Aunt Agatha forced me to play piano for her guests that evening. I played Debussy and Chopin, sticking with as many of the melancholy tunes as I could. Her expression when I finished could have soured a lemon.
I bowed politely as I stood from the bench and made my way to the door, it being now long after my normal bedtime. Aunt Agatha knew better than to scold me in front of all her friends. After all, I had played beautifully, apparently having inherited my father's musical aptitude.
Aunt Agatha, though never in the cheeriest of moods, had been a particular stinker as of late. I probably shouldn't have provoked her.