Capital Letters

two

Nathan, perched elegantly on the piano's bench, was fully immersed in the timeless melody of "Fur Elise." His nimble fingers danced gracefully over the ivory keys, each note ringing out with precision and emotion. The rich, resonant tones filled the room, creating an atmosphere of both nostalgia and enchantment.

On the piano's surface, a lit cigar rested in a finely crafted ashtray. Thin wisps of fragrant smoke curled upward, adding an air of sophistication to the dimly lit room. A crystal glass, containing the amber liquid allure of bourbon, glistened invitingly on the other side of the instrument.

The music flowed from Nathan's fingertips like a river of memories, each note evoking a deep sense of the past. It was Damon who had taught him how to play the piano more than a century ago, instilling in him not just the skill but a profound love for the instrument and the emotions it could convey.

As the hauntingly beautiful melody continued to fill the room, the door to Nathan's bedroom emitted a faint creak, signalling the entrance of another. He didn't need to glance up to identify the newcomer; he could sense the presence of his nephew, Zack, and feel the weight of his gaze.

Zack ventured further into the room, his curiosity piqued. "You still play?" he inquired, observing his great-uncle at the piano. "I thought Damon broke your piano."

Nathan chuckled softly, the notes of the piano lingering in the air. "Oh, he did," he confirmed, his tone tinged with amusement. "I got another one when I was in Chicago a few years back." He carefully closed the piano's lid and stood, revealing the polished grand piano that stood as a testament to his enduring love for music. "What's going on?"

Zack heaved a sigh, a weighty concern etched into his features. He moved closer to Nathan, the familial bond between them evident in the shared concern. "What are you and Stefan going to do about Damon?" he asked, his voice carrying the weight of the issue at hand. "We can't have him drawing attention and killing everyone in town."

He then returned his attention to Zack, the lines of his expression thoughtful. "I can't kill him," he admitted with a hint of melancholy. "Despite everything he's done, he's still my brother." He reached for a decanter and two glasses, pouring a measure of bourbon into each. Nathan took a sip from one glass and offered the other to Zack, who declined with a nod. Shrugging, he drank from the second glass.

"I'll talk to him," Nathan continued, setting down his glass. "But you know how he is. I don't want to provoke him into a killing spree that would draw unwanted attention to us."

Zack sighed, his frustration palpable, before silently exiting the room. Alone now, he settled at his desk, the years of emotional turmoil and reflection reflected in the journals that lined the shelves. He wrote in his journal for hours, a therapeutic outlet for a vampire grappling with the passage of time and the weight of their existence.

With the journal closed and the room silent, Nathan descended the stairs to the parlour room below. There, he found Damon lounging on the couch, exuding an air of nonchalance. Nathan couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sight of his enigmatic older brother.

"Don't you have something evil to do?" Nathan quipped, his words laced with both annoyance and concern, as he regarded Damon with a mixture of exasperation and caution.

"I'll have you know, brother," Damon began, his voice dripping with a cocky self-assurance, "I've been very busy this morning." He leaned back casually on the couch, one arm draped along its backrest. "But you know, I must say I'm surprised you're still here. This town must bring back horrible memories for you."

Nathan took a seat on another couch, his eyes fixed on Damon as he assessed his older brother's demeanour. There was a lingering uncertainty about whether Damon had his humanity intact at the moment. He couldn't help but voice the thought that had been nagging at him.