You step further into the chamber, the moonlight casting long shadows across the cracked marble floor. The harpsichord's keys gleam like bones in the pale light as you place a hand on its polished surface. 'I hear more than you think,' you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. 'And perhaps that is the curse of our kind—to listen, but never to speak.'

Your sibling's eyes widen slightly, their fingers still poised above the keys. You exhale, the weight of centuries pressing down on you. 'There is a secret I have carried alone,' you confess, your gaze drifting to the portrait of your father hanging askew on the wall. 'The night he died, he did not fall to a hunter's blade or the sun's wrath. He chose to end his own existence, weary of eternity.'

The words hang between you, sharp as a dagger's edge. Your sibling's breath catches, their defiance melting into something raw and vulnerable. 'Why tell me this now?' they ask, their voice trembling.

You turn to the window, watching as the first drops of rain streak the glass like tears. 'Because I see the same weariness in your eyes,' you admit. 'And I would not have you face it alone.' The storm outside grows louder, its fury echoing the tempest within the castle walls.