the interlude

She found a wind-up box in the woods.

Ran her hands over it, feeling the curves and latches, the little pearls and golden hearts. It was hand painted. Dioramas of starlit skies and oceans, all melding together in a rich blue. Whoever made it had embossed it with jewels and shimmering materials. It was a diamond itself- it shone in the sunlight, fragmented rainbows dancing on the tree bark.

Holding it up to the pale blue sky, turning it about.

She almost didn't want to open it. It was so beautiful to look at she couldn't bear to see what was inside- as if that would ruin it. What if the gentle music wouldn't play? The cogs arranged on the back- golden, riveted with filigree flowers- seemed in perfect working condition.

What if it just simply was silent? And empty. A beautiful, hollow thing.

She took a deep breath and opened it.

The box itself was quite small- it couldn't hold that much. But what was inside took her breath away.

A small diadem, silver, little stars hanging down from the main circlet. Translucent colourful little things that rested on her temples, falling further down her hair. The silver band that encircled her head winded and twirled in arabesque curves, like little vines. So delicate.

Next was a choker- lacy white, fitting snug around her neck. Its edges frilled out like butterfly wings, the middle attached to a blue-metal necklace that held the lace body around her throat. Beaded gemstones that glowed like starfire, little amulets falling down to her collarbones. Flowers and symbols and hieroglyphs. Dancing around her neck and shoulders as she moved. At the very front, surrounded by pearls, was a large moonstone. It almost resembled a looking glass, it was so reflective.

And lastly was a ring- of a sort. It was really, several rings, joined together for one finger. Winding and weaving, opalescent jewels like dewdrops embedded in the slender white metal. It moved freely, slinking up and down her finger as she moved it. Like water on a leaf, dripping downwards.

Who did these treasures belong to, the girl wondered. She had found the box perched by the river, almost entirely invisible, locked between surfaced rocks. It was lucky the waters hadn't pulled it downstream to the lilypond. It would have been lost forever beyond the dark green surface.

She couldn't take them. They weren't hers. But she couldn't leave them here either- they would be never found again, and would be ruined by the elements.

Or could she? Perhaps it was better such enchantments were never seen by the human eye. All would long for them.

Wouldn't they?

She toyed with the box. The gauzy ribbons flowing out from the contents. It was coated with velvet walls.

She almost had forgotten to wind it up.

After returning the items to the contents, detangling the ribbons from the plaits in her hair, she began twisting the cogs carefully, until they tightened just so.

And then she let go.

And the music filled the air. Delicate, twinkling notes, requiems of the empyrean, the very filaments of the universe. Swelling around her, and she felt as though the entire world sang with it.

In the center of the box, a tiny flower blossomed. It had emerged from the mirror, which had divided in two, folding back on itself.

The flower petals curled outwards, each new layer of the bud unfolding, until only the centremost remained. Each petal was a different colour- all made of glittering glass.

After her tears had abated the girl reached out to caress the center- which hadn't unfolded still. Should she rewind the cogs? Try and open it-?

But with her touch it sprung apart. And a white glittering haze, smelling of sweet lavender and burnt wood. It fell upon her skin, and she looked down at the sheer coating of musk that sparkled with the sunlight. Dust on her skin

She closed the box, gently latching it together.

No, she couldn't leave it here. It was far too precious.

As she walked home, despondent, she studied it from all angles. How could she ever return this to the owner? But worse still, how could she keep it? The notion that she had stolen this gift from another would ruin any joy she took from its beauty.

The moon was rising, and there was her cottage, in the distance.

She stopped outside the door. The moon emerged from behind the pale, wispy clouds. The stars singing their laments.

Once more she inspected it, and in the moonlight something new appeared.

On the deep blue bottom of the box, a glowing script began curling, as if it was being written that exact moment.

She watched in awe. Her name- it was her name. The box was hers.

More writing- secrets, clues, maps, symbols, all appearing over the box. Paths leading her to more discoveries. To more beauty and joy. To life.

She closed the door of the cottage and began walking- towards somewhere.