As he opened the door, the trickling sound began to organize itself into music.
Chimes and bells, a lonely lullaby, the background melody of a dizzying memory of a
carnival. The room was filled with soft rosy light and broken toys. Dismembered
dolls with tangled hair smiled up at him. Puzzle pieces, beads and ribbons littered
the floor. On one side of the room, an amethyst-colored couch was positioned beneath
a tall, narrow window. The music drifted from a large music box in one corner. It
was almost as large as a bathtub; within it, tiny glass dolls spun and danced,
twirling around in an intricate pattern, smiling silently.
Against the opposite wall was a large birdcage. Within it, he could see dark locks
of hair and folds of pink fabric; another doll. When he approached it, he could see
that unlike the other toys, this one was not broken. It was perfect. The doll's
eyes were closed, and she slept with a content smile on her rose-bud lips.
He opened the little door and reached inside, running his fingers through the silky
Silence crashed through the room. He looked back at the music box; the lid was shut.
Startled, he turned back to the doll, only to see her sitting upright, gripping his
wrist with her tiny hands and grinning.