licking lips that had suddenly gone dry, he finally looked over towards Miksa, and he must have made quite the sight. Cheeks were red, wet with tears he hadn't even realised he had shed. But he felt good, better than he had in so long.