Claude smiled brightly at his younger brother as he played the final refrain. Alastair grinned, waving a hand to let him know not to stop on his account.

I was rooted to my spot just a few paces from Alastair, half-afraid he would see me.

That won't happen, I reminded myself.  These are shadows of the past, nothing more.

But before I could react, he deliberately strode in my direction. I took an involuntary step back as he walked right through me. Startled in spite of myself, I stared at the young man as he flopped unceremoniously on a rose-colored lounge chair, oblivious to my presence.

I stepped around the piano, my curiosity winning over caution, and stretched my arm out toward Claude, touching his right shoulder. As I thought, my hand slipped through as if I was made of thin air. Did I travel back in time, or were these visions brought to me for a reason? Who had made this happen, and how?

The urge to leave the room was so strong as I swung my frantic eyes at the door. But I had no idea where that door would lead me. I could be stuck in between the planes, neither here nor in the spiritual realm--forever. 

Fear of the unknown prevailed as I heaved a tremulous breath, that and the memory of Claude's tortured voice that still gripped me.

"The truth—don't—turn your eyes away—"

I have to see this through, no matter what.

For Claude? I shook my head, my thoughts conflicted. One thing I'm sure of: I'll do anything to wipe that smug look off that demon's ugly mug!

With the last note lingering in the room, Claude got up from the bench and walked over to Alastair, who gave him a mock standing ovation.

The brothers' resemblance was uncanny, but at the same time, they couldn't be any more different. Alastair was like a spear of bright light in a dreary room. He had an air of exuberance and confidence about him that drew everyone's eyes. In contrast, a shroud of mystery always seemed to follow the reserved and reclusive Claude, but this only seemed to reinforce, not diminish, his following.

"Bravo! Your music never ceases to amaze me," said the younger man, clapping Claude on the back.

Claude grimaced. "I don't know... it feels surreal to be back after several months."

"There you go again." Alastair gave a slight shake of his head. "You wanted this, remember? It'll do you good to get back to your usual routine. Besides, everyone is dying—well, more like swooning—to see you!" His lips quirked up in a smile.

I can tell he loved to tease his older brother.

Claude eyed the younger man sharply, his cheeks flushed.

"Just be prepared to get mothered by those alluring matriarchs, while I keep their murderous husbands at bay."

"Stop it, Al."

I grinned at Claude's discomfiture.

Clearing his throat, Claude said, "The gala doesn't start for another three hours. Is something amiss?"

"All is well with the preparations in the east wing and the ballroom." Alastair gave him a critical eye. "I just came to check up on you."

"I'm as well as I can be—"

"Nonsense. You've been practicing for hours. It can't hurt to take a short break."

Alastair walked over to a side table laden with crystal goblets and a wine decanter. Pouring a generous amount of red wine into two glasses, he handed one to Claude.

Claude eyed the wine doubtfully. I gathered he wasn't too fond of the drink. "I shouldn't—"

But Alastair would hear none of his protests, raising his glass instead. "Here's to a successful comeback concerto!"

I was tempted to raise an imaginary toast to Claude myself. I must admit, I'm enjoying seeing the easy banter between these two. Alastair's exuberance and Claude's reticence were refreshing after the previous nightmarish events.

Claude sipped his wine delicately while his younger brother downed half his glass in one gulp.

"Now, will you leave me be?" he said impatiently, with a tinge of resignation.

"Driving me out so soon?" Alastair gave him a pained expression, but his green eyes sparkled with mischief. He turned to a painting that was hung on the wall behind him, surrounded by other paintings of various sizes, their carved, bronze frames glinting under the light.

It was a portrait of a young woman with auburn hair, dressed in an off-white, princess-cut bodice and a full, flounced skirt. Her dark brown eyes appeared to be focused on something slightly to her left. I realized, amazed, that the artist had expertly captured her tender expression as she gazed in the direction of the piano.

"My dear Emily," Alastair complained to the woman in the painting with an exaggerated sigh. "Can you prevail on your fiancé to stop this nonsense? I fear he'll drop from exhaustion before the night is done."

"You're the one that's not making sense, talking to a picture on the wall." Claude coughed, pointedly looking anywhere but the painting of his fiancée, as if she could actually give him a piece of her mind.

I stifled a laugh, seeing his red face.

"I still cannot imagine why she commissioned such an untraditional portrait." This time, he took a generous swig from his glass. "I feel like she watches me all the time." He gestured wryly toward the piano.

Alastair leaned his tall frame against a bookshelf. "Speaking of which, it seems her arrival has been delayed?"

Claude shook his head slightly, a crease of worry on his brow. "I received a message by telegraph today. It seems her father has taken ill, and it will be well into the performance when she arrives, if at all."

He placed his half-drained glass on the table, his hand lightly touching its edge.

"I see. I'm sorry to hear that," Alastair said regretfully. "At any rate, it's best she's not around to witness this. I have gotten quite fond of my future sister-in-law."

Perplexed, Claude squinted at Alastair and placed a hand to his brow, as if he had trouble focusing. "What—did you mean by that?"

I glanced at Alastair, the sudden coldness in his voice catching my attention. He smiled expectantly at his older brother.

Claude gripped the edge of the table, suddenly unsteady, his face turning pale, his eyes widening in realization as Alastair just stood there with that terrible rictus of a smile plastered on his face.

What's going on?

I stared at the younger man, horrified at his satisfied expression, while Claude's face twisted in pain and sweat glistened on his forehead.

Poison—

He must have slipped it into his brother's wine at the serving table. That bastard!

I rushed toward Claude, only to stop with my hand outstretched. Oh god, I—I can't help him! 

I was a hundred years too late. There was nothing I, nor anyone, could do.

Claude's stricken eyes were fixed on his brother, the shock and agony of betrayal evident on his face.

"Al, why--?" he rasped. He couldn't keep himself upright any longer; his arms that held onto the table lost strength and he slid to the floor.

"Why, you ask?" The younger man laughed as if he found the question genuinely funny. He walked over to Claude and knelt beside his brother. Looking him straight in the eye, he said softly, "You of all people should know why, but I'll say it simply. Everything you have—your life, your dreams, everyone you hold dear—I want it all. And if I cannot have them, well, I might as well destroy them."

Alastair got up and paced the room, stopping to gaze out the tall windows where the waning light of dusk had set in. "I've always lived in your shadow... until that shadow consumed me." He turned to look at Claude, and my hand flew to my mouth. Under the light, his face shone with a deep-seated madness, as if the carefree, loving brother had never existed. "Consider our dear parents, who only had eyes for their perfect, brilliant child. While I, no matter how much I bled from trying, had never once earned their affection--the illegitimate son that everyone wished had never been born."

Claude managed to lift his upper body as if he had found new strength, his arms shaking as his eyes flashed with a mix of anger and horror. "You—you killed them?"

"Killed them?" Alastair stared at Claude with a hurtful expression. "They don't deserve that honor. Why would I soil my hands when I can summon the demon to do the deed? And yes, Azriel happily devoured their souls as they fell to their deaths, but in everyone's eyes, it was nothing more than a fatal accident."

Aghast, I gaped at Alastair while Claude's breath hitched in pain. He sank to the floor, opening his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Whatever that drug was had snatched even his capacity for speech.

Alastair glanced at the door, as if he was expecting someone at any moment, before continuing, "Yes, it was I that bound Azriel to this house and its spiritual realm. But it was a shame he refused to kill you as I wished. All that rubbish about a pure soul willingly given... I never quite understood it." 

If this insane bastard summoned and confined a demon as dangerous as Azriel, he must have been a skilled necromancer. I still couldn't fathom what drove him to the edge.

Claude gasped for breath as he struggled to speak. "I-d-don't under...stand why you had to...do this... D-damn it, Al! I-I loved you as a brother."

Tears welled in my eyes as I clenched my fists, unable to do anything but watch, helplessly.

A knock on the door caused my entire frame to tense up.

At Alastair's word, three burly, heavyset men entered, dressed in the black uniforms typical of manservants in those days. They stood expectantly, waiting for their master's bidding.

Alastair approached Claude and knelt by his side. He lifted his upper body, encircling him in his arms. But his eyes were unreadable, dark pools as he whispered, "It's too late, my brother. See? I can barely hear your breathing. Don't be afraid. I promise it'll be over soon."

He gently laid Claude down on the blood-red rug, and hastily got up, turning his back on his brother as if any further sight of him would cause him to change his mind.

He glanced coldly at the waiting men. "Take him away."

⟣⤝♢⤞⟢

Cain spoke to Abel his brother.
And when they were in the field,
He rose up against his brother and killed him.
Then the Lord said to Cain, "Where is Abel your brother?"
He said, "I do not know; am I my brother's keeper?"
And the Lord said, "What have you done?
Listen! Your brother's blood cries out to me from the ground.
Now you are cursed and driven from the land,
Which opened its mouth to receive his blood from your hand."

[Genesis 4: 8-11]