072: twinkling

Little by little, the dust retired from dancing in the beams of light, coming to rest on the wooden floorboards. An unseen hand plucked threads of cobwebs, drifting between rafters despite the absence of wind. Silence threatened to reign over the scene, save for the faint twinkling of a metal comb, plucked by a dotted cylinder. Yet, the small, tinny sound was enough to breathe life into the otherwise desolate attic, as it repeated the only phrase it knew by heart--that song within every music box, lovingly shared by the turning of a key, echoing in countless unseen ears...