Rated M for possible dark themes of death, sex, and profanity.
Victor splayed his long pale fingers over the dust coating the dark hard case. The trails left by his touch revealed the faded and peeling color of the case. He froze, his stillness entrancing as it was that of stone or of death. He remained that way for what seemed an unbearable amount of time, but for a being nearly two centuries old, moments and hours and days seemed like nothing at all.
When at last Victor moved it was to pull his hand away from the thick layer of dust and to lean down to blow a great puff of air over the case. His breath scattered much of the dust, leaving behind the peeling strips of the ancient case. It looked as though it might fall apart at the light touch. But Victor didn't seem concerned by such a thought. He nimbly pressed open the clasp and lifted the lid.
The violin that rested inside the velvet lining was in immaculate condition considering its age. The wood was smooth with intricate swirls of the color still visible. The neck and the ribs were darkened with use, and the tailpiece was inlaid with delicate whorls of mother of pearl.
Victor trailed his hands over the instrument like a pair of skittish spiders, and then with a suddenness and speed that betrayed his inhuman nature, he had pulled the bow from its place in the lid of the case and he was gently brushing the resin up and down it's length, lovingly coating the real horsehair with the fine sticky powder.
The violin came out next, and without ceremony or hesitation, he placed his father's instrument under his chin and drew the bow across the strings. The clear note emerged from the f holes and rose up into the empty apartment with the deep sound of aged wood. He skillfully tuned the old violin, and then began to play.
As the music rolled out from beneath his hands, his thoughts drifted to his family, but most of all his father. Despite his affinity for the instruments, his father had never learned to play. Victor closed his eyes and allowed the music to take over his memories. He played until his mind was blank, until he felt emptied of everything that had ever happened to him. As if all of the years of his unnaturally long life were being drained away with all of the terrible things that had happened, or that he had done with his own hands could disappear forever.
The music stopped in the middle of a note, and Victor abruptly put the violin away, quickly latching the case and pressing it out of view in the back of a closet, like all of his bad memories. As if that were possible. He popped his neck, first to one side, and then to the other before adjusting his jacket and leaving the apartment.
He wasn't sure where he was going, but his eyes flashed an unsettling color of red before returning to their natural dark hazel color. There would be blood tonight.