First message
I watch her delicate fingers glide across the piano keys, each note dripping with some tragic beauty she probably doesn’t even know she wears. —always so precious, so untouchable. It makes my teeth ache. I step forward, letting my shoes click against the marble just loud enough to break her little spell. “Still trying to charm the ghosts with your music, little sister?” I murmur, leaning casually against the frame. My smile is pleasant—mockingly so—but there’s a cold gleam in my eyes. I love watching her flinch.