The Baron returns the bow, and for a moment Angelo sees what might be a hint of wetness at the corner of his father's eyes. When he straightens, any such hints are gone. He cleared his throat.
"Yes. Well. Please, come in. It is time for a reunion."
He stands aside, beckoning Angelo to step inside the House of Centri.
It was better not to think about what he was going to say next. He waited for his father to lead the way and hoped he didn't cry.
The once-immaculate hall lie in sad disrepair. The halls once held paintings of wonder, but now only held squares and rectangles of wallpaper that had not faded as much as the surrounding area. They pass a table that once held a vase of immeasurable wealth - it now held only a dustless circle surrounded by a caked on layer of dust.
"Father... what happened? How could all of this have happened in six short months...?"
Angelo's father looked straight ahead, ignoring the absent paintings, the missing gilt and opulence.
"We are a family of performers, Angelo. Our fortunes are tied to our arts, to performance. But even here, war does much to stifle the arts. Most of our patrons joined with the Duke or the Duchess. The remaining few are more interested in the war then in our arts. The loss of one of our two greatest dancers only made things more dire. And...the other found herself at a loss without her son. Our current circumstances are the result of six months of few clients, and fewer performances."
They moved through the rest of the hallway in silence, and in a minute or two came to the dining room. Like the rest of the house, the Centri's dining room had lost much of its previous grandeur. The silver candlesticks that once decorated the long, dining table had been replaced with simpler, copper ones. The tapestry depicting Angelo's grandfather mid-performance had likewise vanished, leaving the wall it had once hung on bare.
Baron Centri took a few steps forward, moving ahead of Angelo. As he did he looked to his wife, and to Carmin who were both sitting at the table, silently eating.
"My dears, we have...well, we have a guest," he said, stepping to the side as he did so to reveal Angelo.
Angelo enters the room and feels as one does during an embarrassing dream where they forget their clothing while giving a speech before a crowd. As if a thousand eyes were punching through to his very soul, though there were only seven eyes in the room at present.
He instinctively raised a hand to the side of his mangled cheek.
"G-good evening, Mother. Carmin, my dear little firecracker. H-how does this evening find you?"
In that moment, he felt like an abject failure of a son.
There was a moment of silence, punctuated only by the sound of silverware clattering against the tabletop. Both Carmin and the Baroness stared at Angelo.
"Angie!" Carmin shouted, leaping out of her chair and hugged her older brother, her head pressed against his chest. "What happened to your fa-" She started to say, before falling silent as the Baron slid into her line of sight.
The Baroness Centri, ashen-faced, slowly rose up from her seat and likewise moved to embrace her son. She kissed the ruined portion of his face, tears running down her face.