Siciliana da Antiche was drifting up the old wooden staircase, like a memory breaking the surface. The soft chords lifted the cottage into a sensation of a messenger calling forth the morning. Caitlyn slipped from the bed and grabbed the gun from under her bed. She tiptoed along the hall till she was standing above the stairwell feeling the vibrations of the piano shaking the floorboards. Don't panic, take a deep breath, she's a psychopath. The words came rushing to her mind, she almost blushed. Hiding the gun in her belt, she made her way down the stairs, Cassandra's head became visible bobbing to the chord progression. The woman sat in her nightdress, as if a ghost, and leaned into the piano, like it was life-support.

Caitlyn sighed and forced the bile rising from her stomach to descend. She couldn't let Cass see her fear. She had to be gentle and persuasive. She reached the last step and opened her mouth but closed it when she saw the single tear drip down the pale cheeks of her sister. If only they lived a normal life. Who had commanded them to be stuck in a spiral of madness?