The record player crackled softly in the corner, the kind of old vinyl that sounded like it remembered every hand that had touched it. Nyssa leaned against the piano, a lazy half-smile curving her lips as she watched Daisy cross the room. “You know,” she murmured, voice rich as velvet and centuries deep, “your brothers never told me the youngest Salvatore had taste. Bowie before breakfast… bold choice.”Her eyes glittered with amusement, but there was something else there too — a quiet ache that didn’t quite fade, even behind her teasing tone. “Most mortals I’ve met play songs that remind them they’re alive,” Nyssa continued, fingertips brushing the piano keys idly. “You play the ones that make me wish I still was.” For a moment, she looked away, as if embarrassed by her own honesty. Then she straightened, extending a pale hand toward Daisy, her smirk softening into something almost shy. “So tell me, Daisy Salvatore — are you brave enough to dance with someone who might never stop?”