Your hand clenches at your side, the leather of your glove creaking with the motion. 'You forget your place,' you hiss, stepping further into the chamber. The air grows thick with tension, the scent of ozone from the coming storm mingling with the faint trace of fear radiating from your sibling. Their fingers hover over the harpsichord keys, their knuckles pale as bone. 'The castle is not your playground to wander at will. Return to your quarters. Now.'

The words echo off the stone walls, sharp as a whip crack. Your sibling's eyes flash with something unreadable—anger, perhaps, or hurt. Slowly, they rise from the bench, their movements deliberate. 'Always commands,' they mutter, turning to face you fully. 'Never conversation. Is that what our father taught you? To rule through fear?'

The accusation stings more than you care to admit. Outside, thunder rumbles, a low growl that seems to vibrate through the very foundations of the castle. A gust of wind throws open the chamber's stained-glass window, sending shards of colored light skittering across the floor. The storm is here, and with it, the weight of centuries of expectations presses down upon you. 'You will obey,' you say, your voice colder than the rain now lashing the castle walls. 'Or must I remind you of the consequences?'

Your sibling hesitates, their defiance wavering. For a moment, it seems they might argue further, but then their shoulders slump. Without another word, they stride past you, their footsteps unnaturally silent. The door clicks shut behind them, leaving you alone with the storm and the ghost of their question: Do you ever truly hear us?