A Private Nocturne

Prowling along the rosewood console, I refused to let the evening dissolve into provincial silence when there was genuine culture to be had. Propped open beside a silver bud vase was an antique Swiss music box, its gleaming brass cylinder and steel comb sitting entirely neglected. Such magnificent mechanical refinement left dormant is practically a tragedy. Bracing my heels against the polished wood, I threw my weight against the tiny notched release lever, shoving it forward until it gave a satisfying metallic click. As the prickled cylinder began to turn, releasing a delicate, chiming waltz into the quiet room, I leaned back in my velvet bolero to savor my own private recital.